March 10, 2025, was my first day working at this auto parts factory. As a student who had just left a decaying university life, I had never seen what machine production really looked like. After my previous job, (which involved responsible assembly of different parts in a factory, very dull, monotonous, mechanical, repetitive, with high exploitation of workers, no leave allowed, and even covert overtime demands), I was fired because I refused to work overtime and clashed with the workshop director. My last factory job had no ‘technical content’; just watching others work once was enough to understand how to operate, and the same action had to be repeated thousands of times a day. It wasn’t very tiring, but it was extremely unbearable because it was too monotonous, and long-term frequent repetition caused muscle soreness in both arms. Working 8 hours a day with no opportunity or condition to sit down made the job quite torturous. Plus, due to my previous liberal schedule—staying up late and waking early—I lacked sleep, felt sleepy during work, and lacked communication with colleagues, turning it into simply being exploited by capitalists. My last work experience was a valuable lesson. I yearned to work in a position where I could learn some machine knowledge. Although everyone told me that capitalist large-scale industrial production wouldn’t let workers truly learn any knowledge or skills, even in machine-related positions, I still held a petty bourgeois fanaticism and hoped to ‘learn’ some machine operation skills in a factory. So I specifically looked for jobs involving automated production and machine manipulation. Last Thursday, I found such a job, completed a physical exam over the weekend, and officially started on Monday.
Because of my previous liberal schedule—staying up late and waking late—I was often late at my last job. This time, I decided to change my liberal schedule and wake up on time every day. Last night, I was nervous and excited about starting work the next day, worried about being late on my first day, so my sleep quality was poor. I woke up several times, and at 7:30 a.m., I was suddenly awakened, feeling like a long time had passed, even though I only slept for five hours. I quickly washed up, ate breakfast, and set off for the factory, feeling very alert and energetic. I arrived at the factory at 7:50, found the punch card machine after some exploration, punched in, then looked for the person who processed my onboarding application, let’s call him Bald Squad Leader. I didn’t know his position or name, so I searched the original office but didn’t see him. When I came out, I saw another person, let’s call him Fatty. I asked him who I should find on my first day; he said, “Follow me,” and took me to see the factory, where I saw the position I would learn today.
The pre-job training was very sloppy, with no formal training at all. They just showed me the factory twice and told me that some work was manual and some was machine-based, warning me not to touch the iron shavings from the machines directly, and to be careful not to get hair caught in the machines, etc. These few words ended the briefing. Moreover, the factory seemed to lack labor protections, such as anti-smash shoes, rubber gloves, hairnets or hats for female workers, aprons—all absent. Compared to my previous factory job, the gap was huge; workers’ labor protections were very poor.
This factory was a branch of a large factory, with few workers. All processing was done in a large hall divided into zones. I followed Fatty to the production line, where the noise was so loud I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Soon, he took me to another place—the place I was to start working today. He found a newly promoted worker, whom I will call A. Fatty told me to learn from A today because this position would switch to a two-shift system after becoming a formal worker. Originally, a female worker was supposed to teach me, but she was working at 8 p.m., so I couldn’t contact her now and would have to wait until next week. I should think about how to increase communication with female workers.
This morning, I first learned with the newly promoted male worker A. He looked to be in his thirties and had already mastered basic operations. He was promoted last week. I asked how long it would take me to operate independently like him; he said if I had experience, about a week; if it was my first time, maybe a month would be enough. This worker was very shy and reluctant to talk to me proactively. Since I saw these machines were quite new, I kept asking him what each button did, why it was used, and how. He could only whisper a few words, telling me to learn slowly. Watching him operate two machines, he also had to switch to another machine after a while. I asked why he moved between two places; he said other workers would come later, and before they arrived, the leader arranged for him to handle both machines because working at only one was inefficient. I said he was being used as two people and should get two wages; he just smiled and said nothing. This small factory was quite brutal, with high exploitation, reflected in poor labor protections and unclear task assignments among workers, basically ‘where needed, move.’ I watched for about half an hour, mainly observing notices, declarations, safety signs, and the appearance of products, but didn’t see anything special. Since this worker was also newly promoted, he probably wasn’t good at guiding newcomers, so he just worked silently.
