The most exciting place to work

My father worked at the box factory for 40 years and told me to never end up there. It was not a profession that offered much respect. Most people assumed that anyone could make a box and assumed that’s how they are made. But there is a need in the job market for professional box makers. Somehow your fireworks, your candies and your nails need to get to you somehow.

Life took some knocks out of my dreams, so I joined the factory too. It was only supposed to be a temporary position while I found something else in the bigger cities. Everyday I would put on the same navy blue overalls and red cap my Dad would put onto work and remember how he shed them every night in disgust. He would then silently sit in front of the telly with his mind in a daze. I would ask for him to play, but he would barely concentrate on me for about two minutes. Then he would retire to the shed where I was not allowed to go.

Putting on those chains of oppression for my father filled me with dread that first day, fearing I would see the man I would become in the future. A lonely box factory worker, toiling day after day. My Dad drove to work.

“Do you think it was worth it to go to university?”he asked, trying to make conversation. I knew what he meant when he said it.

He then left me alone and if I needed help he grunted at me like any other employee at the factory. Once or twice his work colleagues asked if we were related as my Dad hadn't bothered to tell anyone that I was coming to work with him. As the whistle started and the conveyor line hummed into action, I fell in love with the humble brown paper box. I cut and edged out my first box and sent it down the line perfectly. My first box. If I could have kept it, I would have.

As weeks went by, I was spotted by superiors and given rewards and talk of promotion. The first time I had been recognised for my achievements besides the awkward well dones that my Dad mouthed when I got a certificate for spelling from school.

I became obsessed about box production and looked to think of ways to improve the production of boxes. I knew I was messing with a design classic. Think of a box and I think we all know what shape we are thinking of. One sheet made of five squares of equal square area. The ancient Mespotiains had probably came up with something similar.

I moved up within the company after 2 months to a supervisor role over the morning shift and soon forgot about moving on up to the big city.

“Why did you pick this factory?”, asked my father one drive to work.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”, I said flying into a rage as if he had taken away my favourite toy. “What do you want for me Dad? I finally found something that I am good at and you took it away from me!”

“I don't mean it-”

“Stop here! I am taking the bus from now on as I can afford it”, I screeched as I tried to get out the car door. At the traffic lights I bolted and trudged the half mile to work. I would be late but as a supervisor it did not matter. It would be for my Dad.

How can he be like this? I shouted internally to myself. As I marched forward to work, I was more determined to change boxes forever. I would leave a legacy that he would not have any part of.

Three months later the Box factory changed to my new design of boxes. Two equal sheets with a simple locking system that required no tape or staples to hold together. I was promoted to junior manager of the factory. Between getting married and my children being born, it was one of the greatest days of my life. But my Dad refused to celebrate as we held a party in a specially built box fort for the event.

“Couldn't you have done law?” he asked me coldly, then took his cap off and left early for the day. I wanted to fire so desperately that day but, I knew he did not have much else in his life but this job cruelly.

“The new boxes are falling apart if they are shaken too much during delivery”, said the general manager of the company, my boss. He had a ruined box of my design sitting on his desk with bits of spoiled milk spewing rotting fumes at both of us. “I want this problem fixed by the end of the week or I will have no choice but to fire you”.

His words rang in my head all day. How could my dream job turn into a nightmare so quickly? I took the ruined new box to my office and stood it on my desk next to a complete example and stared at them for hours. All I could say to myself was that I was a fool to think I knew anything about boxes and that I should take the incoming firing like a man. I pleaded and begged God for some bright spark of an idea. Asking someone on the factory floor was out of the question. I did not want to be shown up especially as I had raised so quickly. So I turned to the only person who could help me. My Father.

“You wanted to see me Boss?”, he said. I was so stressed out of my mind that I did not know if he meant it as a joke or not. I explained to him the situation and pleaded with him to help me to find a solution. He sighed but agreed to help me.

We spent hours together, talking and talking about the problem at hand. His expertise as a box maker for forty years was invaluable to the solution of my problem. I felt guilty that I never brought him into the design of the new box in the first place. We never had projects together like sailing or hunting or such growing up as a box maker does not make enough for that sort of lifestyle.

After pulling an all-nighter in my office, we finally came up with a solution. The lock mechanism would need to be sealed with a flash of tape half the size of the one replacing it. It would still have the same amount of tape use but leave the company with the same cut in production time. My manager was delighted and promised that new training would be implemented for the new line of boxes. I beamed for my Dad immediately once I got the good news.

“I am going to resign. I see now that I am not cut out for this”, I said knowing it was the truth.

“Don’t, please. You did good. I will work with you like now if there are anymore problems”, he said matter of factly as if he was buying new spark plugs from the mechanic. But it meant the world to me. I scooped him up and hugged him and thanked him for the first time he truly congratulated me.