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November 26, 2019

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Tale of a man preserving production line tradition

The old factory lay on a hill, dim lights sporadically spilling from what minuscule windows it had attached to its wall.

In a slow, methodical fashion, the factory continues to spew out its infamous ancient hardware, one end feeding the crude and coarse materials, one after another, the dull products crawling out onto the slow conveyor belt. One by one, pieces fell off into a dark, deadened room, one by one, the crude pieces piled up until eventually the room was full and the products emptied out into a furnace.

Eventually, they would be reformed and fed onto the production line again in a never-ending loop.

In the tiny chamber above, a short, plump man stood watching the factory operate. He was thinking how his “traditional” methods were far superior to the cheap and lazy practices of ignorant “kids.” He had preserved the splendid traditions of industrialization, a custom passed down from his ancestors. Surely his adherence and commitment to traditions would pay off, and he would be better than his opponents? He would prove to them that his methods were unrivaled in the industry.

“Me! Outdated?” Spitting the uncomfortable words out, he turned his back and exhaled.


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