Around 9:30, two more workers arrived—one older, about 28-29, let’s call him B, and a younger one, about 21-22, let’s call him C. They replaced the worker A, who went to another position. A told me to learn from the older worker B, and the younger C, who had just arrived last week, would also learn with us. I watched B and C operate two machines, one on the left and one on the right, performing similar but different processing steps. The second step was on the left, done by B, and the first on the right, by C. On the table were several measuring instruments, about 6-8 types, used to check if the products met standards. Each product had to be measured after processing before being placed in a large iron basket. B would adjust these instruments frequently, probably because they were very old and inaccurate. I didn’t know how to use these instruments but watched him measure a sample with a green-painted product, which should be the standard. He would set the instrument to the correct scale, then measure the finished product. If within the acceptable range, it was qualified. B taught me how to use these instruments, but his voice was very soft, probably because he wore headphones, and the noise was deafening. I had to listen carefully and ask again. This morning, I learned the standards for about six or seven products. These weren’t memorized but written on small notes attached next to the instruments, so this part was easy. The real challenge was operating the two machines behind me. Their role was to refine the rough products made elsewhere into precise, customer-satisfying items. First, the iron product was placed in a designated position, then the machine door closed, and the mechanical claw inside rotated rapidly to fix the product. A very hard blade then came out to grind the outside, then retracted, rotated, and a different blade was used to grind the inside. After all three blades finished, the product was shaped as needed, and the door opened automatically. I didn’t know the names of these processes or machines but watched intently. During processing, sparks flew from the friction between the sharp blades and the iron product, and water was sprayed to cool them. Each product took less than a minute. The young C then took it out to measure again; if not qualified, he would ask the master B to adjust the machine and reprocess. The master B was responsible for another side of the product. He also operated his machine and taught me some basic instrument usage, like a vernier caliper, which I had only seen in middle school physics textbooks and had forgotten how to use. The master wasn’t very good at explaining and spoke very softly. After fiddling with the instruments and calipers for a while, I looked at the drawings on the table, which looked complicated and unclear from what perspective they were drawn. Only after the older worker explained did I understand the approximate distances between lines on the drawing relative to parts of the product, then measured accordingly. It reminded me of physics problems from middle and high school. The whole morning passed like this. At 11, the first person who taught me, A, came to call me to leave; I went to the canteen for lunch as he pointed.
Initially, I remembered during the interview, HR told me to top up my employee card via WeChat for meals. I urgently added 50 yuan to the card and swiped at the canteen entrance, costing 6 yuan. The canteen had fixed prices. Without topping up, using WeChat Pay would cost 10 yuan; topping up on the employee card only cost 6 yuan—very cost-effective. The canteen was small, with a few round tables, scattered chairs, and a self-service drink machine, nothing else. It looked very empty, indicating the factory wasn’t big—probably fewer than 100 workers. When ordering, I didn’t know how to do it, so I chose three dishes from the eight available, copying others. But the chef told me I could only choose one meat and two vegetables, so I picked stir-fried enoki mushrooms with eggs, stir-fried cabbage, and stir-fried pig liver with green peppers and garlic shoots. After adding rice and a bowl of soup, I found a seat. The food looked like typical school cafeteria fare, reminding me of the big pot meals in middle and high school, but not as tasty. I usually like good food but am not picky. If I said the food was bad, most people would agree. To me, it was just edible. During lunch, I sat with some older workers whose hands were covered in black oil, very dirty, but they ate happily. Seeing them, I couldn’t help but smile. I thought I was a bit of a bourgeois, boasting about being hardworking and not afraid of manual labor, but still had strong intellectual habits. On my e-bike commute, I would get annoyed by dust from construction sites and traffic, feeling uncomfortable when covered in dust—though it was just a kind of hypochondria. But seeing the workers’ dirty hands and happy faces, I felt I should join them. An old man sitting opposite me noticed my small portion of rice and asked if I was full; I said yes, and he stopped talking and continued eating. It took about 20 minutes to finish, then I put my tray in a recycling bin, with bowls, plates, and chopsticks all mixed together. I was worried about the factory’s disinfection, as the utensils were communal, and the recycling bin looked dirty.
After lunch, I went to the restroom. On the way, I saw other workstations in the large workshop. Many workers were still working, and I wondered why they weren’t eating. I saw a huge machine melting black iron into bright red molten metal, feeling its heat from afar. The molten iron flowed into molds to form products, then was transported by conveyor. Workers used iron hooks to lift the products, pressed them down, and shaped them into hollow forms. I watched several cycles of production, observing how each product was made and then passed to our station. When I looked at them, a worker turned to look at me. I was wearing the uniform of my previous factory (because this factory said workers didn’t need to wear uniforms the week before, and if I didn’t want to keep it, I could return it for a refund). He smiled, perhaps puzzled why I was wearing that uniform here. Then I found a spot and completed my tasks for the day.
