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It all began after I moved to Bowling Green, Kentucky. I originally moved here due to a mix of work and my girlfriend. My girlfriends' family is from the area; and working as an automotive journalist, living in the home of Corvette is any AJs' wet dream. For the first few months I lived here, things were going well. I had plenty of stories to cover and my girlfriend was happy to be near her family; especially her ailing grandmother who practically raised her from a young child. And then it happened. I got bored. I got tired of writing. Specifically, I got tired of writing about Corvettes. I mean you can only spin an article about the Corvettes' engine or looks so many ways before it becomes repetitive and monotonous. So why didn't I write about something else? Because I wrote for a company that specialized in pieces on Corvettes. And besides, most of the Corvette owners I met were arrogant assholes. Or senior citizens with handicap placards dangling from the rear-view mirror of their "bad-rear end" automatic base Corvette that might as well have crashed into the JC Whitney warehouse. Taillights bezels and chrome. Chrome EVRYWHERE *shudder*. Anyways, before I have an aneurysm recalling the horrendous offenders I've come across, I shall move on to the meat of the story. I was perusing Craigslist looking for something different when a friend called me. He had a job offer for an inspector of automotive chassis parts that paid pretty decent. I jumped at the opportunity. Yes, your car probably WAS assembled in Mexico. But the parts? They were more than likely made right here in this town. We're home to companies that make parts for every car manufacturer short of exotics like Ferrari and Lamborghini. You may have heard of a few of these companies. Dana. Holley. Eaton. Well, within a week I was reporting for my first day at one of the largest automotive parts manufacturers in North America. I pulled into the entrance of the large manufacturing plant at 5 in the morning and was stopped at the guard shack. "Name?" the grey-mustached man sitting by the window barked. "Devyl reporting for work. It's my first day." Flip. flip. flip. The papers on the clipboard were closely inspected by the other man in the booth sporting gold-framed glasses. "He's not on the list" he mumbled. "You're not on the list. Who are you reporting to?" asked mister mustache. "Oh, ahhhhhh, um, I think her name is Melissa" I meekly replied. At this point cars were beginning to line up behind me. Mister mustache looked at me then said "We're gonna have to call her and make sure you're supposed to be here. Can't have no unauthorized people in the factory ya know." I simply nodded and looked in the rear-view mirror of the Infiniti I was driving. The people behind me were starting to get restless and it was showing. They had a job to get to and I was holding them up. Little did I know that within a few months I'd be one of them doing the same thing. Beep beep beep beep beep. The older man pushed a few buttons on the phone in the booth. "Yeah, Melissa? We have a Devyl here. Is he with you? He is? OK." He then proceeded to write my name down on one of the papers. "Have a good day Devyl. She'll meet you at the entrance to the cafeteria." I nod and slowly drive into the parking lot. Let me just say that Wal-Mart has NOTHING on the size of this places' paved parking area. After a moments' drive I find a place to park. I shut the car off, pull the e-brake, and put the car in third. I begin walking to the gated patio area. After I get there, I'm met by a dirty blonde in her early 30's. "You must be Devyl" she said. "I am! You must be Melissa!". She looked me up and down. Without hesitation she asked if I was wearing steel toes. I confirmed that I was and she walked me into the cafeteria. "This is the cafeteria. They've got pretty much everything you could want here, and it's cheap too. Might not be the greatest, but I can promise you that by lunch time you won't care if it's hot dirt, you'll eat it. Follow me. You're gonna need these before we can go into the factory." She handed me a pair of safety glasses and ear plugs. I put the safety glasses on and rolled the ear plugs between my fingers before putting them in my ears. "You good?" Melissa asked. "HUH? WHAT DID YOU SAY?" She chuckled. "Yup, you're good. Follow me." With a bit of nervousness rolling in the pit of my stomach, I follow her as she opens a large door. "Welcome to your new life!" I step foot in the door and I'm awe-struck at all the machinery. I'm amazed at the size of the place. I'm surprised by some of the most attractive women I've seen working said machines in that huge factory. Little did I know just how right she was about this place being my new life. I'll be back tonight to finish up about my first day. Let's just say I'm surprised I didn't get fired and escorted off the property that day.
