Most of you have been asking about what I've been up to, other than learning about what it means to be a Kurd in northern Iraq. ...
I am an intern. I work 40 hours a week - did you know that? I walk to the office every morning at 9, and walk back at 5. I have a lunch break from noon to 1:30.
We work in an office space on the third floor of a mall. In our office there's a lobby with couches, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two rooms. We have a split (A/C) in both rooms, but our power often goes out, which renders them useless. Also, the Internet hasn't been working.
So, most of us leave the office and go to 1. Assos Hotel across the street 2. Melody Cafe, where all the Amerikim hang out 3. Blue Cafe with delicious milkshakes or 4. home.
On every morning except Monday (our work week is Sunday-Thursday) we have a staff meeting at 9. We talk about what we did the previous day, what we will do that day, and what might stop us from accomplishing our tasks.
On Mondays we, the interns, spend our mornings having Interlocutions a.k.a. "Fireside Chats" with Jeremy. We typically discuss blog posts or news articles as a group. (Last week we talked about starting an NGO, why you should travel to countries outside Europe, and about something called voluntourism.)
After our meetings, we get to work! Everyone has a different task, according to their interests. I am in charge of Preemptive Love's year-end review, which is developing into a "Who We Are" coffee table book. It's coming along rather nicely. (A quick shout-out to Dr. Karnehm. Working on the School of Nursing magazine has helped me out a lot since I've been here!)
Besides the year-end review, I help others out with their tasks (such as updating the PLC blog or doing audio for the Honya video).
Soon I'm going to blog about the other interns - they're so awesome. I want you all to virtually meet them!
Lauren
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Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Hi, I'm a narcissist
I am a narcissist.
After my Media and Society paper about narcissism on Facebook, I realized that I have all the tell-tale signs of a narcissist. I talk about myself. I am frustrated when people don't honor me the way I think they should. And in the midst of my self-loving is self-loathing - I want to be more than I already am.
It's a big mess.
It's also something I've been praying against since the spring.
My goal for this internship was to rid myself of narcissism. I wanted, and still want, a character arc. I want my character - me, Lauren Deidra Sawyer - to change during this internship, and for the better.
I wanted to magically become more others-focused and compassionate.
I wanted to overcome my insecurities and view myself soberly.
It's about four weeks into my internship, and I think it's finally happening, just not in the way I had imagined. I thought that I'd start stripping myself of narcissism when I met a bunch of sick kids or toughed the 115 degree heat. But honestly, I'm being challenged the same way I am in the States.
Note that I'm glad I'm going through this. I don't want my dear PLC family to think that they're doing anything wrong. Everything that's going on is for the best - I believe it. I won't be able to shake this narcissism without fire.
Observations:
- I am most comfortable in a leadership position ... so I find myself in a country where women aren't meant to lead. I'm forced to be okay with that.
- I'm not the best. Esther's the journalist. Lydia's the artsy one. Claire's the funny one. Sophie's Wonder Woman. I'm just me. A me that isn't "winning" at the moment.
- The task I chose for the summer does not bring me instant gratification. I am one of the few interns that took a long-term project. I am making headway on my assignment - PLC's year-end review, kind of like a magazine - but it's not as though what I'm writing is posted on the blog. It's hard. That's the one thing I love about working at a newspaper - I can see results by the end of the week.
- To somehow make this vague and mysterious: it's hard talking (I mean "talking") to a boy when you're a narcissist. It's easy for me to talk about myself all the time, but that's not how you attract the opposite sex.
Oh God, break me down.
I read this prayer in Elise and Sarah's copy of "The Pursuit of God" by A.W. Tozer:
Oh God, I have tasted Thy goodness and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need of further Grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still.
Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee that so I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, "Rise up, my Love, my fair one, and come away." Then give me Grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long.
Ezekiel
After my Media and Society paper about narcissism on Facebook, I realized that I have all the tell-tale signs of a narcissist. I talk about myself. I am frustrated when people don't honor me the way I think they should. And in the midst of my self-loving is self-loathing - I want to be more than I already am.
It's a big mess.
It's also something I've been praying against since the spring.
My goal for this internship was to rid myself of narcissism. I wanted, and still want, a character arc. I want my character - me, Lauren Deidra Sawyer - to change during this internship, and for the better.
I wanted to magically become more others-focused and compassionate.
I wanted to overcome my insecurities and view myself soberly.