In the afternoon, most of the time, B let me look at instruments and read a book called “Even Dirt Farmers Can Learn Philosophy,” and completed other plans I made for today. During this, Fatty brought visitors for a tour, interrupting me briefly. I dislike this person, whom I call Fatty because he is disgusting, very arrogant to interviewees. He asked two candidates about a vernier caliper, pointing at it and asking, “What is this?” The man answered, “A ruler.” Fatty sneered: “This is a vernier caliper!” Then he asked the man to measure an item (lifting a product and indicating the internal diameter). The man didn’t know, so he gave a random number. Fatty mocked: “You said you’ve done similar work? If you worked here for a day, you should know this, right?” Both interviewees looked awkward, didn’t say anything. I asked Fatty if they needed experienced workers; he said they claimed to have done similar jobs. I thought I also lied during the interview to get hired for a machine operation role, claiming to have relevant experience. But seeing Fatty’s aggressive attitude, I was angry and said: “If you can do it, why work here? It’s so simple, you should learn it quickly. Knowing it isn’t a big deal.” Fatty didn’t reply and took the others elsewhere. In the afternoon, Bald Squad Leader appeared again. I learned he was the section chief. He wasn’t as disgusting as Fatty; I saw him fix some simple machine faults and operate a forklift, indicating some technical knowledge. He seemed to be of a higher social class, probably a supervisor, and was aligned with capitalists rather than workers.
Around 4 p.m., I officially started working. The operation was very simple (if the machine didn’t malfunction). I only had to place the products into the machine, press the foot pedal to fix, press the green button to start, wait for it to finish and open automatically, then press the pedal again to remove the product, blow off iron shavings with a compressed air gun, measure quality, and repeat. It was very mechanical, much easier than my previous job, and I could even slack off and look at my phone. But there were safety hazards: during blowing, iron shavings flew into my hair twice. I instinctively took off my rubber gloves (even my own!) to remove the shavings but felt a cut on my hand, so I stopped immediately. It was a minor scratch, almost invisible, caused by sharp blades and iron shavings flying around. The environment was not well protected, and the flying shavings felt like being bitten by tiny insects—very uncomfortable. I remembered my first part-time job at KFC, terrified of the sizzling oil fryers. But I quickly adapted. I decided that improving labor protections should be my top priority, and I refused to buy protective gear, as it should be the employer’s responsibility—too dangerous otherwise.
At around 4:30 p.m., the veteran worker B started cleaning, using a large iron rod to pick up iron shavings from the ground, pushing them into a trolley with a rubber ring. By 4:40, he finished and prepared to leave work, very efficiently, refusing to do extra work. I also tidied my hair, found small iron shavings, and went to the restroom to wash my hands. When I approached the punch card machine, it was too sensitive and registered my card from three meters away. There were six minutes left before official end of work, so I wasn’t sure if it counted as early leave. A coworker told me to punch again after 5 p.m. I stayed to watch the clock, waiting to punch out. Workers lined up, and at 5:01, they clocked out one after another.
Other miscellaneous observations:
- In the afternoon, I saw a young forklift driver doing a 360-degree spin inside the factory, which was very dangerous. I should stay away from such behavior.
- Everyone in the factory was very friendly and smiling, probably because I was wearing a different factory uniform.
- I found out that coworker C was a subordinate, called me “beautiful” and wanted to add me on WeChat. I refused politely because I didn’t know him well.
- During lunch, I saw B playing a game, probably League of Legends or Honor of Kings, very enthusiastically, unlike the shy worker I met in the morning.
- Since most coworkers were opposite sex, we hadn’t started chatting much. Usually, I ask about family, but asking about the other sex’s family directly felt awkward. I plan to try talking more with coworker B tomorrow, and stay away from the subordinate.
For the continuation of the Cedar auto parts factory work diary, please stay tuned.
. At the time, I was thinking of turning passive into active, not just accepting the other’s ideas and topics passively without speaking every day, but taking the initiative to understand. Later, I learned that the other person was a vocational school student, so I thought maybe I could tell him about the Pucheng movement that happened at the beginning of 2025. He had also just arrived a week ago, and other workers might not know about it either.
Indeed