The Curse of Curves

I arrived at work that first night scared shitless. I didn't talk to anyone when I got there, and I probably came off as a frigid bitch. The foreman took me on a tour of the factory, explaining how each machine worked. When we got to the area where TJ was working, I remember thinking he was hot. He's got that badass look with tattoos and the faint signs of facial hair. You know, just the shading around his lip and chin. He's hot. He really is. I didn't want to leave and go on to the next machine, I wanted to stay there and watch him work. Partly because I was interested in him, and partly because I was interested in his work. He's a printer. One of the elite, you might say. There are only 7 printers on our shift, putting the designs on the cups. I find the whole process fascinating, with all the different ink colors and the fountains and the tin sheets. It's cool to me. Probably because I'm a dork, lol.

I thought he was hot, yes, but out of the question. You see, he's short. I'm tall. He's 5'7" and I'm 6". Quite the difference. He's also really small. A scrapper, if you will. And I am quite literally twice the size of him. My height makes me insecure. That coupled with the fact that I'm carrying around some extra pounds makes me REALLY insecure. Guys don't talk to me. And I don't talk to them. I've never initiated a conversation with a guy because I've already got myself convinced that they won't like me. Guys talk to skinny, pretty girls that are outgoing. Not me. So with these thoughts running through my mind, I turned and obediently followed our foreman to the next work station.

For the next few weeks at work, I began making myself at home and finally got comfortable with the other people on my shift. TJ never really crossed my mind because I never worked with him and he kind of kept to himself. Then the day finally came when I DID work with him.