| Adventures on the Assembly Line By |
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| Written by By: Michelle Wingard | |
| Thursday, 14 February 2008 | |
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When you purchase a new vehicle, have you ever stopped to think about how many components and tasks are required in the assembly of something so complex? Up until now, you may not have, and that’s normal. But now that your mind has been provoked, perhaps you’re wondering just what goes on behind the doors of a typical assembly plant. From July 2003 through September 2006, I worked as a vehicle assembly technician for one of the well known automakers. I’d rather not divulge which particular company employed me, as I intend to explain this process in a very non-technical manner, without glamorizing it in any way. The goal is to give you, the reader, an accurate feel for what it’s like to work in vehicle manufacturing. When I received the call offering me employment, I accepted it before the voice on the other end of the phone finished his question. I figured it would be a unique opportunity in which I could learn even more about cars, and it honestly sounded like a piece of cake to me. I giggled at the notion that it could be perceived as anything other than simplistic, installing a part on a car in a couple of minutes. As an added bonus, the salary I was offered was more than stealthy. Bright and early, on a sweltering July day, I arrived at work 10 minutes early. I had spent the previous two days in an orientation, watching videos that were almost as captivating as a Unisom commercial. I was eager to get started, clocking in my ten hours of “easy work”. I was notified that I would be working in the chassis department, which handles everything from attaching the wheels to pasting on window stickers. For about five minutes, I thought I had it made, and I was absolutely convinced that I had been placed in an area with the best jobs. I was led to a station where a man was installing weather stripping on the passenger side of the vehicle, and installing a kick panel and scuff plate. The individual performing the job seemed to have no problem completing the task in around 50 seconds, further reinforcing my idea that there was simply no effort required. His movements were perfectly articulated, and he almost looked robotic as he did the same operation, with the same motion on each vehicle that came his way. I began getting bored, gazing at the overhead lighting while waiting until this guy would allow me to attempt this by myself. The moment finally came, and I was ready to prove my mechanical aptitude. About ten minutes into the job, I found myself wishing that the guy I had watched doing this job would magically reappear to bail me out, as I fell more and more behind with each approaching unit. I barely had the time to install the pieces before an annoying buzzer would go off, notifying me that I had overstepped my station boundaries. I fumbled with the weather stripping, couldn’t seem to get the kick panels to align, and I bent no less than eight push pins each time I’d try to install two. A supervisor began scowling at me that I needed to get my act together, and pick up the pace. The entire ordeal was terrifying me, but I decided that it would be in my best interest to buck up and do what he said. We were forewarned that when a supervisor spoke, you had two choices. Listen carefully and obey, or hit the door. I resolved to put my best effort forth, and make the situation work. By break time, my hair, which I spent a good twenty minutes styling, was saturated with sweat. My eyes burned from the mix of perspiration and hairspray that seemed to be on a constant drip since I began the weather stripping job. My flawlessly applied eyeliner had smeared to such a degree that I looked like a linebacker. My entire body hurt, especially the tips of each finer on my right hand, and my thumbs on both hands, which felt like they had been attacked with a claw hammer. As I sat in the air conditioned break room, I listened to a group of four people who, like myself, had started their first day just a few hours prior. Three decided they had enough, and they were calling it quits. While I envied the fact that they must have been in a really good financial position to leave, I was also quite irritated that people could justify giving up so easily. Getting through the first day was extremely difficult, although I was able to find a way to maintain my pace and accomplish the tasks correctly. When the assembly line finally stopped moving after 10 hours, I stood still and continued to feel as though vehicles were moving towards me. When I got home, the first thing I did was plop down on the couch, emotionally and physically spent. I explained the entire day to my husband, and told him that the work wasn’t easy. Both his father as well as mine spent in excess of thirty years doing the same thing that almost wrecked me after one DAY. It’s one of those experiences where, until you’ve lived it, you can’t possibly imagine the difficulty and self control involved. Of course each day got a little bit easier. I started blending in with the existing employees, rather than being the standout newbie with two left hands. After learning the line speed, the constant movements, and how to adapt to different patterns, the supervisor started moving me around to other jobs. Within a couple of months, I was a proficient weather stripping installer, seat installer, fascia installer, and center console installer. I became a “floater”, which is a person who moves around to many different jobs. The lack of consistency bothered me on certain days, but changing jobs so often was of great help in breaking up the monotony. I met quite a few wonderful people while employed at the plant. On breaks, we would play cards together. When the line would malfunction, if only for 40 seconds, we would simultaneously begin singing whatever song was playing on the closest radio. While you’ll always have someone who is simply there to earn a paycheck, the vast majority pours their heart and soul into producing quality vehicles. These individuals pride themselves on putting their personal touch on their work, ensuring that each vehicle that leaves their station was assembled correctly. Like most assembly plants, the two that I worked in were extremely efficient. On breaks, people would clean up stray bolts and pieces parts, replacing them in the bins to cut down on waste. If a worker had to stop the assembly line, a supervisor would appear quickly to assist in fixing the problem, keeping the line running smoothly. In the second year of my assembly plant stint, I experienced a fairly frightening incident while installing exhaust systems. Although I was wearing the mandated safety glasses, a piece of metal fell into my eye as I seated the exhaust. I was amazed at how well the accident was handled, when I had two supervisors and four assemblers run to my rescue. I begged them to allow me to go into the ladies restroom to remove the object myself. It wasn’t that I was trying to be tough, but due to the fact that I have an extreme fear of anyone other than myself touching my eye. I was transported to the in house medical facility, where anesthetic drops were applied to my eye. I was still disturbed by the fact that the doctor was prodding my eyeball with a wooden stick, but within about 10 minutes, the metal was removed and I was good to go. Several weeks following the eye injury, I was approached by management. They explained to me that they were having attendance issues in the paint department, and asked me if I would be interested in moving there. I always had the desire to learn how to paint, so I jumped at the chance. A surprising number of jobs within the plant are done by automation, and many of the programmed robotics can be seen prominently in the paint department. My new job consisted of spraying primer under the hood, on the drip rails, and in the door jambs. Again, this sounds incredibly simple, but such is not the case. While general painting is a skill that can be learned, perfecting it is something that requires skill which either a person has, or they don’t. In my case, I was lucky. By the middle of the day, I was applying the primer evenly and without sags. My supervisors were impressed, and I was proud of myself. After working in the plant for a couple of years, it does start to play mind games with you. For example, on the bad days, I would try to unwind before going to bed. Once I would finally relax into complete sedation, I would have recurring dreams of the vehicles approaching me on the line, with me being the sole worker at the plant that day. In my waking hours, I would see the vehicles on the road, and give them the evil look before erupting into laughter. In light of the layoffs that ultimately cost me my job, I harbor no bitterness whatsoever. I befriended many people in the confines of that plant, and the knowledge I was rewarded with is absolutely priceless. If I had my chance, I wouldn’t trade those three years of my life for anything, and I would do it all over again in a New York minute. The most valuable lesson I learned over those three years was that contrary to popular belief, autoworkers are NOT underworked and overpaid. Nobody can make that assumption without walking a mile in my coveralls. Comment (0) |