ChemArt Blog

One of the hats I wear as the HR Manager is that of the head of the Safety Committee.  Since we are a manufacturing concern, we conduct periodic training to keep bad things from happening to good people.  When your industry is etching, you are not exactly dealing with kittens and marshmallows.  As I was once told: “If you’re going to grab the tiger’s tail, have a plan for the teeth.”  While injuries and illnesses can run the gamut: from severed limbs to that mysterious illness that seems to be so prevalent the Monday following the Super Bowl, many of them can be prevented.  (The aforementioned illness, however, defies classification)  This is where our training would come into the equation. 

Ahh the fire extinguisher.  It’s an odd looking character.  So quiet.  So stoic.  Resting quietly, waiting.  It’s very serenity belies an internal pressure that continuously  exerts.  A silent strength that will engage in mayhem at a moment’s notice.  (A bad plate of oysters at my sister’s wedding plunged me into a similar scenario that resulted in a woeful loss of composure)  When you assemble a fleet, a school, a pod of 43 of these curious little things, it tends to bring out the inner (or not so inner) child in all of us.  43 extinguishers is a whole lot of potential energy. 

As a 10 year old, I had many a daydream that required at least as much extinguisher power for a myriad of applications.  When your problem-solving skills are cartoon-based, you work with what you’ve got. 

But I ramble. 

There we stood.  Outside, 10:00 AM in March.  The firemen set up the heavy gauge steel tray, four feet square, poured gasoline into it and lit it.  Simple as that.  Most of the men on the lot nodded their heads approvingly.  The women, the smarter gender, had a mild look of apprehension.  The task was quite simple; extinguish the flames as we were instructed to during classroom training.  As one would expect, the drill was an overall success.  There were isolated cases of more feet than fire experiencing chemical bath, but nonetheless, everyone dutifully fulfilled their role. 

What became clear, as the morning wore on, is that the mood changed within the group.  We became focused, less aloof and certainly singular in our commitment.  As they repeated relit the pan, the fire got hotter, fiercer.  The reality of what we were doing began to sink into each of our own worlds. 

For the overwhelming majority of us, our experience with fire is on the recreational level.  Grills, campfires, the primal hunger needs to be sated.  For the few of us who have experienced a fire that was grossly out of our control, the meaning creates an alternate reality.  We were preparing for that very moment.  When fire rears up and wrests control of your workplace, your world.  This is the reality that we began to understand as a distinct possibility. 

By preparing for what seems to be so remotely possible, do we then grasp the fact that quite often, we are not in such control as we like to believe.  So, if you find yourself standing outside around 7:00 in the morning surrounded by 30-40 steel midgets who are ready to blow, to be afraid to be a little introspective.  After all, in 25 minutes you’ll be back inside, sitting at your desk again. 

The above request will often garner the same response I got when I had suggested bringing OSHA in for a voluntary inspection.   Similar to eating fruitcake, this action runs counter to every “fight or flight” instinct we have.  Nonetheless, this is what I chose to do.  I should couch that statement with the note that I was working in concert with our VP of Operations.  “Going Rogue” is a nice book title, but it’s a tenuous professional choice, at best.  As a random gesture towards accuracy, I should reveal that this was an OSHA Consulting organization, part of the department of health, not directly associated with OSHA proper.  While my sanity may be suspect, self preservation is still paramount. 

There is a sense of vulnerability when you allow your place of work to go under the microscope.  My attempts to regain that sense of objectivity during an anticipatory walk-thru, however valiant, were futile.  Soon after we started, the comments started. “I see you are storing materials on top of the restrooms.  What is the load rating for the roof?”  Reply: “Huh?”  (Experiencing intestinal discomfort)  “Your deburring wheels, what speed are they?”  Reply:  Uh, rather fast.  (Doesn’t it say it on the machine?)  “The wheels themselves, are they rubber or stone?”  (Restroom requirement, imminent)  Reply: “Rubber?”  This went on for several hours.  (I would interject that answering a question with a question is probably not the route you’ll want to take should you find yourself in a similar situation.)  While grueling, we came out rather well.  There were some violations, to be sure, but nothing that truly caused gasps or private conversations among the consultants. 

The experience, while uncomfortable at times, was valuable.  It is seldom that we willingly allow outsiders to evaluate something that we take for granted.  Whether you work in manufacturing, are a school teacher, a truck driver or chairman of the board, inviting an outsider to review your work or, in this case, your work environment, can be big step in getting to a higher level of proficiency.  As children, we lived our lives under constant review.  “Did you clean your room?  Let me see.”  Report cards every quarter have been replaced with annual reviews.  Getting a varsity letter is now equal to a good credit score.  The common thread to all of these “assessments” is that they are thrust upon us.  We don’t invite them in.  This often is where we encounter that inner conflict.  I didn’t like it then, I surely won’t like it now. 

