Introspection and hands.
I have thick pads of callus across my palms, on the outside edge of both index fingers and the inside edge of both thumbs, where the pressure is in my grip. The tips of my fingers are hardened--not quite callused, but rough. My fingernails are short, blunt-cut with clippers. I don't file, manicure, or paint them; there would be no point.
The first two weeks at my job, my hands hurt constantly. Constantly. I didn't get blisters or sores, as some more dramatic accounts describe, but they were red and sore. For nearly a week, I gave up typing because it hurt too much. Oddly enough, it's not scrubbing that abrades the hands, but making beds. It's linen constantly rubbing against fingers, like fine sandpaper. Make one bed in a day and you won't notice it--make twenty, or thirty, and you sure as hell will.
My hands are strong, rough, and ugly. When I quit this job and go back to school, I'll be able to wear nail polish. My skin will soften, the calluses will fade.
I'll kind of miss them.
The first two weeks at my job, my hands hurt constantly. Constantly. I didn't get blisters or sores, as some more dramatic accounts describe, but they were red and sore. For nearly a week, I gave up typing because it hurt too much. Oddly enough, it's not scrubbing that abrades the hands, but making beds. It's linen constantly rubbing against fingers, like fine sandpaper. Make one bed in a day and you won't notice it--make twenty, or thirty, and you sure as hell will.
My hands are strong, rough, and ugly. When I quit this job and go back to school, I'll be able to wear nail polish. My skin will soften, the calluses will fade.
I'll kind of miss them.