Here he comes, will he find me under all this junk? I had a restful night, but I knew it had to end. Pound, pound, pound, all day yesterday, today and tomorrow. I hope he knows what he’s doing. My claw end is all chaffed from nail-pulling. I hate the taste of those galvanized ten-inch nails. All right, he found me and I’m back in the tool box. Those other tools must have missed me, except of course for that aluminum level. Aluminum must be the poorest excuse for a metal that I know. Those tools are so light and shiny. They don’t rust, but boy do they get scratched and bent. I hate to tell the boss, but that level isn’t on the level. It’s always throwing off the measurements by a degree. Eventually that adds up.
Here’s the first nail of the day. Great, it’s steel-tough, like me. I can drive it with two whacks. There it goes, buried in the wood for years. Some archeologist will find it centuries from now and wonder, “How did they used to insert these fasteners into the wood fibers?” By then they’ll be able to get the nails to talk. “I was pounded by a high carbon steel professional grade carpenters hammer, made in the USA.” I wonder, will there still be a USA?