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May 1, 2015 23:09
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gently caress YESSSSSSSSSSSSS
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May 2, 2015 00:00
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Ground floor 
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May 2, 2015 00:17
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Oh man, already curious to see how this goes 
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May 2, 2015 00:39
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Awe Yeaaaaaa. This gonna be guuuuud. 
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May 2, 2015 00:58
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Hell yes, this is going to be awesome(ly disturbing).
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May 2, 2015 01:07
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What they said.  Just curious about nda terms. More than a year? End of employment? Some of that poo poo can get scary. Still, don't stop.
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May 2, 2015 01:20
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ssjonizuka posted:What they said. yeah I was wondering this too, with my NdA afaik I'm bound for life
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May 2, 2015 01:25
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 I feel like I won a golden ticket.
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May 2, 2015 01:39
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I loving KNEW IT
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May 2, 2015 01:40
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I'm loving this already.
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May 2, 2015 01:56
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Excellent first chapter. Coincidentally, I watched the Roadkill where they go to the Corvette museum last night so now I really want to hear more of your tale of inferior domestic adhesives & such.
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May 2, 2015 02:28
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gently caress me. Some good writing, haven't seen that in a while.
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May 2, 2015 03:18
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Slow is Fast posted:gently caress me. Some good writing, haven't seen that in a while. Just ignore the apostrophes 
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May 2, 2015 05:00
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I'm already hooked.
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May 2, 2015 05:28
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Goddamnit why did I click on this link right before I was going to bed
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May 2, 2015 06:34
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(My apologies for not getting this up last night. My girlfriend has a cracked tooth with the nerve showing and the dentist won't pull it until Monday morning so I've been keeping up with her needs non-stop. Also, that's pretty cool RK did a bit at the museum. I live less than a half-mile from there and it woulda been cool to meet them. I still remember the morning the sinkhole opened but that's for a different thread) The door closed behind us with a heavy thud. Melissa turned to me and said "Let me take you on the grand tour. Just make sure you keep up because you could get lost in this place if you're not careful." I nod. As I look around I begin to get a grasp on the sheer size of this place. It's huge. massive. Easily hundreds of thousands of square feet. She starts walking and I follow. We take no more than ten steps before she points to a row of machines draped in yellow plastic tents at the top with ducting running to the ceiling. People are standing by the machines pressing buttons. "This is our newest installment. It's called the Mustang line. I saw on your resume you write about cars? Well, you can't write about this stuff since it's top secret still." I wonder to myself why she would say that. As we walk up to the first machine, I see a rack holding what appears to be front cross-members. "This is the final welding machine for the new Mustang front end. We've been contracted by Ford to build certain parts for their new Mustang. The car won't be public or on sale for a long time still, but we're building parts for the car now since it's going global. Our orders have tripled so we've been pretty busy getting them ready." I nod again. I watch as the person operating the machine grabs three parts, puts them on a metal table in the machine, presses a button, and a transparent red curtain rolls down. Two robotic arms push the three parts together. BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT. CLICK. BZZZZZZZZZZZZZT. CLICK. The curtain rolls up. The three parts are now one; welded together by the yellow robot arms. The operator takes the still-smoking part and puts it on the rack. I look over and Melissa is taking off already. For someone barely breaking five feet tall, she sure can move quick. I catch up to her and we pass more machines on this line. Some people are putting parts in their respective machines and they're being welded. Others are standing around looking bored and miserable. I wonder if I should be concerned at this point. "I don't know if anyone told you, but your hours are going to be pretty simple. You're working first shift, so you'll be working from six in the morning until two in the evening. Also, because we're so busy you'll be working seven days a week. Can you handle that?" Yeah, no problem I tell her. Inside my mind, I suddenly realize why everyone is looking miserable. seven