At work, we have two sets of fryers: the vats in the back, where we fry the fish and chicken, and the vats up front, where we fry the fries. As the detail maintenance man, I filter the oil in all the vats five days out of the week and test the oil on a daily basis to see if it needs changed — which is to say: if the oil is dirty and I need to put in new oil. Then I change the fryer or fryers in question if need be. All the fryers in the back needed to be changed today. This is never a problem if the automated system that runs these so called “smart-machines” is operating properly. Unfortunately, they are not often operating properly.
Today, Sunday, the first day of my work-week — typically never a good day to begin with, to put the matter at the mildest — the fryers were not operating properly.
For some reason, it would drop the oil into the removable “pot” (a metallic box at the base of the fryer containing the disposable filter) but not automatically run the oil through the pot-filter and recycle the now-filtered oil back into the vat as it was supposed to. I had learned this on Thursday, which is my last day of the work week. What I was uncertain of, however, is whether or not it would automatically drop the oil into the pot and dispose of it automatically.
If it did not, I’d have the take the pot into the stock room and dump the oil into the receptacle that was used to dump the oil traps from the grills into every day. This would be a longer ordeal and inevitably messy, as one inevitably drips oil between the area of the fryers and the aforementioned receptacle in the break room. This would, as a consequence, mean a lot of mopping.
So I did an experiment: I dropped the oil from one fryer vat into the pot to see if it would dispose of the oil. At the very worst, I’d have to take it back to the stockroom manually the dump it, which I’d have to do anyway. So I pressed the dispose button, all the other required buttons, and walked away to do something else. After awhile, I checked the pot to ensure it was empty. To my utter amazement and glee, it was. It worked. So I did another fryer and checked. It worked again. Confident, I tried another fryer, and didn’t check this time.
So, as you can probably guess, it didn’t work.
The automated fryer system suddenly decided: no, fuck you, I’m not disposing of the oil. Sadly, I didn’t know it didn’t work, for as I said, I was confident in its capabilities by this time and failed to check it. So the pot was already filled with oil to maximum capacity when I then mindlessly dropped all the oil from the following vat into that already-full pot.
Pot runneth over. All over the floor. I just watched the dirty yellow fluid bleed out from the top of the pot onto the floor in a swifty-expanding pool.
Normally, I would have totally lost my shit at this point. Cursed all machines, the living manufacturers, the earth and all else. Cussed and screamed and been in a shit mood for the remainder of the evening. However, when I had taken out the trash earlier, a fellow coworker had offered me a hit from his bowl.
I smoke cannabis on a daily basis, but rarely much. I’ll take a few, maybe several hits at home, as that will make me sufficiently high and not serve to exacerbate my social anxiety, as I live alone, which I should add is wonderful. When at work, however, if I’m offered any by anyone, I take what I’ve often referred to as a “baby hit” or “pussy hit.” I’m hypersensitive toward damn near everything, so such a small dose certainly affects me, but just enough to where I’m comfortable and can focus on the calm, relaxing, often joyous sensation it offers me. And I can still be productive at work.
And so that’s the state I was in when this happened. I was baby-hit high on weed.
Not one to toot my own horn, either, but due to the pot, I’d handled the circumstance remarkably maturely. I got the shop vacuum from the back, sucked up as much of the oil that I could, dumped the remainder of the pot in the aforementioned receptacle in the stock room, and mopped the area of the kitchen that the oil had coated.
Psychological Chernobyl dodged thanks to the Devil’s Lettuce.
It got me thinking, however. That at the end of the day — which is now, I might add — there are, I believe, two takeaways from this incident with the fryers.
First: it’s high time we, as a global culture, stop with the policy of planned and perceived obsolescence. Cease the creation of products built to fail. No more artificially-limited lifetimes for manufactured products for the purposes of significantly reducing the replacement time and producing “jobs” through artificially-required specialized maintenance personnel and expensive parts-replacement in the interim because it creates jobs.
“Why is the shake machine always broken?”
Planned obsolescence, bitches. We didn’t do it.
The disposal society idiocy has gotten out of control. Now more than ever, with climate change (news flash: IT’S REAL) especially, we need to make shit that’s built to last.
The longest running car runs about eight years. The longest running Mars Rover? It lasted about fifteen — almost double. And without constant maintenance, mind you, even ignoring functionally-irrelevant cosmetic concerns. Without tire rotations, tire changes, oil changes, topping off other fluids, tune-ups, and so on, this shit lasted way longer.
Let’s start building earth-bound shit with that interplanetary mentality.
Second is a reinforcement of my former beliefs: don’t let your guard down by means of trusting too much. Of placing yourself anywhere in the proximity of blind faith with respect to anyone or anything. It’s just a set up for a let down. I learned this in a short, intense, sexually-charged relationship with a gal from Barstow, California, oh-so-many years ago, and it’s a lesson I thought I learned.
And then dumb, trusting, naive me mindlessly assumed the fryers would continue working as I believed they had proven they would and so didn’t check the pot to ensure it was emptied of oil before dumping the oil from the following fryer.
Always and forever: beware of dogma.
I thought I knew this. Evidently I needed a reminder. I suppose I should be thankful it didn’t manifest as something more serious.