Staffmark called yesterday.

“Hi, Sean, are you available to work eight hours today, from 1:00 to 9:00?”

I have done a little work in the past for Staffmark, a temp agency here in town. I am in their files as a graphics professional. (Working for a day or two for someone who needs help is a good way to make new acquaintances, and to keep busy during those dry spells.)

“One to nine?” I looked at the clock. It was already noon. But, we need the money. “Probably,” I moaned. “Where is it?”

“It says in your file that you do Photoshop. Do you do any Print Shop?”

Now, I have never used Broderbund’s Print Shop software, but I had seen it on store shelves. It’s a little thirty-dollar program for making greeting cards and picture frames and stuff. Strictly for home users, and a far cry from Adobe Photoshop, which is a professional tool.

“No,” I answered, “but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Well, it says you do a lot of web stuff. Are you skilled at web?”

“Oh, yes!” I said. “Absolutely. Anything to do with the web, I’m your guy.”

“Well, this work is in their web department.”

“Sounds perfect, I’d be happy to do it. Where do I go?”

Where I went was a life insurance company on the north side. I got there promptly at 1:00, ready to produce web graphics with Print Shop.

But it turned out they didn’t need someone to produce web graphics with Print Shop; they needed someone to help operate the web press in their print shop!

Fortunately, I know how to do that, too. For the next eight hours, I heaved stacks of life insurance brochures and mailers hot off the press, and stacked them onto pallets.

(Phoebe tells me that I should explain what a web press is, for those of you not in the trade. It’s a behemoth-sized printing press that prints on a continuous roll of paper. The press I serviced yesterday looked very much like this. The roll of paper is called the “web,” and it has nothing to do with the Internet.)

At the end of my shift, I finally stumbled home exhausted.

Phoebe puzzled at the sight of my ink stains and paper cuts. “What did they make you do?”

“Today,” I answered, “I am a pressman!“