Being underslept, I'm afraid I'm having trouble describing just how happy I am when my shift is done and I walk out of the building. Not because I hate my job -- far from it -- but because at that moment, I get to be a part of the reason everyone wants to be in newspapers.
One of the corners of building that houses the paper where I now work is glass, and passers-by can see the presses working if they're there at the right time.
I love coming out the door and walking past the press corner, feeling rather than hearing the hum of the presses, and watching the edition I've just signed off on rolling toward the readers. I love it when the pressman -- handlebar mustaches and all -- brings up the early edition for us to check, and how the pages of it are still damp.
It may be a dying industry, but I love being a part of it again.