So, my manager calls me into his office the other day. You know, the little one with the flickering light. He doesn’t even say hello, just points at a number printed on a sheet of paper.
“Your work speed,” he says, all serious. “It was slower last Thursday. You need to show more hustle.”
Right. So I explain, for what feels like the tenth time, that the labeling machine was down. Completely jammed. I had to do all that work by hand, which obviously takes longer.
He just nods, but his eyes are glazed over. He didn’t hear a word.
So you know what his brilliant solution was? To “fix” my speed? He’s giving me *more* paperwork. A new form to fill out every hour, tracking what I’m doing. Because nothing makes you work faster like stopping to write about it every sixty minutes.
I just walked out and went back to the floor. And honestly? I wasn’t even that mad. It’s almost funny.
This job… the work itself is one thing. But dealing with the manager? That’s the real skill you develop here. I’m not just getting better at my tasks—I’m getting a master’s degree in navigating pointless meetings and idiotic rules.
