I usually don't like writing diaries of a personal nature. Everyone faces personal challenges, and I have no doubt many face far worse struggles than me. However, when watching the story about a man holding up a convenience store with his daughter present, tears began welling up. It wasn't that I approved of his behavior, but I could empathize with the loss of pride.
I have been without work for several months. At one point I was faced with the reality I could no longer support myself and pay my child support. At the age of 31 I moved in with my mother, and had to make tough choices on what I could keep from my old life. This diary is about a toolbox, and what work represents for me.
At one point I had been a computer science major in college. At the time I was working for AT&T, and they were paying for my college. I was married with a wonderful son. It was difficult working full time, while also going to school full time. But I enjoyed learning new skills, and being exposed to new ideas. Ethics, philosophy, and literature classes were especially fulfilling despite being outside the scope of my major.
Eventually the CEO of AT&T broke the company into pieces, which led to wholesale job cuts. My marriage fell apart, and school became impractical. I ended up moving back to my hometown, where the economy was far better than the state I was married in. Through a government program I found, I was able to go to school for a new trade. I became a machinist with special focus on CNC programming.
When I began working in this trade, I was armed with only a Machinist's Handbook, and a set of Fischer Price tools my school provided. Most all shops have a incomplete set of shop tools, which have been neglected and destroyed. It is expected that you will slowly build your own set of tools through payroll deductions, or purchasing externally. Over a few years I purchased a fairly good set of tools through other machinists and ebay. Most all of these tools range from a couple hundred dollars to a few thousand. They are incredibly precise instruments, and most machinists are understandably hesitant to loaning them out.
To hold all of these tools, I purchased a large black Craftsman toolbox. It cost about $400 dollars, but in some strange way reinforced a pride on what I had accomplished. Inside of the upper drawers were foam inserts I cut out with an exacto knife. All of my expensive micrometers and calipers were snuggled safely in their slots. I would weekly go through and clean each tool with some WD40, keeping them shiny and new looking. Each drawer was organized in my own way, and I began myself becoming hesitant about granting anyone else access. These were the tools of my livelihood, and I took pride in their maintenance.
When the bottom fell out of the economy, I had to load my toolbox up, and find a place for it in my apartment. My bills began to quickly overtake what little savings I had. Whenever a job was listed online or in the paper, hundreds would apply for the position. Manufacturing was releasing skilled labor daily onto an already bleak market.
I reached a point where I could no longer stay afloat, and had to make massive changes quickly. When analyzing all of my earthly possessions it was clear what was of value. That toolbox contained items which someone still working in the field would be happy to take off my hands for a fair price. The very toolbox itself was still a good deal at a $150 dollars. Because I needed to move in with my mother, it was impractical to bring any such large items with me.
So I bit the bullet and began to clean out any items which would not be of any use to a potential buyer. Among them were notebooks filled with equations and observations I had made over a few years time. There were specialty tools I hand ground for specific purposes. There were printouts of thousands of programs I had written for CNC machines. All of these represented an evolution of knowledge and skills.
It took only a few weeks to find a buyer for everything of use. In total I may have recovered $900 dollars from the venture. The very last thing sold was the toolbox that had filled me with such pride. After helping load it onto the buyers pick up, and going back inside, I broke down. I couldn't help but sitting against a wall and crying for about an hour. That toolbox represented something more than a job. It was the means by which I was a father to my son. It was a representation of what it meant to be an adult. Quite simply it meant my pride was worth about a thousand dollars.