When the Tool Kit Doesn't Help

      Today I was presented with a rather peculiar request, but nobody knows the true definition of peculiar until you've worked at MPR.  It is not unusual for an engineer to shoo an intern across King Street to the CVS  to grab a spool of seven hundred-fifty foot fishing line and a four pack of battery cells.  What can I say?  It's their "creative side" inspiring them.  Today, Brad, an engineer I've been working side-by-side with on "Project Buckeye", asked me to drill through a steel block.  Just like that!  No smirk, no blinking, just a concrete stare.  "Humph."  I sighed, running my trembling fingers through my thick hair staring at the massive Cobalt drill press eye to eye.  We were in for one bouncy day.  After Brad left me with a block of steel, a dinky pink plastic ruler, a broken pencil, and a drill machine that weighed more than I do, I did what any "creative" engineer does when they have no clue what they're doing...observe and imitate.  Shaking, I clasped the block of steel and the wimpy ruler and tried to steady my tremor as I stenciled my drill holes onto the steel block.  Next, I pressed the ominous green start button on the drill press, praying silently that the monster would have mercy on me.  I must've looked as if I was sobbing, I was sweating bullets, because the engineer next to me threw a box of tissues at my head.  How personable.  When the enormous drill reared up and stabbed my steel block mercilessly, it made a tremendous roar, much louder than the sound it made when other engineers used it.  I quickly realized that it was oil I needed and dabbed a couple of sticky drops, mixed with some salt from my sweat, onto the steel block.  I was halfway done with the first hole when something pinched my hand.  "Ow!"  I cried, more shocked than in pain.  That's when I realized what looked like a graphite-colored, smoking beetle was crawling up my hand.  It was a burning piece of steel that the drill press shredded to pieces when it was drilling the hole into the block of steel.  Oops, forgot the protective gloves.  A few more minutes and the monster began roaring again.  The noise was beginning to upset the other engineers, or lab  rats, as some call them.  That's when one engineer finally stalked over yanking off the smoking, scorching drill bit and holding up its melted, fried tip in front of my face.  "You fried the drill bit."  Was all he said, chucking the drill bit at my feet and slamming the lab door behind him.  Gotta love MPR on a Monday morning...I'd rather stick my head under the drill press.