"Made in China" by sweat and blood: the whole truth about manufacturing in China

An eyewitness, a user of "Picaboo", told about the reverse side of working in factories in China. Everyone knows that the Chinese make goods for the whole world. But did you know that they also use respiratory masks instead of toilet paper, stick their hands in working machines and easily bypass the most serious"fool protection"?

Often at toy exhibitions, Russian wholesalers say in order to attract customers: "We have our own factory in China, where little Asians in elf hats, singing joyful songs, fuck toys for our children! Take it from us, we do everything ourselves with love…»

How do you distinguish a person who has a factory in China from one who claims to have a factory? You ask: well, how do you do manufacturing in China? The one that says: "In general, everything is ahrenititelno, the Chinese are hardworking guys, they do everything qualitatively..." - stars. The one who says: "How I hate them, to think about it, I hate them! Fuck me, I even messed with this... " - he definitely has his own factory.

To be honest, it is not always possible to make toys "with love", because unexpected bullshit is a favorite companion of production, where there is at least one Chinese.

It seems to me that the Chinese are a nation with the lowest instinct for self-preservation. Every day at the plant there are meetings, safety trainings, they say, do not stick your little Asian hands in the working machines and do not make unnecessary movements in the direction of the rotating mechanisms. There are still a couple of enthusiastic experimenters who consider themselves smarter, more agile, faster than, say, a sawing machine. Hence, there is a slight loss of limbs. I now understand where the expression "make with blood and sweat" came from.

No matter what protection the machines have, whether factory-made or modified by ourselves, there is always an individual who will bypass it due to" non-standard " thinking.

The other day, the dude broke the tendons on his arm. His task was to put one stick at a time in the automatic feeder. One stick left, put the second one down. And so on until the useru, until either the sticks run out, or the working hours, or the monotonous work beckons and he quits. Fucking simple algorithm of actions, I would say. Just stick a fucking stick in the fucking machine. What could be easier? In my opinion, a great job, suppressing all sorts of extraneous thought processes and individualism. But if there is an opportunity to shit, the Chinese will shit. All the same, they consider themselves masters-shifu, we white people, some kind of bullshit from the evil one, because it is he, Lao Wang, with two classes of education in a rural school, who knows how to curb the shaitan machine and increase productivity twice. 

In short, he decided to stick several sticks at once. The sticks did not fit, because we anticipated this course of events and put the limiters. But, as they say, if the patient wants to live, then medicine is powerless. While the chief technologist left, this failed design engineer decided to show "ingenuity", tearing off the guides, twisting the screws, and putting a couple of sticks at once. A second later, he was yelling and running around the shop with a stick sticking out of his hand, like a harpooned whale. We took him to the office for dressing, there is just a large bucket filled with water, apparently someone was washing the floors. 

It means that this "podstrelysh" pulls the stick out of his hand, and it went very deep. While they were helping, this dude decided that dripping blood on a clean floor was not a fucking gentleman and did not correspond to his idea of good manners in emergency situations, so he began to do it in a bucket, thereby painting all the water red. During the dressing process, people periodically came into the office, looked at the stick on the floor, the five-liter bucket of "blood" filled to the brim, at the thin Chinese man, who looked like only a glass of blood, and the most sensitive ones with their legs knocked down began to slowly slide down the wall.

In addition to security, there is also a cultural aspect to the education of workers. You can take a girl out of a village, but you can never take a village out of a girl. It's exactly the same here. How much work it cost to wean spitting in the shop, and not only men, but also women. The Chinese spit fucking scary-first they collect all the snot with sounds consisting of a mixture of coughing in the last stage of tuberculosis, waking up fucking Cthulhu, opening the abyss and the seven gates of hell, landing a fighter and the brutal mating of two male and one female elephants. 

Then it all erupts right under your feet, no matter where you sit. With a slap. All right, that's over, now there's a new problem. Clogged pipes in the toilet, plumbers said that it is urgent to wean people to wipe their ass with respiratory masks, which are issued in dusty workshops, because it is not good to throw them in the toilet. That's how it is, huh? Come on how… What the fuck?.. After all, it's not an isolated case. Maybe the local Asians have some kind of fetish? Well, like breathe into the mask, and then you know.

In fact, our permanent workers are trained into quite cultured creatures. A little more education, and some of them will even begin to walk straight, and then a reasonable person is not far away. All the problems described above begin when, due to a shortage of labor, temporary workers have to be hired for one-time work. In China, every industrial zone has a market for "temporary workers". There are those who are trapped to work officially, a kind of freelancers-gypsies of the world of workers who do not want to be tied to one place — today here, tomorrow in general in another province dumped. 

Labor migration is for those who love romance and travel. This market is an extremely disgusting place. The stench, the dirt, the untidy people, something like the Middle Ages during the plague from the pictures. All that was needed was for crows to peck at the corpse of a homeless man somewhere in the corner of the square. The chance of choosing someone more or less acceptable from this rabble is much lower than the chance of me being appointed Queen of England tomorrow.

Have you ever fed a fish in a pond in the park by throwing a piece of bread into the water? That's about the same effect produced by the appearance of a potential employer on the market. All the dirty and squalid begin to flock from all the fucking cracks, like district gopniks on the tracks of "Caspian Cargo" from the window of the tinted nine, who from the alley, who from under the cardboard crawls out, surrounding you in a tight ring. The most cunning of them will immediately climb into your car and do not want to get out. 

And now the most interesting thing begins — you need to somehow love your work and try to find yourself "production satellites". To say that the standard of selection is falling lower and lower by the minute is an understatement. In the end, you think that if an employee has at least two full-fledged hands and does not drool, then he will go. I think that's about how Jack Sparrow felt when he recruited a team on Tortuga.

In addition to all this, the plant is constantly being checked by various authorities. From these checks, one conclusion follows — the fire extinguishers should have been bought from the brother of the inspector, the rest are all "shitty" and they need to be replaced.

Working as a factory manager is a baptism of shit and a sword. Working day from 7: 30 in the morning to 18: 30 + round-up with a check, 6 days a week + periodically Sunday, around people with a low level of education or lack of it, as well as barbaric habits. If you do not periodically dilute the sadness-melancholy with French cognac, you can go and go to the durka, before running naked out of the factory doors, waving a hammer and shouting "My aunt was a circular saw!" to crash into a crowd of people, kheracha everything and everyone in its path.

The saddest thing is the environment. It eats away at the brain, blurs perception, and pulls at the bottom. I made a firm promise to myself that if I lost the line between a respirator mask and toilet paper — I would give up this job once and for all.

Such are the pies with kittens.