Wednesday on the Production Floor

The production floor is completely decimated today because of opening day of rifle season. I'm surprised by the number of people who actually do hunt deer. To be honest, it's just not something that interests me.

Now, if there were a season for, let's say, shoe shopping, I'd be all over it. I'd be prepared months in advance, actually. Staking out the perfect shoe, watching it, making plans for what I would wear when I actually did get that perfect shoe.

I digress.... No such season exists.

Thankfully, a few of the production managers, beside myself, did show up for work today. I was greeted bright and early this morning by Mr. Brownstar, grinning from ear to ear, asking me to check out his new screensaver. It was Hedda Hopper in her pimp hat that she wore for hat day yesterday. I couldn't help but laugh.

My Partner in Crime, who affectionately calls me Slacker Girl, has been nicer then nice to me today. I'm wondering if it has anything to do with the exchange that happened between us yesterday afternoon. I had paged him to ask a question and he never responded. So, I moved on until I found someone who could. 15 minutes later I see him coming in from outside, probably the smoking hut, with Allison. He stops at my desk to see what it is that I needed.

With a smile on my face, ice in my voice, I state to him "You ignored me, so, no, I don't need your help anymore." I admit, I did feel instantly guilty when I seen the look on his face. It went from a smile to embarrassment in about 2 seconds flat.

"Oh, ok," he replied and quickly exited the area.

I should be nicer, I know I should, but why change after this many years.

The topic of vacation time amongst managers had been brought up in the production managers meeting this morning. A discussion has spurned about who would or would not be here the first week of January, our training coordinator needed to know. Ted had lifted my hand for me and said "She'll be here, she never goes on vacation. As far as I know, this place is a vacation to her."

I look at everyone, laugh, and state "I don't think so. I can think of a lot of other places I would rather be then here."

By now, everyone in the conference room is staring at me.

"I hear Phoebe has skinny dipping finals in Wisconsin that week, I don't think she'll be in," Mr. Brownstar is laughing at his comment, grabbing a few chips from my Pringle can.

I could have killed him. I look to my right and see 2 of the managers who don't regularly attend the meeting smiling and whispering, one is clarifying the comment to the other. I look to my left and see all 3 members of our human resources department looking at me.

He had CLEARLY forgot about the Vegas rule!

The New Guy is not here today, thank God! I grow irritated by him just at the sight of his oafish form lumbering in the distance.

He had been tasked to train with Acetone Girl yesterday, Acetone Girl chewed him up and spit him out.

The New Guy had shown up at her desk ill prepared and completely oblivious to what he was supposed to be doing.

"Oh, you're here," Acetone Girl sneers at him, taking her foot and kicking an empty chair out from her desk about 5 foot. "Have a seat, let's get started. So, tell me, what process are we going to use to map this?"

"I don't know. I just really wanted to get some information on a BGA that has been an issue," The New Guy is stammering, flipping through a notebook he was carrying.

"Ok, what is the part number?" Acetone Girl is annoyed, she doesn't even bother to mask her irritation in her voice.

"It's this," he points to an assembly number that he has scratched onto the notebook.

"Oh, no, no, no, that's an assembly number. You need a specific component number. What is the reference designator?" Acetone Girl is giving him the look. You know 'the look', it's the look you received when you've officially gotten on somebody's last nerve, the look of complete and utter irritation, the look of death.

"I don't have one, but I know it's...." Acetone Girl doesn't even give The New Guy a chance to finish his thought.

"Ok, look, if you're going to do this job, you'd better get it together. Either you're going to do the work and be prepared or you're going to have to delegate your work to everyone else and take credit for their work." Looking away in disgust, Acetone Girl completely dismisses The New Guy and turns back to her desk.

Now, I'm certain she was being completely sarcastic, and, in no way was she intentionally telling The New Guy that he should be taking credit for everyone else's work, but, take a guess at what vital piece of information The New Guy was able to glean from this 3 minute conversation.

So, GQ appears this morning to give Sophia and I the scoop from yesterday afternoon. Apparently, after he had been raked over the coals by Acetone Girl, The New Guy had commented to GQ that his only job was to delegate his responsibilities to other people and go forth from there, this would be what he would do from now on and he expected GQ, from that day forward, to supply him with MRB data and any reports he felt were necessary to review.

The New Guy is going to find himself without a job if this keeps going on.