At the beginning of June, my friend Jason recruited me to work at a pop-up hand sanitizer plant in Junction, Texas. Junction was named for the confluence of the North and South Llano (pronounced LAN-o) rivers, but it could very well have been for the intersection of highways. In a place that most people only pass by, I embedded into the community, learning about the lifestyles and characters that make the local culture tick. I want to share my abridged, heavily-edited-post-departure diary of my wild experience in this faraway corner of country:
June 4th: Arrived and toured the 77,000 sq ft facility. Apart from the mass manufacture of hand sanitizer, there are no signs of the coronavirus pandemic in the plant, no distancing, no masks. There’s a frenzied energy here: grand plans seem to be in motion to scale into one of the nation’s largest hand sanitizer manufacturers within a matter of months. That energy is percolating through Junction, as the lady who checked me into my provisional home at the Best Western beamed with interest in quitting to become one of the projected 250 new hires to our plant.
June 5th: Had the pleasure of meeting many of the plant workers, most of whom have lived their entire life within 100 miles of Junction. After my introduction as the prospective plant manager, these workers (including some old enough to be my father) began addressing me in measured sentences followed by “sir”, “yes sir” or “no sir.” As a 28-year-old outsider, I was startled by the level of deference, like the regional traditions of respect had exacerbated the “sweat shop” work culture endemic to manufacturing.
June 6th: Coming on board today was a new chemist, John, who has worked on a wide variety of projects over 30 years in the oil industry. As we walked around the facility, it truly sank in how far we were from producing consistent hand gel in a safe and environmentally conscious manner. But if anyone can fix the situation it’s John, and I stand to learn a lot from him.
June 7th: Sunday, a day of rest for the plant. I got to know the management, a contingent of scrappy Canadians led by my boss, Owen Kenney, over a Texas-sized rack of mouthwatering barbecued ribs. Tales of big game hunts were shared, and rifles passed around the office. In the evening, I ventured up to Lover’s Leap, a clifftop overlook with a vulture’s eye view of Junction, and enjoyed a solitary sunset beneath a tattered American flag.
June 8th: A case of the Mondays, the first day for our twenty-some Venezuelan temp workers. It was chaotic, giving a bilingual crash course on our makeshift bottling line, watching the workers mingle without masks or social distancing. But the day improved when I met the night crew of Cody, Buddy, Cowboy, and Curt: I gelled immediately with these hardworking ranch guys, then they churned out nearly 15 tons of gel that night.
June 9th: Our water analysis came back: Junction’s municipal water supply contains 8 times the legal limit of lead and 5 times the legal limit of iron. When I informed the employees about this alarming finding, they generally laughed: it’s a fact of life that the water is so persistently bad that locals stopped drinking it decades ago. How does this happen in 21st century America? I later learned that the City of Junction pays an annual fine because it’s cheaper than fixing the problem.
June 10th: Sheriff Cantu came by the plant today. He spoke affably to the management, thanking us for bringing opportunity to the region. He mentioned a few of our new hires by name: evidently, there was a group of known troublemakers one incident away from some significant jail time, and we’ve been keeping them busy on our weekend night shift.
June 11th: First 100-hour work week in the books. The breakneck pace of the operation prevents me from leaving the plant for meals; I found out that none of the restaurants are open for lunch after 3pm or dinner after 8pm (and since businesses don’t have an online presence out here, the only reliable posting of business hours is on the front door).
June 12th: Our clean water cowboy, John’s colleague Alan, delivered and installed a water purification system that reduced our incoming mineral content by nearly 99%. John and I took this opportunity to rework the gel mixing process, watching as our favorite night crew of rowdies shuttled chemical totes around in an orchestrated chaos that John affectionately termed “forklift ballet.”
June 13th: Busy Saturday, our man-powered industrial machine clicked on all cylinders. As a treat for our around-the-clock dedication, Owen’s brother Kevin grilled up some delicious axis tenderloin – local, grass-fed, and on par with the best steak I’ve ever tasted!
June 14th: After a day of industrial-scale housekeeping, John and I drove off into the sunset toward Rocksprings, a neighboring town 50 miles to the southwest. In stark contrast to Junction’s dusty, downtrodden main drag, Rocksprings has a quaint, well-kept town center made entirely of white limestone. We ate on the square at the town’s lone restaurant, still a jumping joint even though the stage was empty on a Sunday night.
June 15th: New steel worktables arrived this Monday, and we had a few extra. I suggested doubling the tables on the bottling line to socially distance workers by 6 feet. That idea was laughed off the table: we can’t slow the workers down by adding empty space. There have been no COVID cases in the county, and we’re an essential business anyway, dammit.
June 16th: Kevin has an evening ritual where he fills a feeding trough with water, heats it in the afternoon sun, and takes a bath as the sun goes down. 100 feet away, whitetails and axis deer gather around his animal feeder, which scatters corn at precisely 7pm each day. If he likes what he sees, he can reach for his hunting rifle and nab an axis buck from the tub.