It's about four weeks into my internship, and I think it's finally happening, just not in the way I had imagined. I thought that I'd start stripping myself of narcissism when I met a bunch of sick kids or toughed the 115 degree heat. But honestly, I'm being challenged the same way I am in the States.
Note that I'm glad I'm going through this. I don't want my dear PLC family to think that they're doing anything wrong. Everything that's going on is for the best - I believe it. I won't be able to shake this narcissism without fire.
Observations:
- I am most comfortable in a leadership position ... so I find myself in a country where women aren't meant to lead. I'm forced to be okay with that.
- I'm not the best. Esther's the journalist. Lydia's the artsy one. Claire's the funny one. Sophie's Wonder Woman. I'm just me. A me that isn't "winning" at the moment.
- The task I chose for the summer does not bring me instant gratification. I am one of the few interns that took a long-term project. I am making headway on my assignment - PLC's year-end review, kind of like a magazine - but it's not as though what I'm writing is posted on the blog. It's hard. That's the one thing I love about working at a newspaper - I can see results by the end of the week.
- To somehow make this vague and mysterious: it's hard talking (I mean "talking") to a boy when you're a narcissist. It's easy for me to talk about myself all the time, but that's not how you attract the opposite sex.
Oh God, break me down.
I read this prayer in Elise and Sarah's copy of "The Pursuit of God" by A.W. Tozer:
Oh God, I have tasted Thy goodness and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need of further Grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still.
Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee that so I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, "Rise up, my Love, my fair one, and come away." Then give me Grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long.
Ezekiel
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Life in Iraq: careers
I've been sitting in on Preston and Claire's English class on Monday and Wednesday evenings, just to listen to English-speaking Kurds talk about life. It's an advanced class; everyone can converse in English quite well. (Every once in a while they'll ramble on in Kurdish, and the three of us Americans look at each other awkwardly.)
Every class has a new discussion topic. Yesterday we talked about professions and education.
I know we talk in America about being underpaid and under-appreciated as workers, but I don't think we know what we're talking about. In America we have minimum wage and unions and employee evaluations. Before we apply for jobs, we read job descriptions.
Those things are non-existent in Iraq. Some of them are starting to show up - like job descriptions and evaluations - but are for the most part obsolete.
One woman in Claire and Preston's class, Media, is a high school science teacher. She hates her job, but unlike so many of us in the States, she really can't quit her job. Not because of money, but because she's limited to certain jobs. She has to fill out paperwork before she can switch professions.
Media has to teach from a 20-year-old textbook and cannot stray from it without getting in trouble. She can't punish her students for cheating or acting up without getting in trouble herself.
All the men and women in the Life Center's class are professionals. The students are geologists and government workers and interior designers and techies. They are just like the geologists and government workers and interior designers and techies in the States. They're college educated. They talk to each other with respect. They dress similarly to us.
I'm afraid that we equate rough working conditions, like in Iraq, to lazy or uneducated people.
The problem isn't the people; the problem's with the system. As Westerners we tend to make assumptions without understanding the problem. I don't think I totally understand the problem, but I know women like Media and men like Aso and Bryar are hard workers and can't get promoted because the system doesn't allow for it.
Another woman told a story about her aunt who's an ear-nose-throat doctor. This aunt won awards for her work in overseas in countries like Switzerland, but she won't come back to Kurdistan to practice because she's under-appreciated.
Maybe America really is the land of opportunity.
* photo by Lydia Bullock
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
on Forgiveness
This is the worst one.
--
Yesterday the newspaper staff had a meeting about some of the problems we've been having this year so far. I brought up a long list of clerical issues - stuff we couldn't have anticipated earlier on - hoping to diffuse any catty fighting before it began. Our staff has turned against each other; I call it "the War." I thought talking about productive issues like how to get people to turn assignments in on time would keep any emotional stuff from surfacing.
Yeah right.
The song kept popping into my head: "If we're adding to the noise, turn off this song."
I've added to the noise.
I pretended to be Switzerland; I've become Benedict Arnold, a backstabber. The traitor on both sides. I'm not a revolutionary; I'm not a Tory.
I gossip. I can't stop doing it! I slander. I don't obey the post-it note on my desk: "God wants me to love [coworker's name]."
I don't hate bigotry; I hate bigots. I don't hate war; I hate warmongers.
It's as if every lesson I've learned about love has been erased: I've edited them into nonentity. It turns out being bitter/angry/wrathful is way easier than forgiving.
