Post Office. Chapter II: 12
Then the supervisor moved us to a new aisle. We had been there ten hours.
“Before you begin,” the soup said, "I want to tell you some– thing. Each tray of this type of mail must be stuck in 23 minutes. That’s the production schedule. Now, just for fun, let’s see if each of us can meet the production schedule! Now, one, two, three . . . GO!”
What the hell is this? I thought. I’m tired.
Each tray was two feet long. But each tray held different amounts of letters. Some trays had 2 or 3 times as much mail in them as others, depending upon the size of the letters.
Arms started flying. Fear of failure.
I took my time.
“When you finish your first tray, grab another!”
They really worked at it. Then they jumped up and grabbed another tray.
The supervisor walked up behind me. “Now,” he said, pointing at me, “this man is making production. He’s halfway through his second tray!”
It was my first tray. I didn’t know if he were trying to con me or not, but since I was that far ahead of them I slowed down a little more.
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