days a week in front of a sweltering machine will drive anyone to the brink of insanity. We make it to the end of the line and I see a young attractive blond standing there. She's sporting gauged ears, a black hat, and black-framed glasses. She smiles at me and waves. I wave back and keep following Melissa. Little did I know that in the near future, she would almost destroy my life, my job, and my relationship. We turn the corner and I start to hear a repetitive thud over everything else. As we walk, it gets louder and louder. KACHUNK. KACHUNK. KACHUNK. I feel the ground under my feet start shaking in tandem with the loud noises as we get closer to where the sound is coming from. And then I see it. My jaw practically drops. "THIS IS OUR PRESS DEPARTMENT" Melissa says loudly. The noise is so deafening now that we have to yell to each other to talk. What stands before me is not one, not two, but fourteen gigantic presses that are easily the size of a small house each. Every time a press strikes down, the floor shakes and the area is filled with a thunderous noise. "THESE GUYS ARE PRETTY HARDCORE. THEY'RE COOL, BUT DON'T GET IN THEIR WAY." I look up and see a huge yellow crane three stories up. A guy who looks like a built Bill Lumbergh from Office Space with a box strapped to his waist is controlling it. He presses a few buttons and starts using a joystick on the box to move the crane. He guides the crane over to a huge slab of metal laying on the ground. The entire area darkens drastically as the crane passes the overhead lights and blocks them briefly. A few presses of some switches on the box and the giant chains lower. The massive hooks on the end are then attached to the giant metal box. "What's that?" I ask. "Oh that? It's just one of the dies used to press a part from blank metal." Melissa waves at the guy with the control box and he stops what he's doing and waves us over. She walks over and I follow. She's chatting with the guy while I start to look at the die. To put it in perspective, this thing is the size of a '78 Cadillac Eldorado. The faded white paint on the side says: Weight: 38,000 LBS. 38,000 fuckin' pounds. "I'm Larry" the guy says while sticking his hand out. "Devyl". I shake his hand. He nearly crushes it. Larry gets back to business and begins lifting the tremendous die in the air with the crane. It starts rocking slowly back and forth. I get nervous, realizing there's a nine and a half ton piece of metal hovering fifteen feet over our heads. "You look scared Devyl. Don't worry, I haven't had a chain break yet! This is just one of the small ones anyways, so don't sweat it." I suddenly realize what it's like to be an ant about to get squished. Melissa walks on. I follow enthusiastically to get outta there. Devyl fucked around with this message at 16:11 on May 2, 2015 |
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May 2, 2015 16:02
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You hosed that girl
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May 2, 2015 16:13
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Devyl posted:We make it to the end of the line and I see a young attractive blond standing there. She's sporting gauged ears, a black hat, and black-framed glasses. She smiles at me and waves. I wave back and keep following Melissa. Little did I know that in the near future, she would almost destroy my life, my job, and my relationship.
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May 2, 2015 16:39
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Devyl posted:We make it to the end of the line and I see a young attractive blond standing there. She's sporting gauged ears, a black hat, and black-framed glasses. She smiles at me and waves. I wave back and keep following Melissa. Little did I know that in the near future, she would almost destroy my life, my job, and my relationship.
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May 2, 2015 17:44
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Devyl posted:The faded white paint on the side says: Weight: 38,000 LBS. 38,000 fuckin' pounds. That's not nine and a half tons, that's nineteen tons.
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May 2, 2015 18:13
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I just started a new job at a steel mill two weeks ago, and my experiences have been largely similar, except we've got cranes and forklifts rated for 250,000 lbs.  Yesterday while I was out near the slabyard sitting in the tiny forklift my dept. uses (I'm a parts clerk in the maintenance dept.), a huge forklift the size of a small house was about 80-100 yds. away maneuvering a huge slab, maybe 70 feet long by 20-30 wide by two-three feet thick using an electromagnetic crane attachment. When he set it down on the ground, I could feel the thud coming up from the ground through my forklift, despite being nearly a football field away. Some of the machinery we have in storage in our disused melt shop building is mind bogglingly huge. Giant driveshafts with u-joints on each end that are around 40 feet long and maybe four feet in diameter. Gears large enough to park a 70's Cadillac El Dorado on top of. Transformers the size of semi trailers. Awesome job you've got, Devyl.  (Though it is kings of scary that they'd be allowing a crane operator to move anything overhead of personnel, that's a huge no-no at our facility. Overhead loads have to stay well clear of people.) Militant Lesbian fucked around with this message at 20:47 on May 2, 2015 |
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May 2, 2015 20:45
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smax posted:That's not nine and a half tons, that's nineteen tons. The 38,000 printed on the side of the crane is what it's rated to.