--
This is the hardest one: I don't know how to forgive. I know how to say it: "I forgive you," but I don't really know how to forgive.
I wrote an essay on forgiveness for Sentence Strategies about my stepmom, about how I haven't forgiven her for her alcoholism and the effects thereof. I told her that I forgave her, and it's not that I've been mulling over her past mistakes or anything. But I still don't think I've forgiven her.
I think forgiveness takes reconciliation.
I hate that word. It's a tough, tough word. It implies action. It implies humility. It involves me asking for forgiveness for my unwillingness to forgive.
Ugh.
The thing is, I know that this newspaper stuff isn't all that I need to ask forgiveness for. There's another publication that I've stirred drama over: dear RELEVANT. I feel burdened to ask Cameron for forgiveness.
Ugh.
It's ironic that what I thought I hated about RELEVANT is the very thing I'm engaging in. I am not being very Christ-like. Huh.
--
At the beginning of this school year, I found myself hating people on campus for no good reason. This happened frequently:
Lauren: Arrg. There's [insert name of NECC intern]. He hasn't even acknowledged me all school year.Abby: Well, why don't you say hi to him.Lauren: But he's a leader. And it was my church he interned at.Lindsey: Oh geez.
Those people don't need to be forgiven - isn't this interesting? - but I feel like they need to apologize to me. Huh. I think people owe me something. They owe me a "hello" or a nod or something. But they don't.
No one owes me anything ...
... but I'm in debt to them.
"Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another. ..."
They don't owe me Grace, but I owe them Grace. It's not their attitudes or behaviors that I need to change, but my own attitude toward them.
--
Before our meeting ended, Dr. Huckins closed with a prayer. He mentioned a verse in his prayer, and it stuck with me:
"Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another. ..." Romans 12:10
I like that: "giving 'preference' to one another." Not only am I going to forgive you or ask you to forgive me, I'm going to prefer you over myself. I'm going to prefer being around you than being away from you. I'm going to prefer you to be my boss and no one else.
What a radical ("rooty") picture of forgiveness. And Grace.
It's not just a way to take care of the immediate issue ("I'm mad at you about this and this") but a way to get to the root of it, to reconcile, and keep bitterness from brewing.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
My Summer as a Striped-Collar Worker, Pt. 2: Incentives
We all respond to incentives, said Stephen Levitt in Freakonomics. I guess that's so.
DAY 2: BLUE-COLLAR
Before people respond to incentives they weigh the benefits against the costs. With my job at BF Goodrich, I had to do the same. Except, my dad made me make my decision before I really thought it through. Hmm... was this a mistake?
* The Costs *
Both days of orientation contained a wild deluge of safety dos and don'ts. It reminded me of that episode of The Office when the guys upstairs go to the warehouse to learn about all the rules about not touching this and that. It was very similar, except I watched tons (and tons and tons) of videos.
They should've just made a 10 Commandments of rules and I it would've saved 'em some time. Observe.
1. DO NOT touch anything hot.
2. DO NOT stick your hand inside a machine if it's running.
3. DO NOT run in front of a forklift
4. DO NOT hit someone with a forklift
5. DO NOT sleep/gamble/drink/horseplay on the job
6. DO wear steel-toed shoes ALWAYS
7. DO wear ear-plugs ALWAYS
8. 9. 10. (You get the picture)
* The Benefits *
This pretty much has everything to do with money.
I will be working between 42-48 hours a week, which means at least two hours will be paid overtime (time and a half).
Since the hours suck, they have special rewards known as "shift premiums" that add on addition cents per hour. So even working the day shift you make an extra $10 a day. Night shifters like me will earn about $20 more.
Holidays are paid as time and a half, even if you aren't scheduled to work (you get at least 8 hours pay).
If your overtime is a holiday you get double time.
Oh, and the rate isn't $10.00 and hour, it's $13.068.
[That's a little more than IP.]
Not to mention the fact that I get to drive a "tugger" for 12 hours a day--how fun! And I get 10 minute breaks every two hours, and a half-hour break after 6... but as my trainer said, stock poolers (like myself) get extra long breaks if they're ahead of schedule.
And I get a cool swipey tag. And a water bottle. And a locker, all to myself!
** ** **
Notice my justification. I like to tell myself the job is going to be way more exciting that it actually is. I guess once I get my first paycheck of $416 (before taxes) I'll feel a little bit better about myself.
