Stem to Stern: Distractions

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Anyone who operates a boatyard wears the thankless hat of making sure things are done right. I share that responsibility with our yard manager, Josh. If we were part of a corporate management structure, our job titles would probably be something like “Executive Vice Presidents in charge of Quality Assurance, Palm Beach Gardens.” But, since our yard operation is closer to that of a family, it’s more of a father’s or a grandfather’s hat. Every father out there knows the pride and anguish contained beneath that thankless derby. Quality control should begin with the guy that’s doing the job, whether he’s on our payroll or assigned to a sub-contractor. The way I see it, there is never an opportunity to do half-assed work. But, in the real world, that ain’t necessarily so. Low quality work occurs frequently and is rarely about ability. Bad work is almost always about distraction. Cutting an expensive piece of wood too short, forgetting to glue or tighten plumbing fittings, not crimping and heat-shrinking wire terminals, or mixing paint and resin in the wrong ratio are all common mistakes that are due to a lack of concentration. Scratches, gouges, leaks and generally wrecking things are the result of carelessness. One’s mind is not on one’s work. If there were no distractions, there would be very few mistakes. In the real world, and now more than ever, there are innumerable menacing diversions. Boy are there ever. When I look back over my records at how long things took to complete correctly, 40- to 50-years ago vs. the same job today, the difference is astonishing.

Technology distractions are commonplace and at this point in our culture, unsolvable. That distraction in everyone’s pocket is, on the low end, a nuisance, and on the high end, a satanic addiction. The smart phone has done more to kill productivity than Karl Marx and Lyndon Johnson combined. Every day, all day long, the brain and eyes of people are drawn to the screen and distracted from the job in front of them. Just look at the exponential increase in highway rollover accidents since the advent of smart phones. When I worked for my father and uncle, 30-plus years before the first smart phones were introduced, we were on our own, navigating by dead reckoning, from the time we left the house in the morning until we walked in the door at the end of the day. We were connected only to the task at hand from 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. In the event of an emergency outside of work, whoever needed to reach you could dial Victor4-4331, leave a message with Betty, and she would get word to you. She alone determined whether the call was worth an interruption in your workday. We had an intercom loudspeaker mounted on top of the yard office which allowed Betty to inform the brass of what she decided were important business calls. I can still hear her Vidalia Georgia charm as it echoed across the yard; “Johnny, telephone,” “Emil, telephone.” These days, everyone in the yard is connected to the outside world and all its idiocy, all day long. We are distracted by the machine, and most everyone has succumbed to the digital hypnosis. A study in inefficiency could be, and probably has been, produced by observing the effects of internet weather apps on the average wage earner. In the old days, weather events unfolded in front of us. When the sky turned dark or we heard thunder, we expected rain. When it blew like hell out of the northeast, we knew it was rough offshore. In the summertime we knew to expect midday temperatures in the nineties, and we worked around it. Fifty years ago, we poured our 1100 into a cup within a larger cup packed with ice, to keep the varnish flowing on a transom or a bulkhead in the summer heat. Today, the phones are out at 8 a.m., providing the crew with a forecast designed for individual interpretation, which tells them it’s going to be too hot, too cold, too wet, or too normal to do anything. On any given day, I have fifty amateur meteorologists telling me why things can’t be done. Storm track and intensity forecasts by the crew are ridiculously inaccurate, based on hysteria or a chance at time off. Smart phones have created not-so-smart people.

Distractions come in many forms. One inevitable distraction in any boatyard is God’s fault and has been around since the Garden of Eden. It is a cruel joke on all men, but when a good-looking gal, hell, any gal, walks through the boatyard, work stops and all concentration focuses on the damsel with the tumblehome transom or the bulbous bow. Instantly, heavy objects fly into fragile things, guys trip over their own feet and fingers and limbs are cut or crushed by machinery that continues to run with no one at the helm. Immediately following an incident, concentration is regained and applied to rehearsing a story for the office manager or Urgent Care physician when asked: “What happened.” “You wouldn’t believe it. I was running the forklift and, all of a sudden, it drove itself into the side of that Viking. Yeah, that’s the ticket. It wasn’t my fault! Doc says I’m looking at six weeks of PT and rehab and if I ever return to work, I can’t lift more than a twelve ounce can.” The same act plays out on the docks when boats cruise by with bewitching young ladies aboard, modeling the latest in thong wear and wickedly whooping it up for their working-man audience. Forbidden fruit makes grown men drool, slip on the side deck and crash into the toe rail with wrenches and screw guns. When confronted with the damage, the rationalization is predictable: “Don’t blame me. I was born into original sin!”

The prevailing absence of customer support in 21st century business ethics is a distraction as well. I suppose it’s a sign of the times, but assistance in any category of machinery installation, paint and resin problems, or technology issues, is hard to find. When we need help, we are directed to “experts” who talk in circles, offer opinions within a CYA legal framework, and waste our time. After hours of distraction from the work at hand, we ultimately find that we are on our own. This burns time and money, retards our attention to the path ahead, and contributes to the mistrust between manufacturers and the consumer. In times past, there was always a go-to person when questions or issues arose with systems and equipment. The best people with the most help to offer were the ones who came up through the ranks, turned the wrenches, went home dirty and knew the product inside out. Now, when we have a question, we are transferred through a series of technophiles and administrators who don’t return calls or emails. On the rare occasion when someone actually replies, his or her ignorance, apathy, or both, become blatantly obvious in the first sentence. Wasted time searching for assistance or solving someone else’s problems is a very frustrating distraction and one I anticipate will only get worse in this age of clean, manicured fingernails. I must allow, I know of at least one reliable exception to this distraction: Matt Grubb with FDDA. He answers calls, right away, day or night, and is there for all of us, with a thorough knowledge of the product and its systems. O.K., Matt, don’t let this go to your head and you better have your ass here with those injectors Monday morning. And try to work on that toxic masculinity thing. This is a family operation.

By far, the biggest distraction in any workplace comes from other people. Humans are social creatures and apparently need to interact with one another during the course of the day. Like a Jane Goodall documentary, one can observe this behavior from a secluded vantage point. Playfulness, consolation, torment, aggression, grooming, mating rituals and primitive tool making are all well-documented primate order behaviors. Research from long-term observation by the author has shown that it is during this social intercourse that concentration is lost, and mistakes become commonplace within the troop. One must be covert in one’s observation. When a supervisor nears the vicinity of the troop, there is a highly-developed olfactory receptor-based alert system in place, triggered by an upwind outlander, and the primates immediately begin to scatter back to their assigned branches, declaring their innocence with an intimidating howl. At this point, the dominant Alpha male will often randomly assault one of the young challengers and banish him from the troop as a snitch and an ass-kisser. It’s a jungle out there.

Distractions. Oh, what we could get done in a day without them. If we could turn off the technology, mind our own business and pay attention to the job at hand, productivity and pride in workmanship would soar and we’d all get rich. But, alas, we are all distracted and will continue to err as human beings. Maybe we should try switching off the podcast or the Hip-Hop compilation and pay attention to that measurement or the cut of the saw blade, so we don’t get into trouble. And around here, we all know what “trouble” means: Here comes that guy in the hat!

This article originally appeared in the November 2024 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.

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Source: https://www.powerandmotoryacht.com/column/stem-to-stern-distractions