The Plastic Factory

The great Ron Kolm writes an essay about working the night shift in a plastics factory, worrying about the irradiation of his gonads, the end of his marriage, and the antics of his psychotic workmate. Kolm manages to simultaneously do three contradictory things: convey the absurd tragicomic routines of the blue-collar denizens of this industrial dungeon so inimical to human life; convey the soul-sucking, time-wasting boredom of the routine, no matter how much the people trapped there try to fight it off with drugs and antics; and create a really elegant, beautiful piece of writing. I never get tired of re-reading The Plastic Factory.