DAY 2: WHITE-COLLAR
So, no news from Nea Matia. I'm a little concerned because Beverley likes staying in touch like none other. But, I am ahead of the game. I got one of next week's assignment done and asked for the information concerning the other one. Maybe these next two days I can rest before work on Friday night. (Gotta love the swing shift).
Oh yeah, back to incentives.
** The Costs **
Carpel Tunnel: I think I'm getting it in my right wrist. I have one of those pads on my laptop rather than a mouse so I constantly use my middle finger to move the cursor around. It's starting to hurt really bad.
Working as a Freelancer is tough if you like order and stability. Honestly, I'm glad that my boss Beverley is very organized and has certain deadlines for me or I'd be all over the place. It's hard to stay focused if you have no direction.
The money isn't the greatest either. I mean, you make a website for a nice rate maybe, but updates are typically monthly at best. So you get a nice lump sum that'll last you till your next trip to Starbucks.
** The Benefits **
I can wake up whenever I like, wear whatever I want, eat while I'm working, take as many breaks as I like, peruse facebook when I'm bored... and have fun.
Because honestly, it's fun making websites and flyers for people.
I do occasionally have to go into Beverley's office to pick something up and whatnot. Then I have to look nice, but it's downtown and I LOVE going downtown. Last time I went into work I got a hotdog from Coney Island first. MMmm, totally worth it.
And then there's that little thing I like to call NETWORKING. Working for a private business like Nea Matia will get me strong references, making me just another step closer to the RELE-world.
DAY 2: BLUE-COLLAR
Before people respond to incentives they weigh the benefits against the costs. With my job at BF Goodrich, I had to do the same. Except, my dad made me make my decision before I really thought it through. Hmm... was this a mistake?
* The Costs *
Both days of orientation contained a wild deluge of safety dos and don'ts. It reminded me of that episode of The Office when the guys upstairs go to the warehouse to learn about all the rules about not touching this and that. It was very similar, except I watched tons (and tons and tons) of videos.
They should've just made a 10 Commandments of rules and I it would've saved 'em some time. Observe.
1. DO NOT touch anything hot.
2. DO NOT stick your hand inside a machine if it's running.
3. DO NOT run in front of a forklift
4. DO NOT hit someone with a forklift
5. DO NOT sleep/gamble/drink/horseplay on the job
6. DO wear steel-toed shoes ALWAYS
7. DO wear ear-plugs ALWAYS
8. 9. 10. (You get the picture)
* The Benefits *
This pretty much has everything to do with money.
I will be working between 42-48 hours a week, which means at least two hours will be paid overtime (time and a half).
Since the hours suck, they have special rewards known as "shift premiums" that add on addition cents per hour. So even working the day shift you make an extra $10 a day. Night shifters like me will earn about $20 more.
Holidays are paid as time and a half, even if you aren't scheduled to work (you get at least 8 hours pay).
If your overtime is a holiday you get double time.
Oh, and the rate isn't $10.00 and hour, it's $13.068.
[That's a little more than IP.]
Not to mention the fact that I get to drive a "tugger" for 12 hours a day--how fun! And I get 10 minute breaks every two hours, and a half-hour break after 6... but as my trainer said, stock poolers (like myself) get extra long breaks if they're ahead of schedule.
And I get a cool swipey tag. And a water bottle. And a locker, all to myself!
** ** **
Notice my justification. I like to tell myself the job is going to be way more exciting that it actually is. I guess once I get my first paycheck of $416 (before taxes) I'll feel a little bit better about myself.
DAY 2: WHITE-COLLAR
So, no news from Nea Matia. I'm a little concerned because Beverley likes staying in touch like none other. But, I am ahead of the game. I got one of next week's assignment done and asked for the information concerning the other one. Maybe these next two days I can rest before work on Friday night. (Gotta love the swing shift).
Oh yeah, back to incentives.
** The Costs **
Carpel Tunnel: I think I'm getting it in my right wrist. I have one of those pads on my laptop rather than a mouse so I constantly use my middle finger to move the cursor around. It's starting to hurt really bad.
Working as a Freelancer is tough if you like order and stability. Honestly, I'm glad that my boss Beverley is very organized and has certain deadlines for me or I'd be all over the place. It's hard to stay focused if you have no direction.
The money isn't the greatest either. I mean, you make a website for a nice rate maybe, but updates are typically monthly at best. So you get a nice lump sum that'll last you till your next trip to Starbucks.
** The Benefits **
I can wake up whenever I like, wear whatever I want, eat while I'm working, take as many breaks as I like, peruse facebook when I'm bored... and have fun.
