Week One

Industrial sewing machines. Who knew? Since nobody in the class had ever used one, all one could hear was the loud sound of runaway sewing machines. It was similar to the cacophony at the starting line of the Indy 500. I am not exaggerating. My teacher is great. I really like her. I am one who will only use power tools with strict supervision. I would never walk up to a drill saw and start working. I tend to be cautious around dangerous machinery and this sewing machine was no different. I think that the teacher explaining how powerful they were and that, yes, they can sew through a finger. She knew. She had done it. Her thumb. OK, I promise that I will never try and do anything to the machine without making sure it is turned off. Trust me.

This class is a short course in the methods of garment making in accordance with industry standards. (If I had audio, you would now hear Austin Powers mutter, "Alright".") Not much chatter went on during class. In fact, most of the students were pretty mute. Well, some of the others should have taken the cue. I finally ended up befriending the student at the machine next t o me. I suppose that I shall mention the reason for my previous comment about students being seen and not heard. There is one student who arrived in all of her preppiness. That was not the problem. I appreciate the prepster. The problem I had with her is that we were doing some work and the teacher noticed that she had not cut her thread. Said student gave the teacher an exasperated look and replied, "I don't have scissors." wtf. Those of us from the guerrilla school of sewing just used our teeth. This just seemed to foreshadow her behavior in the future weeks. That's right. I think I have ESPN about this one. Anyway, I told my friend, m, about this. She has decided that this particular student shall be referred to as "Bobbin" from now on. So it shall be.

Our first class was about getting acclimated to the machine and then learning various seams. Simple, French, and felled. Next week, "darts".