“My Workday”
Lesson 3. A Student Essay.
I’m sitting at my desk in my small glass office in the corner of a workshop the size of half a football pitch. In front of me are my computer and stacks of papers — diagrams and drawings I need to sort through. I am surrounded by the hum of production lines, the creaking of material carts, the roar of the crane, and the short exchanges of my workers. I’m trying to focus, because the papers are part of the order we’re completing right now.
Get Nelap’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I feel like an orchestra conductor: I can pick out every single sound. I played in the school orchestra as a child, and our conductor could hear everyone’s mistakes — no one could hide from him in the general chorus of music. It seemed like a miracle then. Now I understand it well. I can hear a bearing start to make noise in the grinding line — I’m sure it’s the second motor out of eleven. I can hear an irritated exchange between two employees in the far corner of the shop; perhaps I should step in. I can hear my secretary checking a list of numbers on her phone. I hear notifications piling up in my chats, and I count them in my head. It is part of my job.
My great-uncle had a medical certificate stating that “the sound of engines makes him furious.” He used it if someone wanted to force him to work in the workshop against his will. He had papers stating that he was an electrician, a nurse, a boiler room operator, a teacher, and God knows who else; that he suffered from many different diseases; and that he was absolutely healthy, too. “You should get many different certificates!” he advised my grandparents. I don’t know how well it would work today, but back then it was a matter of survival.
My workday ends at six, and I need half an hour to switch everything off, check everything, and close up. When the last worker leaves the workshop, I will hear it too — the slam of the exit door, and the silence after it. I usually walk home. When I get home, I put my phone on silent and turn on some calm music — Bill Evans, Keith Jarrett, or something like that.