Because honestly, it's fun making websites and flyers for people.
I do occasionally have to go into Beverley's office to pick something up and whatnot. Then I have to look nice, but it's downtown and I LOVE going downtown. Last time I went into work I got a hotdog from Coney Island first. MMmm, totally worth it.
And then there's that little thing I like to call NETWORKING. Working for a private business like Nea Matia will get me strong references, making me just another step closer to the RELE-world.
Monday, June 16, 2008
My Summer as a Striped-Collar Worker, Pt. 1: Call Me Barbara
So, as most of you know via Facebook or in passing, I have taken upon myself 3 jobs. I wasn't really going to, honestly. The first one is It's Playtime!, that I love too much to quit. The second is a job that will help me prove to Cameron Strang that I'm worthy of RELEVANT. And then the third: My life as a blue-collar worker. Seriously, call me Barbara Ehrenreich.
So... let's discuss my third job for a moment. I am part of BF Goodrich's "summer help," a group of grads and college students that fill in for plant workers who are on vacation. Our jobs consist of anything from tire manufacturing to trucking (uhm, that's me!). So why did I take the job?
$10.00 an hour, 40 hours a week. THAT'S WHY.
Now, I know I have spent previous blogs scorning this so-called American Dream of disposable income coming out the wah-zoo. But honestly, I'm human. I won't lie. $400 dollars a week sounds mighty nice to a poor high school graduate.
And there's this part of the deal: THE BLOG. What I'm doing right now.
I'm going to be a journalist. I cannot remain a sheltered middle class girly who only hangs around celebs of the Christian music industry. (And yes, RELEVANT does cover more than that crap. I'm pretty sure Obama's going to make a guest appearance on the next podcast.)
I need to see the real world! The gruff n' grime of it all. And it will start here. I will, as an eighteen year old woman, venture into the forsaken world of the blue-collar workforce. I will work the swing shift. I will smell like sweat and rubber. I will be around fifty-year-old men all day. I can do it!
This introduction was a bit longer than anticipated. I will recall the events of my day reporter style, not like Barbara (from Nickel and Dimed, if you still have no idea what I'm talking about) who just told stories.
Ahem.
DAY 1: BLUE-COLLAR.
The layout of the factory is how you would expect, I assume. You know, machines everywhere, cement floors, steel ladders leading somewhere, an occasional window (open, of course, it's awfully hot in there), and industrial fans. I won't bore you with all that. Let's talk details.
Throughout the tire room there are racks and racks of "bobbins," covered in interliner fabric and rubber used to create tires. There are hundreds of them. Different sizes: 85, 100 something-or-others. Passing down the sectioned off "sidewalk," you come across these racks, some empty but most full. And their labeled. How? With a big number 200 or 50. The guys there must get bored at their jobs though. Most of the numbers I saw had little faces colored into the 0's. I appreciate their creativity.
Everyone manufacturing the tires (and there are only a few doing that, for the machines do a great deal of the work) has a rhythmic pace. Pull rubber. Wrap rubber. Cut. Pull white-liner. Wrap and cut.
There's a radio playing at about every corner of the "sidewalk." Most of it is unrecognizable to me.
I noticed how much the management wanted to make Goodrich to be a "friendly environment." They had team flags hanging on one wall--not just one college's name, but all the ones in the area. In every office I entered I saw a DIVERSITY poster with white and black kids holding hands.
Everyone who passed my trainer and me today waved. You know, those little hand-not-far-from-the-thigh kind of waves--almost like a grab or swat rather than a "goodday, neighbor."
But, it's a tire factory. A TIRE FACTORY. It's not some fancy corporate headquarters with carry-ins every Wednesday or casual Friday. It's a 24-hour sweat-dirt-grime-sleepless-on your feet job.
Does every American company want their environment mimic the so-called "high class" career of our society? Do we all secretly want to work where there are promotions, bosses in fancy offices, and company Christmas parties? Is that what Michelin is? A cheap imitation of an Orange County firm, but really at the core just a group of muscled men and women struggling to make a living, working 12 hour shifts, jumping in bed exhausted, forgetting to say their prayers because their head is spinning....
Maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic. Michelin pays their workers a fair wage--hullo, 10 dollars an hour!--but is it necessary to immitate white-collar businesses in the process? Or are they?
DAY 1: WHITE-COLLAR.
