Thread Breaks

At the moment, I'm earning my daily bread in an embroidery shop. It's nice working with my hands after working with my brain all through college, but some days make me want to scream.

Like today. Our embroidery is done with some marvelous computer-run machines which, once set up, are supposed to run automatically through the intricate patterns to produce yet another stunning work of art (or, more often, simple logo or monogram). The worker, in theory, goes about her business setting up the next run, doing small chores, etc while the machine plugs away. The only thing which can stop this beautiful process is a thread break. I leave it to the reader to imagine how rare this event is in this age of miraculous technology.

Today we got to run a 43,000-stitch design. This is about ten times as long as a typical design - tricky to start with, because the machines are more prone to thread breaks the longer they run. (Not that I'm implying that these marvelous machines ever have thread breaks.) This is, however, doable; we ran this design on Friday in under an hour. So it's time to make it more challenging, and do it on a leather vest! Leather is about the least embroidery-friendly substance in the known world, at least out of the things anyone would ever consider embroidering. (And I'm an expert on that list. Our customers have had us embroidering everything from car covers to interesting segments of men's boxers.) And just in case we might get bored, the design would run right over two seams on the back of the vest - seams done blue jean style, only thicker because of the leather. The needles almost burst themselves with, er, joy.

But how many thread breaks? you ask, being too clever to be fooled by my bitter sarcasm. How many thread breaks? I lost count. But to give you an idea how this was running... well, I said we got to do this "today." In reality, we started this thing at 1:30 PM on Friday. At 4:45, it was a little over halfway done, and I was nearly stark raving mad. How many thread breaks? I must remember to ask the marvelous computer that was running the machine. Given that the average time to fix a thread break is 2 minutes, and the average running time between thread breaks was 20 seconds, it ought to be mathematically possible to figure it out right now. Even so, it was running better than today: the last third took from 9:30 AM to 1:00 PM.

By the end, my biggest peeve was not the thread breaks. I understood that the leather was tricky (and probably sticky, from the point of view of a rapidly running machine). What drove me mad was the machine's attempt to take care of them itself. It would detect a thread break and stop immediately - even if the thread break was nonexistent, or something that would quickly take care of itself if the machine would run through it. At other times, I would watch the thread fray to nothing before my eyes, and yet the machine would keep running, determined to make it work. In either case, I would have to back the machine up and make it do twice as much work to make up the mixed-up section. Sometimes, the tangled mess would fray the thread still more, and I'd have to redo a section three, five, ten times.

Being the wonderfully spiritual obsessively analogizing person I am, I distracted myself by trying to find Great Lessons in the mess. It started out seeming obvious: Listen to the operator. However smart your programming might be, however adjustable you might be, you will be wrong often enough that the operator's opinion ought always to come first. And ignoring that will lead to a lot of mess, and a lot of fuss that could be avoided the second the operator is heeded. Good good. Excellent idea. Then I realized the analogy breaks down at the point where the operator feels an intense desire to take a sledgehammer to the whole operation after a certain point. And especially when the operator starts hating the whole business. I don't think God's patience is so finite.

So, make of it what you will. I will settle on spiritual warfare. Demonic interference is the only explanation for the machine managing to get still worse when I started humming "It Is Well With My Soul." They're out to get me, I tell you.