Page 51 - Self Talk

track and my fingers in the clear. After what seemed like forever, Mrs. Buell, the test monitor, cried “stop.”
She collected our samples and we sat in silence as she scrutinized the results, squinting at the pinholes in the sewing samples as her dangling cigarette came precariously close to igniting the paper. Clearing her throat, she motioned to the other women, “Okay, you gals can go.” Looking beaten down but not surprised, they hoisted their pocketbooks and shuffled out the door in single file.
“San-dee, you scored one hunderd percent on the write’n test and sew’n test. If that don’t beat all. I hafta ask, are you really plan’n on this kinda job for the rest of your life?” she asked skeptically, in a southern drawl that seemed to go on forever.
“Never you mind,” she continued before I had a chance