If we pause for a moment of reflection, we can see all the good it did for us.  Perhaps not at the moment, shot-gunning 16 ounces of stewed tomatoes to get back outdoors is a stiff price for 12 year-old.  Between the lima beans, Brussels sprouts and cauliflower, I turned out to be rather healthy.  Similar stories ring true regarding homework, sports, and apologizing.  We learn.  We grow.  We mature.  Self-analysis is oxymoronic.  Like pure altruism, it is just not possible.  (Half a semester of philosophy was spent discussing that little nugget)  You just cannot separate yourself from yourself to gain enough objectivity to make assessments that are worth a ducket.  That is why we need the insight of an outsider, preferably a non-interested party.  (Maybe an insight-outer?)   It makes us uncomfortable, but getting out of your comfort zone is how you progress.  Of course these could just be the musings of a man who just had the professional equivalent of a colonoscopy.  You’ll have to excuse me; I need to find out what “load bearing” means.

I have been to more social/professional events than I care to remember. A couple I actually can’t, although I must say the security at Bradley Airport is way too uptight. I mean, it was 1995 for crying out loud. Until a couple of years ago, I had never given a thought regarding the time, energy and the sheer tenacity that goes into arranging one of these blasted things. Ignorance is indeed, bliss. While few have an understanding of the origins of the “Christmas Party”, everyone is absolutely positive as to how it should go, and they are all wrong. Every one of them. Without question. At Chemart, the Christmas Party has been in existence longer than I have been employed here. Therefore, it would seem prudent to emulate the event as it unfolded the year before. This is where the first obstacle presented itself. It seems the previous Party was so unsuccessful that the Company very nearly called a halt to the event entirely. Several days following this revelation, acid reflux became a topic of conversation at the dinner table. While most of the facts as they relate to the party’s unraveling are sketchy, there seemed to have been threats of sexual harassment issues over the exchange of money, (not what you think), inappropriate dancing and, if memory serves, wanton displays of glee and endearment. Was I to be arranging “Footloose, The Sequel”? At this point I should point out that the employees and management enjoyed these activities immensely. The previous HR Manager, however, felt these activities were dangerously pleasant and no good would come of it. As a consequence, the party prior to my arrival was dreary, lackluster and devoid of the mayhem everyone hopes for at a Christmas Party but never wants to be the source of.

My mission was clear. Whatever I do, don’t do that. The activities committee convened many, many times over the course of two months, carefully planning menus, centerpieces, music, entertainment, seating arrangements, restroom fragrances, et al. We are a closely knit group, respectful of everyone’s opinion and always bringing a positive approach to the table. Groups such as ours are great for the dispersal of culpability. “We” is a powerful word and, like a large school of fish, makes it difficult to single out one individual when things go awry. I have actually heard rumors that it was indeed an overzealous activities committee that brought down Enron, not faulty investments and cooked books, but I won’t reveal my sources. One would be stunned to learn of the ferocity of the HR clique when it comes to protecting their own.

Much like your car on that icy slope last winter, our festive date with destiny ground closer and closer. The day of the event was Friday, December 11. It was cold, but we didn’t have the snow that ambushed the party several years ago, limiting attendance to half, I believe. Directions were given. The guest list confirmed. The menu approved. Evening attire was chosen, re-chosen, debated and donned. Many of the committee members arrived early to ensure all the preparations were in order. As the six o’clock hour drew near, guests began to arrive, discard their coats and assume their positions around the bar and tables. It’s always interesting to see how people choose their dining arrangements when it’s general admission. These decisions can have long-term ramifications. As the night wore on, it became clear that people were genuinely having a grand time. There were no fisticuffs. No table dancing. No emotional outbursts. No food fights. None of the chaos we secretly wish would happen so we could post it on YouTube with chest-thumping bravado. These people really like each other. Everyone was happy to talk to everyone! No feigning of interest. No borderline tolerance. No uncomfortable leers or gestures. The smartest thing we as an Activities Committee did was let human nature take it course. In retrospect, I should have expected this. Everyone acted as I had always known them to act, just more socially that evening. What had threatened to halt all Christmas Parties was the misguided efforts in the past to exert too much control. When you try to prevent all undesirable outcomes, there will be collateral damage. That evening, the fun got sucked out of the hall faster than a fart on an elevator. Moreover, if you let people just be themselves, they’ll take care of themselves. Such philosophy can be applicable in a multitude of scenarios. Of course, having an open bar certainly facilitates the camaraderie. We should thank Dick for that one.

I have always held artisans, craftsmen and other masters of their genre in the highest regard.  Those that have put in countless hours, nay, years, perfecting their abilities to perform their craft, by all appearances, with such ease, never lose their luster.  I find these feats particularly astounding as I tend to have the attention span of a ferret on a double espresso.  (Is it espresso or expresso?  Is that how Esso Oil got their name all those years ago?  What do they do with the caffeine from decaffeinated coffee?)  And so it goes ad nauseum. I can be terrific fun at parties but not in a theatre. 

I always appreciated the application and determination necessary to be truly successful at a given task. However, I often overlooked the dedication required to master even the simplest of activities should overconfidence and bravado leak into you superego spacesuit. Just such a lesson was in store for me, chuckling and muttering behind door number 3.

