Chapter 15: The Former Manager on the Assembly Line
899 Words
The factory lights were merciless.
White.
Flat.
Endless.
They showed every stain on the floor, every scratch on the metal tables, every tired face bent over the assembly line.
At six-thirty in the evening, I stood with twelve other temporary workers while a supervisor handed out blue jackets.
"No phones on the line. No talking. Bathroom breaks only during rotation. If you slow the line, you leave. If you damage goods, pay from wages. Understand?"
Everyone nodded.
So did I.
The jacket smelled of detergent and plastic. It was too tight across my shoulders.
The supervisor looked at my registration form.
"Ethan Zhou?"
"Yes."
"Age thirty-three?"
"Yes."
He glanced up.
"You ever done factory work?"
"No."
His mouth twisted.
"Office guy?"
I did not answer quickly enough.
He laughed.
"I knew it. Hands too clean."
Several workers turned to look.
I kept my face still.
The supervisor slapped a stack of labels onto the table.
"You stick these on the battery packs. Code aligned with the lower edge. No bubbles. No crooked labels. Fast hands. If inspection rejects them, we all suffer."
"Understood."
"We'll see."
He put me at the third station.
The woman to my left snapped labels from the sheet and pressed them down in one smooth motion. The man to my right moved even faster. The packs slid toward me in a steady rhythm.
Pick up.
Peel.
Align.
Press.
Slide.
Again.
Again.
Again.
For the first ten minutes, I thought I could handle it.
By the first hour, my back had begun to ache.
By the second, my fingers were sticky from adhesive.
By the third, I had ruined seven labels and the supervisor had hit the edge of my table twice with a plastic ruler.
"Faster, new guy."
I swallowed my anger.
"I'm trying."
"Try faster."
The line did not care about my old title.
It did not care that I had once negotiated with million-dollar clients.
It did not care that I could build a full market entry plan in one night.
It cared whether a sticker sat straight on a battery pack.
And at that moment, I was not very good at it.
At midnight, we had a twenty-minute meal break.
The meal was rice, watery cabbage, and a piece of chicken with more skin than meat.
I sat at the far end of the cafeteria and flexed my fingers under the table.
The skin near my thumb had split.
Small cut.
Sharp pain.
A young worker sat across from me without asking. He looked about twenty, maybe less, with sleepy eyes and a grin that appeared before his words.
"First night?"
"That obvious?"
"You still sit straight."
I almost laughed.
"That will change?"
"By three in the morning, everybody sits like their soul left."
He tore open a packet of chili sauce and dumped it over his rice.
"What did you do before?"
I looked down at my meal.
"Client strategy."
He blinked.
"What is that?"
"Convincing people to buy things."
"Sales?"
"Something like that."
"Then why are you here?"
Good question.
I picked up my chopsticks.
"Life collapsed."
He grinned.
"You talk like a book."
"Books collapse too."
He laughed so loudly the woman at the next table frowned at him.
"I'm Leo," he said.
"Ethan."
"Don't worry, Ethan. Everybody is slow first week. Supervisor shouts because his wife shouts at him at home."
This time I did laugh.
It surprised me.
The sound felt rusty.
After the break, the line became harder.
Night did something strange to time. Between two and four in the morning, the world narrowed to lights, labels, sore feet, and the hum of machines. My eyes burned. Twice, I pressed labels slightly crooked and had to redo them. The supervisor cursed under his breath.
At four-thirty, I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
In the mirror, I saw a man in a blue factory jacket with red eyes and a cut thumb.
Not Manager Zhou.
Not Olivia's failed husband.
Not QinTech's scapegoat.
Just a man trying to stay awake.
I stared at him.
"Don't quit," I whispered.
The bathroom door opened.
A woman stepped in halfway, then stopped when she saw me.
"Sorry," she said. "Wrong door."
She was wearing the same blue jacket, but with a quality inspection badge clipped to the front. Her hair was tied low at the back of her neck. She looked tired, but her eyes were clear.
"It's fine," I said.
She glanced at my bleeding thumb.
"You should cover that. Adhesive will make it worse."
Before I could answer, she handed me a small bandage from her pocket.
I took it.
"Thank you."
She nodded and left.
I looked down at the bandage in my hand.
Small.
Ordinary.
Unasked for.
After three months of being blamed for needing anything, even that felt unfamiliar.
The shift ended at six in the morning.
When I walked out of the factory, the sky was pale and wet. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
Leo slapped my shoulder.
"You survived."
"Barely."
"Barely counts."
I smiled.
Then I saw the quality inspector from the bathroom standing near the gate, checking something on her phone.
She looked up.
Our eyes met.
For some reason, she smiled.
Not much.
Just enough to make the morning feel less cold.
I did not know her name yet.
But I would.
- Writer
