From the interview, I already knew that the production line I was responsible for would be expanded later.
When I joined at the end of September last year, the company had already planned to set up a new line around March or April, and this new line would also fall under my management in the future. At the time, I didn’t really pay it much mind and even thought, “Oh, sure, expanding the line is fine,” because from my experience at my previous company, the production line had never been the part I needed to worry about the most.
The on-site technicians and process team leaders all had their own rhythm. They would handle problems themselves first, and only when things got stuck, required coordinating priorities, adjusting schedules, or needed me to communicate with clients or other departments would they come to me. I was more like the person keeping the overall pace, rather than having to personally monitor every single detail.
But after joining the electronics industry, I realized it was completely different.
In electronics, production management sometimes really feels like being a kindergarten teacher.
Many things don’t just run on their own once you assign them. You have to explain step by step: “Do this first, then do that, is this done yet, did you notify that person?” You even have to watch every single step, because if you miss one, the next second someone might turn around and ask, “Did you arrange this?”
That sentence has now become my nightmare.
Even though everyone knows what needs to be done, if no one is called out, followed up on, or confirmed, things just seem to stop. Eventually everything falls back on the production manager. After a while, you really get the feeling that you’re not managing schedules—you’re just cracking a whip to drive the herd forward.
So now that the new line was actually set up in May and trial production has begun, I’m finally experiencing what it’s like for a “horror story to come true.”
The original workload was already heavy enough. Every day, just dealing with abnormalities, scheduling, material shortages, delivery dates, and emails from the existing lines was enough to leave me breathless. Now there’s an extra new line, which means everything stacks on top: new models, new processes, new personnel, and new problems all emerging at once.
And the scariest part is that expanding the line doesn’t just add a little work—it amplifies all the subsequent management, tracking, and coordination. More orders mean more abnormalities; more people mean higher communication costs.
I used to think I was pretty tough and could endure a lot. I’d tell myself to push a bit harder and do a little more, and I should be able to get through it.
But this time I seriously told my supervisor for the first time that I can’t handle this much—not that I’m unwilling, but if things continue this way, everything is going to start spiraling out of control. After hearing me out, my supervisor finally started planning to find someone to share my workload. Honestly, when I heard that, it felt like seeing a glimmer of light, because at least my breaking point wasn’t something only I knew about.
Now I can only keep pushing while waiting, hoping that one day I won’t have to work overtime until dark every day, and can finish things normally and leave on time, instead of constantly fighting against time and workload.