Monday kicks off like you never left, Google even labeled my job site as “home” because I spend more time there than in my actual bed. You walk in already behind, because on Saturday you ran yourself out of work thanks to some sales rep and a buyer who couldn’t organize a wet dream, let alone a production schedule.

“It’ll be here Thursday at 10 PM,” they said, like that helps when you’re dry by Tuesday. So, we start the week digging through rework and playing Guess What’s Broken Today before the poor material handler drags over a cart of parts. Spoiler: none are the ones you asked for.

Because the line managers? They treat Mondays like they’re fictional. “We’ll order it Monday!” as if Amazon Prime for industrial parts is a real thing. So by the time you get anything remotely useful, the day’s half gone. And the two parts you really needed? Never made the list. You’re either hunting someone down or preparing for a day of professional broom pushing.

Six hours later, you finally make one full part. Start to finish. Miraculous. Then comes the line leader asking, “Why aren’t we hitting our numbers?” And you give him a calm, dead-eyed smile and say:
“Well, I asked my youngest to bring me a hammer, and they handed me screws.”
They blink. “But I meant today’s numbers.”
“I know,” you say. “So did I.”
They eventually stomp off like mad 3 year old.

Tuesday might go well or it’s an open sewer fire, but somehow you make your quota and build a little cushion. You notice you’re running low on something small. A screw. Something you could buy at lowes. You tell the line leader, knowing full well they’ll forget. So you mentally prep your “I told you so” for Wednesday.

And here’s Wednesday. The day you wish was Thursday, but instead it’s just a cruel joke in the middle of your sentence.

BS meeting time. You mention the screws ,again and hear, “Oh, it’ll be here tomorrow.” You smile like a serial killer and say, “Cool, I’ve got enough for about two hours.” They panic. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

And now you’ve got to translate that into HR-friendly terms.

“Well, I tried asking the donkey to do his job, and now all I’ve got are feathers from dead chickens, but hey I can sit down now knowing I tried.”

Then you ask, “Are we working Saturday?”
And the answer is always the same: “As long as you hit quota, I don’t think so.”
Translation: Get ready for Saturday.

So now it’s Thursday, you’re praying to the gods of inventory, parts finally show up, and you and your team bust ass, minus the one human snail who somehow strips five bolt heads in a row. You try giving them simple tasks like “put bolts in here” and “if snug back out oil and tap” they still manage to break the tap. Even after you explained, twice, Nope. Broken.

Then, hallelujah, Friday. You’re down to 20 parts. The end is near. But then meeting time! And here comes the ass-kissing line leader with the Assistant Plant Manager.

PR voice on:
“Y’all been working real hard, and I know it’s been a long haul. So the customer’s asking for more. And to thank you… I’m buying y’all pizza for Saturday!”
He says it like he’s Santa Claus, then leaves before you can respond with something that would send him to therapy.

So now you get to call the wife and kids we will have to do it sunday.

Saturday rolls around. Morale? Gone. Patience? Dead. Give-a-fuck meter? Zero.

The boss shows up with the cardboard pizza and a manipulative smile. “Hey guys, come upstairs to eat and maybe volunteer for Sunday? There’s a raffle! You could win a free tote bag with our company logo on it.”

One-third of the team, bless their Stockholm Syndrome hearts, agrees. You? You burst out laughing like a villain in a horror movie and say, “Yeah, that’s a hard no.”

Sunday your one sacred day you see your family, maybe touch some grass, and mentally prep to do it all again.

But we keep ourselves sane. With jokes. With our co-workers. And by talking shit about our bosses so we don’t become a true crime podcast episode.