In my early twenties, I took a job in a machine shop. I was low man on the totem pole save for the old man who swept the floor and redd up the shop. One day, I got myself into a mess on what should have been a simple job. I felt the sidelong glances of senior machine operators. They enjoyed my misery. The old man pushed his broom in my direction. He stood next to me and, with a precision and dexterity I would have doubted, soon had my machine humming. Without a word, he returned to his broom.