This was as far as I was going to go. I knew this moment would come, and that the outcome was inevitable, so it would be here, that I would be forced to make a stand.
From the deepest part of the woods, it had come. Every other creature that roams the night had fallen silent, even the dogs were strangely quiet, perhaps knowing that this was way out of their league.
It gave a low, rumbling growl, the kind you felt as well as heard. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I felt a numbing cold and became acutely aware of every other small noise in the house. A great breathe exhaled outside as the weight of something large pressed heavily on the wall and the door.
My eyes were drawn to the top of the door where the panels were beginning to bulge and crack. The sound of enormous claws raked the woodwork as it quickly became enraged. I knew that the old door would not stop it and I braced.
Suddenly the door panels gave way as I reached for my last line of defense, holding it out in front of me, my thumb quickly pressed down. For a moment the room went dark and then…
“And now, your Local on the 8s. The temperature for your area is 62 degrees under partly cloudy skies…”
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Just a Pair of Pliers
Manufacturing today is all about “team” with sometimes little regard to what is practical, logical or simply the right thing to do.
Over the years, I have made several trips to a particular out of state factory to assist with mechanical problems of one kind or another. On one such occasion, having finished with the designated business at hand, I mingled around the production work areas exchanging ideas and discussing procedures.
It was then that I noticed the operators were using the same pliers as was used in our processes, but with one small difference. I had modified our pliers to make them spring return after closing, a convenient feature not available in this particular type of pliers at that time.
I mentioned this to one of the operators, who thought this might be helpful and less fatiguing in the long run. She produced an extra pair which I carried to the maintenance shop and proceeded to install the spring feature.
The maintenance people I had been working with, had retired to their perches in the shop, leaned back with feet up on the work bench, awaiting the next reactive call. Blatant, I thought, but still, none of my business.
Anyway, it was a simple task. I drilled a small hole through one handle near the hinge and halfway through the other. I inserted a small compression spring through the hole and drove a spring pin in behind it. In ten minutes I was done.
The operator liked the pliers and two other operators requested the modification. I added the spring to these and later, at the hotel, drew up instructions for the maintenance guys to follow-up with pliers on the other shifts.
Months later, on a return visit for a different mechanical problem, the operators informed me that the maintenance people had opted out of making the pliers modification. Fine, I thought, however, I was completely perplexed when they told me of their reasoning.
It seems they had formed a team of people to evaluate the conversion. They had produced parts estimates, man-hour estimates, with full color displays on charts and graphs, all meticulously prepared to convince themselves that this modification was a total waste of time and resources, unlike, of course, the time spent fabricating the detailed report itself.
Furthermore, they believed they could purchase the pliers, with this feature, cheaper than they could make the change.
Remember, this is just a pair of pliers, but of the type that wasn’t going to be found on the market with spring return, and they knew that. We had already looked and I had told them. But the issue, as far as they were concerned, was closed.
The team had spoken.
Unbound by this impediment, I reworked several more pairs of pliers before I headed for home, knowing that this team directed workforce was destined to litigate itself to a standstill.
The factory later closed for unrelated reasons.
Over the years, I have made several trips to a particular out of state factory to assist with mechanical problems of one kind or another. On one such occasion, having finished with the designated business at hand, I mingled around the production work areas exchanging ideas and discussing procedures.
It was then that I noticed the operators were using the same pliers as was used in our processes, but with one small difference. I had modified our pliers to make them spring return after closing, a convenient feature not available in this particular type of pliers at that time.
I mentioned this to one of the operators, who thought this might be helpful and less fatiguing in the long run. She produced an extra pair which I carried to the maintenance shop and proceeded to install the spring feature.
The maintenance people I had been working with, had retired to their perches in the shop, leaned back with feet up on the work bench, awaiting the next reactive call. Blatant, I thought, but still, none of my business.
Anyway, it was a simple task. I drilled a small hole through one handle near the hinge and halfway through the other. I inserted a small compression spring through the hole and drove a spring pin in behind it. In ten minutes I was done.
