The Real Value of a Job Well Done

Working hard, owning the job, doing more than what was expected, and being a success were all lessons my father instilled from early childhood. Working in his furniture manufacturing plant for the first summer put all of those lessons in to play and helped ensure I understood the value of a job well done.

My first assignment was to assist one of the production workers, Lena, with stuffing sofa cushions. A big machine squeezed the foam rubber cushion into a small square which allowed Lena to slip the cushion cover over the end. The machine would release the foam rubber which would expand to its original size and fill the cushion cover. To me, it seemed like simple magic and an easy way to make money. I learned my job was to simply zip the cushion after Lena stuffed it with foam. After that Lena could rip off the production ticket sewed to the cover and earn $.05. I earned the minimum wage at that time which seemed like the less lucrative option compared to the countless millions that Lena had to earn stuffing cushions. By my calculations she probably stuffed three million cushions during an eight hour day and probably brought home a beautiful paycheck.

The magic wore off and reality set in when I attempted to zip my first cushion. Some how the extra thick foam rubber cushion made the sides of the zipper not want to meet or close. After much struggling, squeezing, and manipulating I was finally able to close the zipper all the way and rip off the ticket. I started a brand new pile for which was sure to be a mountain of sofa cushions and then turned around to find that Lena had already stuffed eight cushions during the time it took me to zip one. She raised one eyebrow to give me a quick glance and then continued stuffing cushions. I quickly grabbed the closest cushion and tried to find a more efficient way to zip it and gain speed.

After what must have been another ten minutes of battle, I finally zipped a second cushion. I placed it carefully on top of my first masterpiece and turned around to discover Lena had almost hidden herself with the huge pile of sofa cushions she had stuffed. Sensing I was standing idle, she peered around the corner and proceeded to demonstrate the fastest way to zip the cushion. She placed the cushion under her massive, muscular triceps, squeezed the two sides together with the slightest effort and then easily closed the zipper. Then she promptly hurled the cushion across the department and knocked over my small pile like bowling pins.

Before I could give her technique any thought she was back at her machine whisking sofa cushions over her shoulder like a robot. I whipped a cushion up off the floor and tried my best to follow her approach but my fifteen year old arms were too small, and the sides of the cushion simply would not meet as easily.

By break time I had zipped four cushions. The minimum wage was a little over two dollars per hour then, so I had earned four dollars already that morning while Lena had earned twenty cents. The dollars and cents were easy to calculate thanks to the four $.05 stickers on Lena's production sheet. She conveyed her frustration to me as she headed toward the break room with, "You better have those cushions caught up by the time I get back."

I concluded she really just didn't understand that my arms were smaller than hers. Then I thought about how nothing mattered but the fact that she wasn't getting paid until I finished my part of the job. I wrapped my blistered fingers with duct tape and hurriedly started zipping cushions as if I were held at gunpoint. The only way I could get the zippered ends to meet was by throwing the cushion on the floor and then squashing it with my leg. My technique resembled a deep knee bend with padding, but at least it worked.

By lunch time I still hadn't caught up with Lena's progress, so I worked through lunch and wrestled the stubborn cushions into submission. The day continued to progress with my zipping one cushion for every ten that Lena stuffed. With one hour left in the work day, Lena turned off the big, magical machine which had worked so flawlessly for her all day and started helping me zip. She zipped the cushion and ripped off the ticket with precision. Her moves resembled an automated machine, and I felt like an inept heel. My blisters bred more blisters which bled under my duct tape band aid and ran down to my elbows. My job became even more difficult as I had to make sure I didn't get blood stains on the cushions I fought to zip.

By quitting time, Lena and I had three hundred complete cushions to our credit. I felt victorious but noticed Lena looked upset. She never uttered a word, but I knew she was disappointed. As I followed her to the time clock I nonchalantly asked how many cushions she finished on a normal day. Without missing a step she responded, "...between five and six hundred." I felt like a failure as I realized that Lena was able earn more than double the amount of money she'd earned with me with no help at all. I glanced up to watch Lena punch the time clock as I calculated how much the day yielded both of us. I'd earned $17.20 for my day of disaster while Lena earned $15.00 for doing her job and half of mine.

The true value of the job I'd done hit me as I watched Lena's hand leave her time card. I noticed a bright red lipstick mark in the corner. I remembered Dad mentioning that several of the folks at the plant couldn't read and had to use lipstick to identify their time cards. Lena was an adult working a job to provide for her children, while I was a teenager working for the summer to help my father and earn spending money. Because I had done a poor job, Lena's paycheck that week would be significantly less, and her family would suffer.

As an adult now, I remember my summer with Lena well. I remember the lesson I learned about how the work I do effects others in visible and non-visible ways. I also thank my father for teaching me the true value of a job well done.