I logged onto my computer at 4:30 (after orientation at the plant) expecting 11 more emails from my boss Beverley at Nea Matia, Inc., where I do web updates and print-documents for the business. I had two from her, nothing more to do, just a thank-you and a CC to her secretary asking her to give me some help. Phew. It turns out one of Nea Matia's websites has this backyard server (as I'll call it) in order to update the site. Too confusing for Lauren. I'll stick with her other site that uses strictly HTML. Easy peasy.
[It's 10:34. Gotta get up early tomorrow and repeat this over again.]
So... let's discuss my third job for a moment. I am part of BF Goodrich's "summer help," a group of grads and college students that fill in for plant workers who are on vacation. Our jobs consist of anything from tire manufacturing to trucking (uhm, that's me!). So why did I take the job?
$10.00 an hour, 40 hours a week. THAT'S WHY.
Now, I know I have spent previous blogs scorning this so-called American Dream of disposable income coming out the wah-zoo. But honestly, I'm human. I won't lie. $400 dollars a week sounds mighty nice to a poor high school graduate.
And there's this part of the deal: THE BLOG. What I'm doing right now.
I'm going to be a journalist. I cannot remain a sheltered middle class girly who only hangs around celebs of the Christian music industry. (And yes, RELEVANT does cover more than that crap. I'm pretty sure Obama's going to make a guest appearance on the next podcast.)
I need to see the real world! The gruff n' grime of it all. And it will start here. I will, as an eighteen year old woman, venture into the forsaken world of the blue-collar workforce. I will work the swing shift. I will smell like sweat and rubber. I will be around fifty-year-old men all day. I can do it!
This introduction was a bit longer than anticipated. I will recall the events of my day reporter style, not like Barbara (from Nickel and Dimed, if you still have no idea what I'm talking about) who just told stories.
Ahem.
DAY 1: BLUE-COLLAR.
The layout of the factory is how you would expect, I assume. You know, machines everywhere, cement floors, steel ladders leading somewhere, an occasional window (open, of course, it's awfully hot in there), and industrial fans. I won't bore you with all that. Let's talk details.
Throughout the tire room there are racks and racks of "bobbins," covered in interliner fabric and rubber used to create tires. There are hundreds of them. Different sizes: 85, 100 something-or-others. Passing down the sectioned off "sidewalk," you come across these racks, some empty but most full. And their labeled. How? With a big number 200 or 50. The guys there must get bored at their jobs though. Most of the numbers I saw had little faces colored into the 0's. I appreciate their creativity.
Everyone manufacturing the tires (and there are only a few doing that, for the machines do a great deal of the work) has a rhythmic pace. Pull rubber. Wrap rubber. Cut. Pull white-liner. Wrap and cut.
There's a radio playing at about every corner of the "sidewalk." Most of it is unrecognizable to me.
I noticed how much the management wanted to make Goodrich to be a "friendly environment." They had team flags hanging on one wall--not just one college's name, but all the ones in the area. In every office I entered I saw a DIVERSITY poster with white and black kids holding hands.
Everyone who passed my trainer and me today waved. You know, those little hand-not-far-from-the-thigh kind of waves--almost like a grab or swat rather than a "goodday, neighbor."
But, it's a tire factory. A TIRE FACTORY. It's not some fancy corporate headquarters with carry-ins every Wednesday or casual Friday. It's a 24-hour sweat-dirt-grime-sleepless-on your feet job.
Does every American company want their environment mimic the so-called "high class" career of our society? Do we all secretly want to work where there are promotions, bosses in fancy offices, and company Christmas parties? Is that what Michelin is? A cheap imitation of an Orange County firm, but really at the core just a group of muscled men and women struggling to make a living, working 12 hour shifts, jumping in bed exhausted, forgetting to say their prayers because their head is spinning....
Maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic. Michelin pays their workers a fair wage--hullo, 10 dollars an hour!--but is it necessary to immitate white-collar businesses in the process? Or are they?
DAY 1: WHITE-COLLAR.
I logged onto my computer at 4:30 (after orientation at the plant) expecting 11 more emails from my boss Beverley at Nea Matia, Inc., where I do web updates and print-documents for the business. I had two from her, nothing more to do, just a thank-you and a CC to her secretary asking her to give me some help. Phew. It turns out one of Nea Matia's websites has this backyard server (as I'll call it) in order to update the site. Too confusing for Lauren. I'll stick with her other site that uses strictly HTML. Easy peasy.
[It's 10:34. Gotta get up early tomorrow and repeat this over again.]
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