Big Machine
(Clerking 13)
We have, at my Library, acquired, for a
million or so dollars, a machine. This machine, through a series of
belts, ramps, RFID readers and bins, checks in the vast majority of
our Library materials and roughly sorts them according to 20 or so
different parameters. Before I tell you about how I love, love to
the point of weepiness, this humming, beeping, blinking giant of a
machine, I must first tell you about how strange and out of time it
all feels, how it transplants me to an industrial age. Yes this
machine is run on a computer, rich with big screen readouts and
entirely modern radio chip readers, but it feels, and truly is, more
kin to something out of the Industrial Revolution. It hums with
power. It's glory is all in moving parts, all its belts and pulleys
and giant rubber bands. When it goes wrong it does not freeze and
become mysterious and intractable like our modern wonders, repeating
minor errors obsessively, glitching in abstract, autistic non-sequiturs. No, when it goes wrong it eats books! It makes
digestive noises as it eats them. It refuses to cooperate. It looks
you in the eye and spits books to the wrong places. It chews itself
to pieces as it breaks down. It does not “Glitch”, it gets
confused, insolent, comical. It is human!
I will not glorify the Industrial
Revolution, nor presume to give you a history lesson. I must though,
for the sake of this account, say that its result was not to give
workers a lighter time of it. But it could have been. Partly this is
because there can be differences in the fundamental tenor of ones job
when it becomes more industrialized, but there don't have to be
differences. The vast majority of it depends upon whether you become
a part of the machine or whether you become the boss of the machine.
If you are a part of the machine you may like one thing better than
another, but as long as there is work to do you are always either
doing it or not doing it. If you are the boss of the machine you
quickly begin to accrete some of the wondrous benefits of being a
boss. I don't want to glorify here, but when you are the boss, those
you are the boss of do work on your behalf. You are always working as
long as you are facilitating the environment where work is done. What
defines this facilitation? On the one hand merely the fact of the
work getting done. On the other, well, the boss defines it. Put
simply, no matter what you do you're working!
Here, I'll show you. If my job is to
scan library materials and sort them into 20 bins, the moment I start
reading a book, wandering to get coffee, or chatting with a co-worker
I have instantly ceased to do my job. I have slowed down the process.
I have become guilty. My boss could come up to me and say “Aren't
you supposed to be scanning these materials and sorting them?” to
which I could say “Oh, I was just making sure this book's binding
was okay, its heft and crackle felt a touch off.” or “It's my
coffee break.” or “I was just explaining to Leroy here to watch
out for books with a funny heft and crackle.” but whether or not I
say any of these things there's not much to do at that point but
start checking in Library materials and sorting them, and probably
watch my back for awhile. However, if my job is to make sure the
machine, the AMH ( the automatic materials handler), is processing
and sorting, as long as it's doing that, who cares what I'm doing? My
boss is greatly less inclined to worry about my working when before
both our eyes work is clearly being done on both our behalf’s. Oh,
there are hundreds of things to do to facilitate the machine's work,
all tending and attending; a filled bin might need to be replaced,
and a book pulled into the rollers is a moment to drop everything,
but a good deal of the time is hovering, being ready, keeping an eye
on, and all of that, while it must be done, can be done while getting
coffee, reading or chatting. The books are all getting checked in,
aren't they.
Which brings me to the point that the
process and benefits of being a boss tends to place a person on the
dark side. I'll go easy on you and say if you're a really good and
conscientious boss there is no reason for you to necessarily become
evil, but all that watching and telling people and having other
people do work for you, all
that bossing, and getting paid more for it, is dicey
stuff, dangerous stuff. But if you are bossing a machine, well, as
long as it's mostly non-sentient, you're off the hook.
And that brings us to the love. I work
36 hours a week. This is approximately 36 hours more a week than I'd
ideally like to work. If someone kind and unobtrusive wants to come
in, granting me every authority and respect, and make my job more
pleasant, easier, boss-like yet without any victim, then I am
delighted to have them. If they want to generally increase my access
to coffee breaks, recreational reading, lightness and distraction I
rejoice. I rejoice so much that looking over at said co-worker makes
my heart all gushy inside. It makes me want to walk over to said
co-worker and give it a big hug, except, I don't because my arm could
get caught in said co-worker and be torn from my body.
Or maybe that is all too much. Allow me
to dial it back one notch. As I've said before, these machines are my
co-workers too. Imagine for yourself a co-worker, hulking, but
gentle. This co-worker is not versatile because they are not very
bright. Actually they're just barely functional. But they are strong.
And tireless. And they insist on doing a tedious and time consuming
sub-section of your job round the clock. They do what it would take 5
or 6 other workers together to do. They don't complain, though you
might wonder about some of the strange whining noises they make. They
can't do this job without you. They need a lot of attention, take
instruction poorly and have to be watched, facilitated or repaired
pretty much all of the time. But they are sort of companionable, and
they like working for you, for free. And though they never bring in
cookies, how on earth could you expect them to make cookies! Besides,
they never eat more than their share when others bring them in. What
I am saying about this machine is it's not perfect. It has good
points and bad points, but its good points well outweigh it's bad.
And for those of you with co-workers, you well know how beautifully
high on the curve that is.
Now that I have boss-myn like moments in my life I am compelled to reflect on the shoals and dangers of my position. Considering the context of my situation (frickin' spinal damage), I often find it precarious to delicately request assistance from those persons who are paid to help me. The friend who comes over to clean up once a week left cat food scattered in the corner of the closet sized bathroom. Whether I express my dismay over such pathetic nonsense might depend on the kind of day I'm having. Having a spouse certainly provides a hapless screen onto whom I can safely project these otherwise corrosive expressions.
ReplyDeleteThe fine youngsters who help me garden always seem eager to work. As I have married "Uptown" I am able to pay them almost twice the amount that I was ever paid during my years as an able bodied gardener. Does this piss me off? No. ...
I also ply these aesthetically capable and decent kids with good Chinese teas and sometimes tea nibbles if such is available while they work. And, I stay out of their way and try not to be too borish and hovering. All in all they seem pleased.
The friend who stops by to help clean up does good brisk work. Though it is beyond me why he doesn't pursue his considerable talents and cultivate a more rounded satisfaction. I never could.