4. Keith
KEITH
STANDING ROOM ONLY
“Now, I know I can sometimes get a bit too in my flow, so I want to stress that if you have any questions at all, please ask them. I’ve been doing woodworking for most of my life, and this is my career, so I forget that certain skills or techniques aren’t second nature to beginners.
“Also, I’m not perfect, and believe me, even after twenty years of doing this, I occasionally have to look things up. Anyone in this trade who pretends they’ve memorized every tool and how to use it is full of shit.”
I wasn’t usually one for speeches, but after the first two courses, I had carved out a good introduction.
As usual, most of my students were on the older side, and I knew from experience how much harder it was to learn new things when the brain wasn’t all pliable and hopped up on teenage and early college energy.
“I know it’s intimidating to try something new, and a lot of us tend to give up when we’re not good at something immediately,” I continued, slowly walking around the front of the class.
We were semi-outdoors, in a half-open workshop, which was why I insisted on giving the course in the late spring and early summer.
It was warm enough that no one would have to worry about cold fingers slipping on a machine, which could be quite dangerous, and there wasn’t a risk of overheating, especially not with the fans I had positioned at several key points to keep the air circulating.
After all, I was a big guy, and I knew how unpleasant it could be to try to learn something while sweat was dripping down my butt crack.
“But I need you to keep in mind that woodworking is a game of patience. You’re not forcing whatever you’re working on to bend to your will, you’re working with your materials and tools as a team.
Everything is an extension of you, and that takes time.
“We only have eight weeks here, so none of you will become masters. But the goal of this workshop is to give you the building blocks to discover whether you enjoy woodworking at all, and to give you the skills to continue to pursue this and practice on your own if you do indeed enjoy it.”
I looked at the motley crew assembled before me, hoping the expression on my face was pleasant rather than intense.
My mother was fond of telling me that I looked like I wanted to destroy the wood I was working on when I was focused.
Plenty of people had heard of resting bitchface, but I had been blessed with its slightly more alarming cousin, concentrating murderface.
I had a full class, each station taken, with some students who looked as old as my mother, some a bit north of middle-aged, and then a few around my age.
All the way in the back of the class was a woman who couldn’t have been much older than twenty-one, who looked like a Barbie doll with her platinum blonde hair in a perfect, high ponytail.
I made a habit to not judge people by their appearances, because I didn’t like when people did that to me, but I found myself wondering if she’d signed up for the wrong class.
Well, even if she had, maybe she’d discover a new hobby she loved.
I would probably have to talk to her about acrylics, though.
Thankfully, she wasn’t the first person with fake nails I had encountered, and I knew a little shop that sold removable fake nails that I could recommend to her.
All sorts of tradespeople loved them as a way to enjoy the pretty fashion doodads without sacrificing their ability to do their jobs.
“Okay, now that we’ve gotten past the big speeches, let’s go over the basic tools that you’re going to use today...”
Although everyone was here voluntarily, I knew no one was especially thrilled to be lectured for twenty minutes on various pointy bits. If they were anything like me, they wanted to get hands-on as quickly as possible.
In the interest of keeping their hands on while being hands-on, it was important to go over the safety tips to make sure absolutely nobody in our class became hands off.
While nicks, cuts, and gouges were unfortunately unavoidable when becoming involved in woodworking, so far, my classes had been a hundred percent finger-loss free, and I wanted to keep it that way.
And no scalping either!
I went through the beginner tools for the day: the various grits of sandpaper, the clamps, the different-sized chisels, the marking knife, the bevel, square, and marking gauges, the mallets and hammers, the handsaws, and the block plane.
No power tools on the first day; that was for the second week.
I’d learned that slowly introducing my students to being more aware of woodworking safety really avoided accidents.
Especially with the lathe. Because, again, no scalping!
“Now, I know I’ve hit you with a lot of information, but I’m going to come around to every workstation and go over everything personally with you, so do not panic.
” Occasionally, if I thought too hard about what I was saying, I got a bit tongue-tied, but as long as I kept going like I practiced, I felt confident in a public-speaking role.
It was not news to me that I was a bit of an introvert, and I wasn’t ashamed of it, but it was nice to know that there was a side of me that could take center stage when needed.
Now, if only I could be that confident in every other aspect of my life.
“There’s a binder at each of your stations with suggestions and directions for your first project.
Some are simpler than others, and of course, you’re always welcome to do your own thing after talking it through with me.
So, unless anyone has any questions immediately, I’m going to start my rounds. ”
A couple of students raised their hands, and I dutifully answered their questions, which were mostly clarifications on the tools. Their queries pleased me as they showed not only curiosity, but also that they had been listening enough to have something to ask at all.
Once they were all set, I grabbed a box of safety gloves and started at the closest desk. I’d learned in my previous courses not to have the gloves on each desk ahead of time, because some intrepid student would always want to start before I got there.
It took a while to get through everyone, about forty-five minutes, but considering our class was two and a half hours, it still left plenty of time for people to get started.
And as they did, I kept circling around, making sure to hurry over to anyone who either had a question or looked like they could use a little assistance.
By the ninety-minute mark, I was beginning to think I had a particularly talented group of people, because everyone was busy with whatever they had chosen to do for their project.
Usually, there were at least one or two students whose hand I had to hold the entire time.
Even the Barbie lookalike proved she was right where she was meant to be, already dutifully measuring angles to make a simple jewelry case using box joints.
If I had to guess, the young woman absolutely had a thing for math.
Mathletes always loved measuring precise angles.
While I was on my third lap around, my attention snapped to one of my students in the back row.
She hadn’t said anything or asked any questions, so I hadn’t paid her much mind beyond observing that she was cute and our initial conversation.
Plenty of attractive students came through my class, so it never really registered with me.
What did register, however, was how much force she was applying to her chisel, taking surprisingly huge chunks off.
I was worried she’d take her finger off if she slipped.
I hurried over to her. She was either concentrating very hard, or I was too light on my feet, because as I cleared my throat in front of her station, she let out a yelp to end all yelps, jumping several inches as she threw her tool.
Oh dear.