You still gotta deal with the most absolutely bored co-workers who are so disillusioned they create petty drama to fill their days. The 60 year old lady with a mullet who has been working the job outta high school is going to set an absolutely unmatchable pace for zero reason other than to give their ego a pat on the back, and not give two shits for the problems that pace might create when the shit they send down the line starts to inevitably back up.
All while doing absolutely back breaking and fatigue inducing actions for long periods while operating machinery that will dismember you before you even notice something is wrong. Your mind is so bored by the repetitive tasks it erodes at caution though, so good luck not messing up.
Imagine a never ending machine of molten plastic parts that burn you just a little bit every time you grab one, not enough to be damaging but enough to be uncomfortable, now imagine that machine controls your life for 8 hours with two 15 min breaks and one 30 min break for lunch/dinner.
The machine will speed up when production needs to be up and you have to keep up, you miss two pieces and you are put to the side and someone else will take over, you do it two or three times and you go home without a paycheck.
I’ll take a screaming Karen every time over that fucking piece of shit Greek God punishment type Job
You just reminded me of my short bastard super from one of my old jobs. They put me on the prep deck to get all the wash process water off the parts with compressed air before they go into the paint booth. One day they bump the line up to something like 14 feet per minute and tell me that I should stop the line if I need more time for quality reasons. So I stop the line because water is still seeping out. Fucking Mike whips in there with his private forklift and goes “hey why the fucks the line stopped” and hits the go button. A couple back and forths at shift meetings and I give up, because they’ve got me working 5 or 6 10s and I have lost the ability to give a damn. So now the paint is fouling on every fourth part, and when the facility manager comes round bitching about our reworks guess who gets thrown under the bus?
Reminded me of What Remains Of Edith Finch, it has a segment working on a line cutting fish heads off. Grab fish, put in guillotine, cut, next, over and over. The monotony and pointlessness of it, and what it does to the psyche.
Now that is shocking to hear. You do not have to deal with the whims of the general public. One would imagine anything would be better.
You still gotta deal with the most absolutely bored co-workers who are so disillusioned they create petty drama to fill their days. The 60 year old lady with a mullet who has been working the job outta high school is going to set an absolutely unmatchable pace for zero reason other than to give their ego a pat on the back, and not give two shits for the problems that pace might create when the shit they send down the line starts to inevitably back up.
All while doing absolutely back breaking and fatigue inducing actions for long periods while operating machinery that will dismember you before you even notice something is wrong. Your mind is so bored by the repetitive tasks it erodes at caution though, so good luck not messing up.
Imagine a never ending machine of molten plastic parts that burn you just a little bit every time you grab one, not enough to be damaging but enough to be uncomfortable, now imagine that machine controls your life for 8 hours with two 15 min breaks and one 30 min break for lunch/dinner.
The machine will speed up when production needs to be up and you have to keep up, you miss two pieces and you are put to the side and someone else will take over, you do it two or three times and you go home without a paycheck.
I’ll take a screaming Karen every time over that fucking piece of shit Greek God punishment type Job
I just got out of a plastics welder job for Schutz tanks, “Greek Punishment ass job” is a very accurate descriptor.
I believe Sisiphean is the word
You just reminded me of my short bastard super from one of my old jobs. They put me on the prep deck to get all the wash process water off the parts with compressed air before they go into the paint booth. One day they bump the line up to something like 14 feet per minute and tell me that I should stop the line if I need more time for quality reasons. So I stop the line because water is still seeping out. Fucking Mike whips in there with his private forklift and goes “hey why the fucks the line stopped” and hits the go button. A couple back and forths at shift meetings and I give up, because they’ve got me working 5 or 6 10s and I have lost the ability to give a damn. So now the paint is fouling on every fourth part, and when the facility manager comes round bitching about our reworks guess who gets thrown under the bus?
God I hate manufacturing
Reminded me of What Remains Of Edith Finch, it has a segment working on a line cutting fish heads off. Grab fish, put in guillotine, cut, next, over and over. The monotony and pointlessness of it, and what it does to the psyche.
What were the plastic parts it was making
Car bumper parts
Probably some piece of the Death Star or something.