They Demanded Forms While the Motor Burned

My walkie-talkie suddenly crackled to life.

“Ryan, Motor No. 3 is smoking. Get over here now!”

I grabbed my toolbox and sprinted over with only one thought on my mind: cut the power, disconnect the wiring, and find the fault.

When I reached the entrance, I could already smell something burning.

The motor was at the far end of the factory floor. Through the gaps between the rows of equipment, I could see a faint wisp of bluish smoke.

I quickened my pace towards the motor.

Suddenly, a hand shot out across my chest and stopped me.

Desmond Webbe, the production supervisor, took his time as he asked, “Where’s the emergency repair form?”

I paused, caught off guard.

“Mr. Webbe, the motor is smoking. I need to get over there and—”

He gave me a sidelong glance.

“Who gave you permission to touch it without a work order?”

I patiently explained, “I haven’t touched anything yet. I need to get over there and assess the situation first.”

“Assessing the situation is part of the maintenance process. Any maintenance work requires an emergency repair form to be filled out in advance and signed by the supervisor on duty before it can begin.”

He rattled off the regulations without even blinking.

My heart sank.

Desmond and the other supervisors had always had a chip on their shoulders about our electrical crew.

When the equipment was operating normally, we would stay in the control room on standby. As far as they were concerned, we were getting paid seven or eight thousand dollars just to sit around and do nothing all day.

That was why Desmond and the others seemed to come alive whenever a piece of equipment broke down.

Procedures, signatures, approvals, and confirmations were things they normally never enforced. Yet the moment something needed fixing, those same rules suddenly became sacred law.

While we would be frantic to get the problem fixed, they would leisurely flip through their paperwork, unable to hide their smug smiles. They just wanted to watch us squirm.

“Mr. Webbe,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could. “The motor is smoking. Take a whiff. That smell isn’t normal. If we delay any longer, this could turn into a serious problem.”

“All the more reason to fill out the form first.”

Desmond did not budge. He pulled a pen from his pocket and held it out to me.

“The forms are in the control room. Fill one out, and I’ll sign it. Just go and come right back. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

A few minutes?

I did the math in my head. The control room was about 1,300 feet away. Even if I filled out the form and ran back as fast as I could, it would take at least ten minutes.

In that time, the motor temperature could spike from 212 to 572 degrees Fahrenheit.

Desmond glanced at his watch.

“If you go now, you can make it back in six minutes. I’m timing you.”

I stared at him, and he stared back.

The bluish smoke behind him was growing thicker by the second.

I could not afford to keep arguing with him, or a minor problem could turn into a major one.

With gritted teeth, I turned and sprinted back to the control room for the repair order. I grabbed a pen and started filling it out.

As soon as I finished, I raced back to the factory floor. I could see Desmond still standing there from a distance.

I ran up to him and slapped the form against his chest, too breathless to speak.