Woodworking in America: Country and Gospel

The waitress rushed up to me at the cash register with a desperate look in her eye. In defense, I held out a $6 tip, but she ignored it and fixed me in her gaze. “Will you sign a placemat? Or a napkin?” she asked. “Do you have something you could sign?” I shook my head and started walking to the exit. “Sign anything,” she said. “The cooks will be so disappointed if you don’t.” This was the final and odd scene of my four-day odyssey at the Woodworking... 

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