The operator liked the pliers and two other operators requested the modification. I added the spring to these and later, at the hotel, drew up instructions for the maintenance guys to follow-up with pliers on the other shifts.
Months later, on a return visit for a different mechanical problem, the operators informed me that the maintenance people had opted out of making the pliers modification. Fine, I thought, however, I was completely perplexed when they told me of their reasoning.
It seems they had formed a team of people to evaluate the conversion. They had produced parts estimates, man-hour estimates, with full color displays on charts and graphs, all meticulously prepared to convince themselves that this modification was a total waste of time and resources, unlike, of course, the time spent fabricating the detailed report itself.
Furthermore, they believed they could purchase the pliers, with this feature, cheaper than they could make the change.
Remember, this is just a pair of pliers, but of the type that wasn’t going to be found on the market with spring return, and they knew that. We had already looked and I had told them. But the issue, as far as they were concerned, was closed.
The team had spoken.
Unbound by this impediment, I reworked several more pairs of pliers before I headed for home, knowing that this team directed workforce was destined to litigate itself to a standstill.
The factory later closed for unrelated reasons.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Adventure in E.R.
Yesterday, while working on some kind of crap from the production area in the maintenance shop, I ran into a little problem. I had just put a purely professional weld on something and was moving around the end of the table when my hand snagged on something.
You know all those little weld wires that tend to accumulate on the table from every body's little "habitual pre-test" before welding? Looks like a porcupine from hell, right?
Well, I found one. At first I figured that I just had another cut. Cuts help form calluses. My hands look like feet. So big deal, another cut.
Not this time. Sticking out of my right hand little finger was about 1/8 inch of MIG wire. "Hmmn," I thought. "This is different".
I walked back to my wood carry-around box in the production area and fished out my needle nose pliers to perform an extraction. Wouldn't budge. Then I noticed that there was a little protrusion on the opposite side of the finger, almost through the skin. Entry was just below the second knuckle on the palm side and would have come out between first and second knuckle had it passed through. I felt like ignoring this would be inconvenient at times as it would snag on most everything and generate an instant and appropriate audio response.
So, it was 1pm and I decided to take the afternoon off and visit the local hospital. After some expected show-and-tell amongst my constituents, the plant manager took me to the E.R.
I got checked in and placed in a small room with more than enough provisions to explore body cavities, deliver babies, and put eyes back in their sockets. I hoped they would stick to this one little finger.
They sent me to get a few 8 X 10 black and white glossy pictures on their gamma burst machine, interesting, but really couldn't see the pictures very well from across the hall where it looked like a railroad spike through a stick of bologna on their screen.
Went back to the little room with all of its torture devices and the babies screaming down the hall, where they told me that there was no barb on the wire and that it had not hit any bone.
The nurse came in and washed my hand and commented, "Is this as clean as you hands get?" My lips were fighting to contain a colorful metaphor, but I wanted a sucker, so I kept quiet. I’m a mechanic, I thought, not a pastry chef.
The Nurse Practocator came back in and presented me with the options. We could take the feeling out of it, (which really wasn't an issue as long as they left it the hell alone) by injecting it full of Don't-know-don't-care, which upon entry would feel like having your digit ripped off by hungry piranha... or she could just take her pliers and jerk it out. I had tried that but I figured that this was a "maybe" on the pain scale where the other was sure to peg the needle.
"Well, just pull it out," I said, "And I apologize now for what I may say in the next few minutes."
She left the room to get her toys...and back-up.
These two ladies took my hand and laid it out on the delivery table, latched on a small pair of hemostats to the wire just under the small weld stubble and before she could say...or think...
She popped out an inch long piece of straight weld wire.
"I want that", I said. "That's my souvenir". They thought this was funny but I had not thought to get a picture on some one's cell phone, so this, I thought was the best I could do. The Proctocator then offered the small hemostats along with 2 more pliers, a nice pair of tweezers, and a small specimen bottle with my wire sample inside.