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May 2, 2015 21:32
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ChewedFood posted:The 38,000 printed on the side of the crane is what it's rated to. I should be a bit more clear. The die for one of the presses was 38,000 pounds. The cranes (they have multiple overhead cranes) are rated in ten ton increments from 20 to 60 tons. Devyl fucked around with this message at 22:07 on May 2, 2015 |
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May 2, 2015 22:04
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After we leave the factory, our tour continues. Every nationality in regards to automotive manufacturers are here. Ford, Chevrolet, and GMC are made here and represent our sweet American massive cupholder-bearing home soil. I'm taken through Nissan and Toyota; representing the far east. There's even sauerkraut made here in the form of BMW, Mercedes, and VW. Melissa finally finishes taking me on the tour which lasted almost an hour. I'm brought back to what's called the 415 line. The 415 is a line that runs non-stop, 24/7, 365 manufacturing various Ford non-Mustang parts. By this time it's almost 2 hours into my first shift. I'm taken to another short young blonde woman. I'm introduced by Melissa. "This is Kelly. She's the team lead for this departments' inspection line. You'll be in good hands." I look at Kelly. Another younger short blonde woman. Probably in her early 20's I assume. She was more of a dirty blonde than the platinum blonde of the girl who waved at me on the Mustang line. After a brief glance at Kelly I turn to see Melissa has already left. I turn back to Kelly and stick my hand out to shake hers. "Hi, I'm Devyl. I'm the new guy." She looks at my outstretched hand and walks off. OK, not the friendliest of people... I look around and no one else is around. I walk around a bit looking for Kelly and trying not to stray too far in case she comes back. Ten minutes later, she rolls up passenger-side on a golf cart labeled 'Maintenance' with fluorescent orange spray paint. She's eating some chips from the vending machine and drinking a Monster. She hops up and walks up to me as the golf cart zips on; taking a corner on almost three wheels. "Oh sorry about taking off. It was break time for me. Anyways, Bill right?" "No, it's Devyl" I replied. I started to ponder how bad this situation was going to be with her being my direct boss. "Alright, DEVYL, here's what you're gonna do. These bins here are full of that part that goes between the frame rails and hold it together. I forget what it's called but it's not important. Anyways... They have five notches in 'em. Three on top and two on bottom. Your job is to go through them all and make sure the notches are good and cut out right." I tell her in a subtle way the part is called a cross-member. I then look at the bins. six foot long, four foot tall, and probably four foot wide. I look at the hanging tag. In bright red letters it said QUANTITY: 100. There's 10 bins laid out here with one empty to start with. "What do we do with the bad ones?" "There won't be any bad ones. But if there is, just tell that guy" At which point she points to someone wondering around wearing a welding apron. I nod. Once again, Kelly disappears. I look at the thousand parts before me and sigh. A hell of a first day I tell myself. I pick up the first cross-member. There's a decent weight to them. Probably an easy 30 pounds. I check the notches and all is well. I place it in the empty crate and begin stacking them in an orderly manner as I go through them. I get through the first five with no problems and then I find one with the notch not completely cut out. I carry it over to the guy Kelly pointed out earlier. "Just put it in the bin" he grunts and points to a bin full of random parts. I lay it down in the mish-mash of formed steel and head back over. The next one is partially missing a notch. I put it in the random parts bin. And then I find another. And another. And another. I ask mister disgruntle if he could just get me an empty bin to put them in. He sighs and calls a forklift driver over on his walkie-talkie. Within moments a new empty metal bin is placed in front of me. As I'm going through the parts, I'm noticing I'm coming across more bad ones than good ones. Kelly is nowhere to be found. I keep working. Getting five bins in; four of them are full of bad parts. By this time I wonder what time it is. I find a clock and see it's twelve thirty. I should've had a lunch by now. I'm thirsty, starving, and ready to take a break and fill my lungs with some much-needed nicotine. Kelly is STILL nowhere to be seen. Finally, one in the evening shows up and so does Kelly. Eating a honeybun and sipping on a Mountain Dew, she asks how things are going. I point out to her all the bad parts. She walks over, picks one up and sets it down. So walks to another defective bin and pulls a part. Same thirty second lookover. "Why are these in here Devyl?" Because the notches aren't fully cut out I tell her. She puts a sticker on the full defective bins and radios a forklift driver. He takes them off somewhere deep in the bowels of the factory. "Those were all perfectly fine" she scoffed and looked around. I tell her that the apron guy said they were bad and to put them all in bins. "Is he your boss? No, I am, and I said they were good." Within minutes of this going down, a man in a green polo and khakis rolls up in a golf cart