So, there is one man welding, and hammering, there are five rigs running, and five other guys standing around watching the other guy weld; it looks like they are shoot'n the sh*t out there, having a good-ole-time on the tax payers dime. One guy is holding a shovel, but hasn't used it the whole time he has been standing there--it appears there is no need for a shovel. All the guys are just standing there in the middle of the road with their hands in their pockets, walking in circles.
I can't speak for them, but I was on several jobs in my youth during which we worked ******** and elbows when we could, but had to wait for some technician or specialist to finish doing their job before we could resume.
A perfect foreman can schedule 100% effort from each and every employee 100% of the time. A decent foreman is lucky to figure out how to schedule 30%-60% effectiveness from his workers. A good foreman can increase that to 60%-80%. A great foreman can squeak out 80% to 95% because he both selects and motivates workers who'll help him figure out most of what's left.
As a lifeguard, I spent 29% of my time doing nothing but soaking up rays while waiting and watching for the 1% of the time where I needed to leap into action.
Another 29% of our time was spent cleaning, scrubbing and rearranging the pool, its grounds, and furniture, and providing maintenance from routine.
The "final" 29% was usually spent grabbing a quick couple of laps, a meal, negotiating work schedules, going over routine points in training, conversing with the pool patrons and their guests, and sometimes we actually sat down and rested! Or, as Beretta92FSLady might put it, we "leaned on our shovels."
That still leaves 13%. For the few of us who "felt like it and were mechanically inclined" we did rather extensive maintenance and repair of pumps, filters, gauges, lines, equipment, water coolers, snack machines, even preparing sidewalk and deck concrete pours and finishing. This brought up our workload up to full capacity. I probably violated a dozen contracts in my time, but (1) I didn't know about contracts back then and (2) I'm sure I saved management tons of money, so they looked the other way. At one point I was elevated to a "pool consultant" level where management would pay me double time to work overtime, on my day off, to "rescue" problem pools, which I was usually able to do in one or two days.
That took care of 10%, but that last 3%? Most of that involved riding herd on kids, disciplinary conference talks with both kids and their parents, and filling out paperwork.
For the last smidgeon, perhaps 1/10th of 1%, I did a total of five times in four years of lifeguarding my way through college. Two involved diving board mishaps. One involved a toddler wandering over the edge. The fourth involved some kid running over to where another lifeguard had just poured concentrated sulfuric acid onto a blemished patch of concrete and stepping in it to see what it was like -- I simply scooped him up, got wet, and we went for a 15-minute swim together.
The fifth was a real nightmare, a very serious, potentially lethal leak in the gaseous chlorination system that required immediate evacuation of the entire recreation club area, the immediate (and chlorine gas immersed) rescue of the lifeguard who'd inadvertently caused the leak, a temporary repair of the leak, evacuation and emergency treatment of myself, and follow-up with local fire/rescue. The lifeguard was taken to the hospital and released eight hours later. I was fine after being rubbed down with baking soda (counters the dissolved acidic effects of chlorine gas on the skin) followed by a subsequent application of aloe. The pool was reopened in less than 1 hour, with the gaseous chlorination system disabled until inspection and repair by certified individuals and we switched to our backup system of 30% liquid sodium hypochlorite (10 times more potent than household bleach). Today, because of the hazards of that solution, they use between 10% and 20% solution.
My point in all this? In our capitalistic society, companies who're inefficient in the gainful employment of their workers will quickly go broke! The next time you casually see an employee "sitting on their ass," just ask yourself if you've actually observed them over the last eight, ten, or twelve hours. Were they most sitting on their butts during that time? What percentage of the time were they actually working? etc.
*****
Meanwhile, while flying combat missions in Iraq, we had a down day ever other day. Had Beretta92FSLady observed us during our "down day," they might have written up a storm, much as did the media after Hillary Clinton's recent "night" (actually, about 1.5 hrs) out with friends and a beer.
Before you think this a "juicy" assignment, think this: We had no beer in Iraq, but our "day off" might seem like la-la land to Beretta92FSLady had he seen us jogging around the compound or playing a pick-up game of touch football. I doubt he would have considered the 16-20 hr flying days every other day with an average of 5 hrs of "light, self and command-directed duty" during which we'd take care of physical conditioning, the study of regulations, and rotating support shifts at the squadron, which themself including manning radios, crew driver, water/meal hauler, squadron scheduler, regs monitor, adjutant, and a host of others.
Bottom line:
- 18 hrs/day flying the line, post-breakfast to post-debrief ever other day. That comes to an average of 9 hrs/day
- 5 hrs/day duty on non-flying days. That comes to an average of 2.5 hrs/day
Total time: 11.5 hrs/day, but by the time you add the unofficial time we same-billeted crews wound up discussing rules, regs, and procedures off the books, it was well beyond 13 hrs a day.
And yes, combat troops are required by law to work up to but no more than 12 hrs/day, except under exceptional combat-related circumstances, and yes, I experienced my fair share of those, which required us to fly upwards of either three 18 hr missions in a row with just 8 hrs down between, or up to 24 hrs straight followed by some much needed downtime in excess of 12 hrs.
So, at 11.5 hrs/day, there wasn't much room for surge, but we gave it our all.
And yes, dammit! Sometimes I laid down on that ramp or on top of a pile of cargo (ramp was too hot) for a few minutes in the relatively cool 110 deg shade and "
leaned against my shovel" while I allowed my brain cells and their associated chemicals a chance to regroup for half an hour for the second nine hours of our crew duty day. The pilots usually sweated it out in the sun-driven heat up front, but they usually weren't back with myself and our loadmasters pushing cargo on and off between legs, either. Bottom line, we all usually wound up pulling one another's fat out of the fire sooner or later. That's what combat is: A team coming together to accomplish the mission.
Meanwhile, back in Seattle...
I recall once bristling at the fact that a certain cement company was charging me by the hour as I watched them arrive, mix, pour, and smooth the concrete slab that had been destroyed by Hurricane Fran in 1996. A day later, I sat down, calculator in hand, and figured out how long it would have taken me to do the same, whether I'd mixed it in my wheel-barrow, rented a small, medium, or large mixer, or simply had them dump the entire load for me to float.
And I smiled. I realized I was bristling most when some of them were leaning against their shovels! Yet all they were doing was waiting for another, non-concurrent task to be completed so they could dive into their own jobs. And they did.
Because of my experience on these and many other front-line jobs, as well as the fact that I've made this same mistake several times over myself, I don't have a lot of respect or understanding for folks who continue to point out "they were just leaning on their shovels."