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I'm putting this here because while this shithead's policies rain down on us, we don't answer to him and he surely does not answer to us. He's the darling of management and we're just the grunts.
To make a very long story short, my plant is laying off workers because one of our production lines is being sent out for refurbishment. That means that a third of our business will be in mothballs until the end of the year. However, rumor has it that management has laid off more people than it strictly needed to, and likely at the behest of the Efficiency Weasel.
The Efficiency Weasel, you see, is someone who pulls down a cool $75K a year (about three times what I make) to make sure that the most work is wrung out of the fewest people. If the Efficiency Weasel and his time studies say it is so, it is so, and little things like reality are not allowed to intrude.
As a result, each shift is now understaffed, and everyone -- supervisors included -- are running themselves into the ground. There were three quality auditors on each shift like myself who check samples of parts for any developing defects, and now there are two. The third works the floor bagging the parts like an entry-level grunt. We rotate from bagging parts to auditing and it's only through the intervention of our supervisors that we even got that. Management wanted to lay off one auditor per shift and then hire us back in a couple of months.
Never mind that technically, for the moment and for the next couple of weeks at least, we're still at full production. Never mind that we are having to call in every person willing to work overtime every shift just to keep the place adequately staffed. Never mind that the supervisors are having to audit now too because we can't do it all. Never mind that in one wing of the plant, whose production already takes more time to inspect than we are allotted, they are getting ready to bring more presses online. And especially never mind that two auditors are needed in that last wing alone to make sure a thorough job is done.
Never mind all of it. The Efficiency Weasel has spoken and the Efficiency Weasel's will be done, factory without end, amen. His time studies tell him, and management -- none of whom have been laid off, incidentally -- that we can run the plant with less than a skeleton crew. In fact, according to rumor, this is an experiment. If every person is forced to do the work of three or four people, and can do so and keep the plant from completely collapsing on itself, then there will be fewer rehires when production comes back up to full capacity later this year.
Frankly, the only thing at work nowadays that gives me any pleasure at all is a recurring, and very detailed, fantasy in which the Efficiency Weasel is found dead beneath the I-240 overpass downtown (probably under the mural of the man playing the violin), wearing pink frilly underthings, slutty makeup, and with something so large and unusual shoved up his ass that slides of it will be shown at every forensic conference from now until the end of time. I think about this fantasy and it brings me an all-too-brief moment of joy.
And in the cold, bleak meantime, I look for other work.
To make a very long story short, my plant is laying off workers because one of our production lines is being sent out for refurbishment. That means that a third of our business will be in mothballs until the end of the year. However, rumor has it that management has laid off more people than it strictly needed to, and likely at the behest of the Efficiency Weasel.
The Efficiency Weasel, you see, is someone who pulls down a cool $75K a year (about three times what I make) to make sure that the most work is wrung out of the fewest people. If the Efficiency Weasel and his time studies say it is so, it is so, and little things like reality are not allowed to intrude.
As a result, each shift is now understaffed, and everyone -- supervisors included -- are running themselves into the ground. There were three quality auditors on each shift like myself who check samples of parts for any developing defects, and now there are two. The third works the floor bagging the parts like an entry-level grunt. We rotate from bagging parts to auditing and it's only through the intervention of our supervisors that we even got that. Management wanted to lay off one auditor per shift and then hire us back in a couple of months.
Never mind that technically, for the moment and for the next couple of weeks at least, we're still at full production. Never mind that we are having to call in every person willing to work overtime every shift just to keep the place adequately staffed. Never mind that the supervisors are having to audit now too because we can't do it all. Never mind that in one wing of the plant, whose production already takes more time to inspect than we are allotted, they are getting ready to bring more presses online. And especially never mind that two auditors are needed in that last wing alone to make sure a thorough job is done.
Never mind all of it. The Efficiency Weasel has spoken and the Efficiency Weasel's will be done, factory without end, amen. His time studies tell him, and management -- none of whom have been laid off, incidentally -- that we can run the plant with less than a skeleton crew. In fact, according to rumor, this is an experiment. If every person is forced to do the work of three or four people, and can do so and keep the plant from completely collapsing on itself, then there will be fewer rehires when production comes back up to full capacity later this year.
Frankly, the only thing at work nowadays that gives me any pleasure at all is a recurring, and very detailed, fantasy in which the Efficiency Weasel is found dead beneath the I-240 overpass downtown (probably under the mural of the man playing the violin), wearing pink frilly underthings, slutty makeup, and with something so large and unusual shoved up his ass that slides of it will be shown at every forensic conference from now until the end of time. I think about this fantasy and it brings me an all-too-brief moment of joy.
And in the cold, bleak meantime, I look for other work.
Is she alright?
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