and comes to a stop. He hops out. Older guy. Early 50's maybe. He takes a look at the bad parts bin that wasn't taken since it wasn't full. "Hey, Kelly, What's up with these parts?" Oh they're good she quipped. "Well if they're good, they need to be moved into this other bin so there's more room to get forklift drivers through here. I hate it when this place is a mess. Let me help you move them real quick". He picks up a part. He looks at it for less than five seconds. "These are good Kelly?" "Yeah" she replied. He looks at it again. Closer. Nose inches from the metal. "These notches aren't fully formed. These are bad and need to be filed out." Kelly replied "I'll get right on it" and he hopped on his golf cart and took off. I look at her. "I thought they were good? I ask. "They were, just not this batch" I shake my head. I then tell her since it's almost 1:15 at this point and I haven't had a lunch, I'm just going to clock out thirty minutes early. She shook her head. "No you're not. You're here til two, and you're gonna stay til two." I ask her about my lunch. She replies with a dry 'Not my problem'. I tell her it's illegal for her not to give me a lunch. Once again she retorts with the text-book not my problem spiel. I get mad. And angry. I go off. "I've been busting my rear end all god-damned day and I'm not getting my lunch? This is bullshit. You're a loving rear end in a top hat and I hope you loving lose a finger or something in this place. You're a bitch. Tell Melissa not to call me back unless there's something on second shift that opens up." She's just staring into oblivion like I was speaking Greek and she didn't give a gently caress. I walk away, find my path to the entrance door, and clock myself out. I get into my car and drive home. I've suddenly learned I'm not buying an explorer anytime soon.
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May 6, 2015 03:02
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Devyl posted:The next one is partially missing a notch. I put it in the random parts bin. And then I find another. And another. And another. I ask mister disgruntle if he could just get me an empty bin to put them in. He sighs and calls a forklift driver over on his walkie-talkie. Within moments a new empty metal bin is placed in front of me. As I'm going through the parts, I'm noticing I'm coming across more bad ones than good ones. Kelly is nowhere to be found. I keep working. Getting five bins in; four of them are full of bad parts. By this time I wonder what time it is. I find a clock and see it's twelve thirty. I should've had a lunch by now. I'm thirsty, starving, and ready to take a break and fill my lungs with some much-needed nicotine. Kelly is STILL nowhere to be seen. Finally, one in the evening shows up and so does Kelly. Eating a honeybun and sipping on a Mountain Dew, she asks how things are going. I point out to her all the bad parts. She walks over, picks one up and sets it down. So walks to another defective bin and pulls a part. Same thirty second lookover. Wouldn't a batch of poo poo parts just come back anyway, once they figured out they don't fit? Only options I could see in that case would be to have a rework station (or scrap bin, I guess) right there on the line, or just force them into place and call it good - which are all terrible options from efficiency, quality and cost standpoints. That said, it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.
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May 6, 2015 04:08
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"Do x" *Does x* "No, no, don't do x" gently caress, so am I supposed to do x or not?! I can't wait to see where this story goes
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May 6, 2015 07:04
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So let me guess: Kelly was hired straight into a supervisory position without ever having done the job or knowing anything about it? Great story, can't wait to read the rest.
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May 6, 2015 07:38
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oh my god this thread is giving me a panic attack aaaaaa
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May 6, 2015 14:29
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It's probably not that Kelly was hired with no experience, it's much more likely that she has certain performance targets that are based on a rejection ratio and she gets dinged if her team rejects too many parts. (this is a bad but common way to run a manufacturing operation!)
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May 6, 2015 14:42
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KYOON GRIFFEY JR posted:It's probably not that Kelly was hired with no experience, it's much more likely that she has certain performance targets that are based on a rejection ratio and she gets dinged if her team rejects too many parts. (this is a bad but common way to run a manufacturing operation!) The solution is to not reject parts, because fixing defects in processes would be effort.
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May 6, 2015 15:15
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babyeatingpsychopath posted:The solution is to not reject parts, because fixing defects in processes would be effort. Precisely! It's not only effort, but it's effort that would otherwise be spent making parts, which means you are now Costing The Company Money.
