The summer of my 21st year, a long time ago, I worked in a machine factory in a small town in Switzerland, about 20 miles from Zurich.
I had worked the previous eight summers at a golf course in Maine, and I was ready for a change, an adventure, something independent.
My co-workers at the factory accepted me as a curiosity. We all wore the same blue common-laborer jumpsuit. For many, I was the first American they had ever known.