A Stereotype

"Indians are pretty much born soldier anyway. Don't need a uniform to prove it."
                                                                      ~Sherman Alexie, Because my Father Always Said He Was the Only Indian Who Saw Jimi Hendrix Play "The Star-spangled Banner" At Woodstock


"Alright, the metal sheet's almost set."
I could hear a voice coming from beside me. Feels warm, what is this? I'm spinning... Heehee, it  kinda tickles! I thought to myself.
"Take it off now Jim, we're behind schedule! Go send it up to George quickly!"
"Yeah yeah, calm down, we'll catch up, Tom."
"You really should stop drinking on the job."
What is that voice? Where am I being taken I wonder. There was another machine I was being set onto, I did not stop moving for a second. Oop! Here's another one of them, What are they going to do with me?  The place was loud and bustling, So many sounds. Ah look! There's another of me on the conveyor belt.
"Hey! Who are you? Do you know where are we being sent to?"
"I'm not really sure... I just came off of some other machine, and these guys picked me up and placed me here."
Another voice soon joined me and my new friend. "Hello! Welcome to the belt."
"Hi! Do you know where we're going? This is all so new, where are we exactly?"
"That is an excellent question!  You two and the others behind you are being sent to create papers for the people here. It is your job to copy things again and again with perfection, so people from all over can read about all kinds of things." 
"Interesting, but, the same thing, over and over again? It sounds a bit boring if you ask me..."
"What are we exactly anyway?" My friend questioned the belt.
"The both of you are called stereotypes, and you play quite the important roll. Copying is what you were made to do, little clichés, how could I be wrong? I've worked her for much longer than you have. Here you two are! Do your job well!"

It did not take the people long to move us from the belt to the another large machine. We were snapped into place quickly and in no time at all began moving in circles.
I'm getting dizzy, this is so crazy. Over and over again, I did my job nonstop, just like the belt said. But who said I wanted to be this way, because I sure do not enjoy this. How could they turn me into a piece of metal that does the same thing over and over again? Was I not made to do more? Is this all I was meant to be?
"Hey aren't you guys tired of this?" I asked to the other Stereotypes around me. "Is there nothing more for us to do?
"Shhh just do your job, it is who we are, this is what we were made for, just conform." They stopped talking and kept spinning. I do not want this! I cannot take any more of it! Let me go! I want to be more than a common cliché!
 Suddenly something began falling from above. What is it? Is it this thing that will stop me from this never ending repeat?

                                                                         ~~~

"Here's your paper sir! Thanks a bunch!"
Trevor took the paper, opening it casually as he sat on a nearby bench.
"Huh, who new a drunk man could cause so much  trouble for one company? Setting it back for two weeks? They must've been lazy with repairs."
Trevor continued to skim the page, but it was the happy, bright hammering of another in his workshop that lead Trevor to move on to a place where he could read in peace that morning.

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stereotype_(printing)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_Y95phLnsM