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May 6, 2015 15:26
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KYOON GRIFFEY JR posted:(this is a bad but common way to run a manufacturing operation!) It would probably work fine as long as quality control reported to someone else. When the person in charge of QC has an incentive to not reject things that should be rejected is when you have problems.
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May 6, 2015 15:27
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It's truly an unsolvable mystery as to why American car manufacturers have such a poor reputation.
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May 6, 2015 15:33
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Bookmarked and 5'd. This thread has been great! Maybe it should end up in book form...
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May 6, 2015 15:45
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Phone posted:It's truly an unsolvable mystery as to why American car manufacturers have such a poor reputation. Through the mystery and madness we can see, All your worst fears are realities! Devyl, tell us, are parts inspected/produced on Friday afternoons the worst
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May 6, 2015 15:59
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Phone posted:It's truly an unsolvable mystery as to why American car manufacturers have such a poor reputation. Devyl posted:After we leave the factory, our tour continues. Every nationality in regards to automotive manufacturers are here. Ford, Chevrolet, and GMC are made here and represent our sweet American massive cupholder-bearing home soil. I'm taken through Nissan and Toyota; representing the far east. There's even sauerkraut made here in the form of BMW, Mercedes, and VW. Good thing you aren't a detective. In my experience with this, suppliers will do whatever they goddamn want sometimes and not even tell you. I've had parts that are off a significant margin when it's supposed to be the same design. Same when going from pre-production dies/tooling to the production versions. As an engineer, it's hard to design to one part for months/years and then end up with something quite a bit different at the last minute with no time to fix it.  It's a frustrating business at times. 
Suburban Dad fucked around with this message at 16:24 on May 6, 2015 |
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May 6, 2015 16:20
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What I'm hearing from this is that they may not be doing any kind of in-process inspection of the parts. If they were, they would have caught that the parts were being stamped with burrs or that the tool was actually damaged, and repaired the tool, rather than making 1000 bad parts then checking them afterwards. That said, they may have had in-process inspection and the inspector just wasn't paying attention, or his Kelly just told him to let the bad parts slide because if they pulled the tool early they'd screw up their metrics. Quality and production are always butting heads. Quality is all about fixing problems, which usually means stopping production to do so. Production is all about meeting production targets, which is impossible if they have to stop, because production is usually behind schedule. A properly functioning system would detect a problem quickly, determine whether production needed to be stopped to resolve it, stop production and fix the problem as quickly as possible, and get up and running again. A bad system keeps running bad parts because they don't think they can afford to take the time to fix them immediately, which winds up costing more time and effort to fix them after the fact, or gets missed entirely and results in bad parts getting shipped. You can get away with shipping defects sometimes, so people assume that it's safer to take the chance than screw up their metrics which is guaranteed to get them in trouble. The problem is, when those defects do cause a problem for the customer, it's always going to be a much larger headache and expense than if you had caught them right away and fixed what was causing them. It doesn't help that there are sometimes grey areas, or that one time exceptions get used again when it's convenient. For example: An operator finds that the last 1000 pieces run have a .004" high burr on one edge. The quality supervisor looks at the part and determines that the customer does not explicitly state that burrs are unacceptable, and the burr's location will not interfere with the designed function of the part. He asks for approval to have the parts deburred, but these parts are already late and the customer wants them right now, so based on the fact that the burr is in a non-critical location his boss tells him to ship the parts. This gets relayed down the chain, but all the operator hears is that a burr like that isn't a problem. The next time the operator finds a burr he assumes it's fine, because it's the same size as the burr he saw the last time. This time however the burr is on a critical assembly surface. The customer notices this burr and rejects the parts. Now the parts have to be reworked, round trip shipping costs for the parts have to be paid, and there's a risk of shutting down the customer's production line. For all we know that could have been what happened here. Disgruntled Bovine fucked around with this message at 17:08 on May 6, 2015 |
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May 6, 2015 17:02
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^^As a blue collar as gently caress factory worker, this is spot on.KYOON GRIFFEY JR posted:It's probably not that Kelly was hired with no experience, it's much more likely that she has certain performance targets that are based on a rejection ratio and she gets dinged if her team rejects too many parts. (this is a bad but common way to run a manufacturing operation!) It's all about the deliveries man! poo poo always rolls down hill, so you gotta cover your own rear end!
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May 6, 2015 18:05
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May 6, 2015 18:11
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