OK, they don't call me the workin man, but that is the phrase from a classic Rush tune that my 19 year old son has adopted regarding his summer job. He knew he needed to work, filling the gap between freshman and sophomore years at Michigan Tech, and applied just about everywhere when he arrived home in late April. Finally, by answering a newspaper ad (so old school!) from a temp agency, he was offered two jobs in two days. He passed the requisite drug test with flying colors and deliberated between the two positions. In the end, the position in Saline, near his old high school, won out.
Keep in mind that our son is majoring in computer science, flirting with minors in both sound design and electrical engineering technology, and is trying to squeeze in significant humanities studies just for the love of the written word. He works at Michigan Tech's superb Rozsa Performing Arts Center during the school year and loves every minute and aspect of the work, not to mention the performances.
So what is he doing this summer? Working the assembly line in a flatbread bakery/factory, night shift, 10PM to 6AM. In our still struggling Ann Arbor/Michigan economy, finding any work was quite the accomplishment.
That first day he came home exhausted, disgusted, but full of stories about the bread factory environment. He swore he was going to quit, and swore that again the next day. Day three he learned there is more to work than the task at hand and he embraced the opportunity to do this job. His tales remind me of the many, many descriptive passages in Tolstoy's Anna Karenina where wealthy landowner Levin pontificates about toiling with the field hands on his land, trying to find the meaning of life.
Our family is treated daily to the adventures in breadmaking that he is a part of, descriptions of fellow workers and situations so artfully conveyed that a picture is painted. His stories are always told with the good humor he has possessed since birth, even when he described being stop-watched as he left the assembly room floor to begin his 3AM lunch, returning precisely 20 minutes or sooner as required. When he spoke about the hairnet, beard net, and safety goggles, we roared with laughter. It was that day he began to shave daily, eliminating one of the three heat-trapping fittings forever.
So what exactly does he do? 
His shift is spent standing on a cushioned mat, flipping a bag of flatbread as it comes down the line, rotating it into a precise position, then off it goes to a sealing machine. I asked how quickly the bread bags arrive; he replied, "Five every three seconds." For 7.5 hours. WOW.
Recently he came home and told us that only he and one other temp worker had been kept on. He was told he was the only newbie on the line who hadn't needed the conveyor belt slowed down until they got the hang of the job. Productivity was up. His common sense emerged too whenever there was a breakdown in the line, box folding error, crumpled or torn flatbread (it is called flat for a reason...), overheated ovens, overloading of product into a bag, etc. Calm, calm, calm. Adjust. Carry on.
There is a new appreciation for every job out there and for the intensity of the 40 hour work week. There is enthusiasm about reaching high academic success when returning to Michigan Tech in the fall. There is a changed attitude apparent. It is more than making bread for the summer; this is the bread of life.
Kevin, we call you the workin man.
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