The Tortilla Factory
Being joyful regardless of how mundane life may seem to you leave a lasting impression; others observe and remember your attitude. Imprinted on my mind from forty -five years ago is still one of my favorite examples of being happy in your work.
Mid-morning, my husband and I drove into Rosarita Beach to pick up supplies and groceries needed for the weekend. My favorite stop was the tortilla factory. An old beat-up pick-up truck arrived piled high with a load of masa covered with stained gunnysacks. The covering was done in an attempt to keep the dust and flies from the masa while transporting it from God only knows where. The driver hopped out and began banging on the side door of the little factory, while his helper dropped the tailgate and pulled the gunnysacks off the masa and threw them onto the ground, so much for cleanliness. The factory door flew open, releasing workers (mostly women) with five-gallon buckets – the unloading begun. Now standing on the tailgate, the driver and helper shoveled masa into the large buckets. The factory workers would them carry them into the work area and place them on the floor of the production assembly line.
Once the delivery was complete the factory door closed, the driver slammed the tailgate up, and gathered all the gunnysacks off the ground, tossing them back in the truck. Both driver and helper hopped in the cab and tore away leaving a cloud of dust with a promise that they would return with another load.
Inside the equipment was fired up and the production began. Two ladies on each side of a wobbly table would grab a handful of masa from their bucket, roll it into a ball, and place it on a table. Portion control was simply amazing to me; each masa ball was precisely the same as the one before and the same as the other ladie’s. They worked fast and furiously, never missing a beat; and at the same time they were laughing and teasing each other about something. Two other ladies were flattening each ball using what appeared to be a cast iron press with one hand and grabbing the now-shaped circular disk placing it on the conveyor-belt. Occasionally they were shouting out comments to the men at the other end of the room. I thought to myself how nice to be so happy in one’s work.
Astonishing to me was the precision, not only the making of the product but the practiced workflow that created a seamless effort. The machine (what I called the Willy Wonka Machine used in The Chocolate Factory) was a rickety chain-driven conveyor clanking and clicking as it is traveling around the room making twists and turns, and occasionally making unscheduled stops. Each time a stop occurred shouts would go out from the ladies making the masa balls that were now piling up on the table. (This of course cracked me up – a scene right out of “I Love Lucy” and the famous candy assembly line episode.)
One of the men would give a swift kick to the machine or would bang it with a wrench. The chain link seemed to respond; the problem fixed. Cheers would go up, followed by lots of laughter. I, too, was totally enjoying watching this live, entertaining show.
The flat yellow disks would travel to the packing area. Workers would quickly snatch them off the conveyor belt, stacking and then wrapping them in white butcher paper. Packages were stacked on racks ready for customers to purchase. Being first in line I purchased several packages, then headed out with a total grin on my face; I was still chuckling when I caught up with my hubby. To this day the memories of the trips to the tortilla factory are among the silly little things that brought and still bring joy to my heart and laughter to my soul.