I took 'em.
They said that's it and I prepared to leave. I asked for a telephone to call the plant to come back and get me...
That's where I goofed up.
"Oh wait, we have one more test for you". Again I struggle to keep the automated response system from kicking in.
I had not studied for the urine test but felt I had a good chance of passing it. They don't tell you your score, it's simply a pass or fail thing.
When they finally let me go, I made the phone call and sat outside in the much warmer 45 degree breeze and waited for deliverance. It was nearly 5 pm.
I have worked 38 years without a lost time accident. Oh well...
And you know, this was the second accident I'd had that day.
Oh yeah, I'll be back...
You know all those little weld wires that tend to accumulate on the table from every body's little "habitual pre-test" before welding? Looks like a porcupine from hell, right?
Well, I found one. At first I figured that I just had another cut. Cuts help form calluses. My hands look like feet. So big deal, another cut.
Not this time. Sticking out of my right hand little finger was about 1/8 inch of MIG wire. "Hmmn," I thought. "This is different".
I walked back to my wood carry-around box in the production area and fished out my needle nose pliers to perform an extraction. Wouldn't budge. Then I noticed that there was a little protrusion on the opposite side of the finger, almost through the skin. Entry was just below the second knuckle on the palm side and would have come out between first and second knuckle had it passed through. I felt like ignoring this would be inconvenient at times as it would snag on most everything and generate an instant and appropriate audio response.
So, it was 1pm and I decided to take the afternoon off and visit the local hospital. After some expected show-and-tell amongst my constituents, the plant manager took me to the E.R.
I got checked in and placed in a small room with more than enough provisions to explore body cavities, deliver babies, and put eyes back in their sockets. I hoped they would stick to this one little finger.
They sent me to get a few 8 X 10 black and white glossy pictures on their gamma burst machine, interesting, but really couldn't see the pictures very well from across the hall where it looked like a railroad spike through a stick of bologna on their screen.
Went back to the little room with all of its torture devices and the babies screaming down the hall, where they told me that there was no barb on the wire and that it had not hit any bone.
The nurse came in and washed my hand and commented, "Is this as clean as you hands get?" My lips were fighting to contain a colorful metaphor, but I wanted a sucker, so I kept quiet. I’m a mechanic, I thought, not a pastry chef.
The Nurse Practocator came back in and presented me with the options. We could take the feeling out of it, (which really wasn't an issue as long as they left it the hell alone) by injecting it full of Don't-know-don't-care, which upon entry would feel like having your digit ripped off by hungry piranha... or she could just take her pliers and jerk it out. I had tried that but I figured that this was a "maybe" on the pain scale where the other was sure to peg the needle.
"Well, just pull it out," I said, "And I apologize now for what I may say in the next few minutes."
She left the room to get her toys...and back-up.
These two ladies took my hand and laid it out on the delivery table, latched on a small pair of hemostats to the wire just under the small weld stubble and before she could say...or think...
She popped out an inch long piece of straight weld wire.
"I want that", I said. "That's my souvenir". They thought this was funny but I had not thought to get a picture on some one's cell phone, so this, I thought was the best I could do. The Proctocator then offered the small hemostats along with 2 more pliers, a nice pair of tweezers, and a small specimen bottle with my wire sample inside.
I took 'em.
They said that's it and I prepared to leave. I asked for a telephone to call the plant to come back and get me...
That's where I goofed up.
"Oh wait, we have one more test for you". Again I struggle to keep the automated response system from kicking in.
I had not studied for the urine test but felt I had a good chance of passing it. They don't tell you your score, it's simply a pass or fail thing.
When they finally let me go, I made the phone call and sat outside in the much warmer 45 degree breeze and waited for deliverance. It was nearly 5 pm.
I have worked 38 years without a lost time accident. Oh well...
And you know, this was the second accident I'd had that day.
Oh yeah, I'll be back...
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