Only a few months into my new adventure here at ChemArt Company, I felt I was gaining traction in most facets of my job.  Patterns were emerging; confidence building; and a thin, ever-so-fragile veil of self-satisfaction began to form.  That last stuff is really quite flammable, I found.  We had initiated a conversion from one payroll service to another, both automated, with the new system requiring minimal steps to achieve the same outcome.  How could this ever be bad?  As the weeks went by, I felt I was learning the ins and outs, the language, my thoughts were binary, we were one.  (I am quite certain this was the stage that bear lover/researcher was at when the bear snapped his neck.)  As one particular payroll period was pretty nearly in the books, I decided I wanted a different display on the check face, indicating the hours worked per day, not just per week, for each employee.  I then decided to rerun payroll with the aforementioned changes in place.  I left my office with Stephen Hawking confidence.  This job is like stealing! 

It was barely 8:00 AM when the first drops of my slain ego’s blood showed at my door.  “Rob, there seems to an error with my check, it’s really a lot more than I usually get.  Do you think that……”  She went on for a couple of sentences but who the hell knows what she was saying.  My ears began a queer ringing and I felt rather unwell at the moment.  It became horridly obvious, looking at her check, as to the source of her windfall.  I had paid her twice.  I had paid her department twice.  I, had paid, every, Chemart employee, TWICE!!  Gradually, the emails trickled in, as did the employees.  Looks of bewilderment, amusement, even glee.  I had done something no one had ever done in the 33 year history of Chemart.  Great, humility goes well with a side of notoriety.  Of course, the only solution was to undo the initial payroll, then run the correct payroll.  Those with automatic deposit and therefore automatic bill-pay, were none too enamored with the solution nor, by transitive properties, me.

I did fix things, however, and learned a lesson along with the experience.  (Several, if you count the underestimation of a group’s ability to forgive and forget).  There will always be a time when you will trust your ability to do a job you feel familiar with. Don’t do it!  Well, at least, not without backup.  A payroll system, like many systems, will not make a mistake.  They will make your mistake.  They will make your mistake official.  And they will make it permanent!  It doesn’t matter how long you have been conducting music, accounting balance sheets or cobbling shoes.  You are never as good as you think you are.  It always rewards the diligent to review your methods, revise your steps, renew your vigor.  Otherwise, you should be sitting down for what she is about to tell you.

As I look back on my adolescence, I realize that those were the most precious years of my life.  The innocence, the opportunities ahead, the wonder of it all.  Gosh I miss my twenties.  Home base at that stage of my life was a small restaurant located in South County, RI, which I managed for 10 years. The name shall not be revealed due to sealed records.  While much goes on inside the food industry, we shall focus on the intricacies of cooperation.  A little background…

Fridays were the busiest, scariest, most fun night of the week.  I had belatedly learned the wonders of the magical elixir, coffee.  My ten hour shift began at four.  It also began with a 16 ounce ice coffee followed immediately by a second.  By four thirty, I was bulletproof.  I became Captain Smith of that ice berg ship, Captain Kirk of any episode of your choosing.  There were five of us: 2 waitresses and 3 “masters of mayhem”. (Cooks to those not familiar with the vernacular)  Our backgrounds were as different as could be:  A model who wore glasses because she thought she looked good in glasses (every week a different pair), another waitress who was working diligently to pay for school,  a cook from Greece who actually wore long distance track shoes (the kind with the little spikes) to work because, well, I honestly don’t know.  (We saw more of his shoes than him; cleats don’t work well on linoleum). We then had a youngster, a high school senior really, who seemed to have an unhealthy affinity for cutlery.  Finally there was me, I was the tallest, therefore the best.  What brought us together is the fact is we had a job to do.  When we had to serve 300 people great food and give prompt service, we provided.  It was a matter of coordination and doing what was expected from each of us.

Fast forward to present day:   While ChemArt is markedly different from the food service industry, (we do have better skin), many of the philosophies are transferable.  We are a close-knit group, approximately 85 employees striving towards a common goal.  Yet our diversity is significant.  Most postings to our bulletin board are in English, Spanish and Cambodian.  Our most tenured employee has been here 33 years. The average employee, better than seven. 

What are we doing differently from other firms, you might ask?  I’m still working on that.  While that may seem glib, it’s partly true.  When dealing with the human animal, there has to be an accounting for the human condition– this is the proverbial “fly in the ointment.”  I guess much of it comes down to treating people like adults and expecting them to act like adults.  There is minimal micromanagement at ChemArt.  There isn’t time for it.  There is a degree of competency in every position, and that competency inspires confidence.  There are times when someone needs adjustments, a tweak, as it were.  Yes, even an escort to the door.  We make ornaments here, not souls.  The general population appreciates such accountability.  Your best employees need to know that mediocrity will not be tolerated nor encouraged.  Otherwise, they’ll feel underappreciated.  Other employees who flirt with “doing enough to get by” will also find reason to improve their way of thinking.  There is also a level of honesty among management that is unusually refreshing.  Or is it refreshingly unusual?  What makes ChemArt unique is a sense of inclusion.  No one is an appendix, fearing the knife.  Unless you count the crazy high school kid.