June 17th: Sat down with Carolyn, our HR manager and secretary: she gave me two months of oral history on how over 200 people applied for jobs at the plant, since the $12/hr starting wage is a godsend for so many who are subsisting on minimum wage part-time work. An especially heartwarming example, one of our most productive night guys, let’s call him Sandy, had gained 40 pounds since starting work here two months ago. That’s what quitting drugs and having enough money for meals will do – this job was literally saving his life.
June 18th: The last of the thickening polymer was consumed today. Instead of ordering more, Owen sent the night crew home for the rest of the week without an explanation. Something is up.
June 19th: Plant operations have ground to a halt. The Venezuelan temp workers were supposed to work for another week, but they were dismissed. As far as I know, they were never paid in full for this breach of contract.
June 20th: I’ve worked 17 days straight for a total of nearly 240 hours. That’s insane. But I can’t leave – in noticing that a 275 gallon tote of hydrogen peroxide was left out in the sun, I may have prevented a catastrophic spill.
June 21st: Father’s Day, my first day off since arriving, and I was thrilled to escape the chaos to join Jason and his friends on a boat ride through scenic Lake Buchanan. Junction lies at the western edge of Texas’s beautiful Hill Country, not far from the pastoral ranches and wineries that, even during a pandemic, draw tourists from all over the region. After exploring waterfalls and caves, we watched the many stars rise from a secluded spot on the river near Llano…just magnificent, a day of Texas superlatives in my book!
June 22nd: One of our workers, Blue, tested positive for COVID-19. Hysteria ensued, as rumors spread like wildfire in a small town. Dr. Jackson, the county’s lone public doctor, advised us to institute basic precautions like temperature checks and mask-wearing (which, as the “mask guy” from out-of-state, I was pleased to implement).
June 23rd: The workers are taking the virus threat seriously, as a total of 4 employees stayed home with suspected cases. But the community spread is unknown. Owen reported a 103 degree fever after working closely with me in the lab yesterday, but he refused to get tested.
June 24th: I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating with a low-grade fever. I called the county hospital in the morning and scheduled an appointment to be COVID-tested tomorrow. It took all of my energy to deliver sanitizer samples to nearby (well, 60 miles away) Kerrville – no, there’s no mandatory quarantine here, though Gov. Abbott instituted a statewide mask ordinance earlier this week.
June 25th: For my COVID-testing appointment, the county health officials had me sit in an isolated waiting room. Dr. Jackson and his staff, communicating with me through a doorway, concluded that I did not display severe enough symptoms to merit an emergency test. Since I was not a Texas resident, they could not administer a test provided through their State of Texas funding. So I was turned away, not knowing if I had COVID or just fatigue from the 100-hr work weeks.
June 26th: Payday for the workers. Except that we committed a cardinal sin of business management and were unable to pay. Checks and wires were supposed to replenish the account but never came. Carolyn resigned, effective immediately. So John and I were left to explain to the employees that everything would be okay, while cancelling night shifts once again. Oof.
June 27th: A new HR manager, Amanda, was hired, bringing her 10+ years of rural Texas management experience to address what has become an enormous HR nightmare, between the coronavirus and the payroll situation and souring attitudes within the community.
June 28th: After a day of manual inventory, I drove down to South Llano State Park for some fresh air. The air wasn’t so fresh, as I was treated to a hot and hazy sunset. And it wasn’t such a treat when I couldn’t start my car and had to abandon it inside the park overnight.
June 29th: Cody, my right hand man for gel mixing, kindly gave up his lunch break to drive me back to the state park. He and I are the same age, but he wears his life experience differently – working numerous jobs from oilfield operations to manufacturing and supporting his wife of a few years. Fortunately, I was able to start my car by removing everything except for the key tumbler and drove it back to town in time for a top-notch gas station lunch at Mauricio’s Taqueria.
June 30th: Dr. Martinez, the private practice doctor in town, called and informed us, in no uncertain terms, that all employees needed to be COVID tested within a week or he would shut the operation down. While the move may have been a flex – he’s jockeying with Dr. Jackson for influence in the town – the threat was backed by the Texas public health commission. I’d already witnessed the shortage of testing infrastructure, and frankly it seemed like an impossible demand to meet.
July 1st: The plant hasn’t been producing hand sanitizer for over a week, so a massive recycling project for off-spec product is underway. The employees have been pouring yellowed gel into totes 8 ounces at a time and reconstituting the totes with new thickener. Here to witness today was our storage tank installer from Midland, who is owed a couple hundred thousand dollars and showed up with an empty 18-wheeler to take as much hand sanitizer as he could get.
July 2nd: My guy Sandy arrived 20 minutes late for work, his first shift in nearly 2 weeks. Kevin fired him on the spot. I don’t know what will happen to him, but this was devastating.
July 3rd: As the COVID outbreak has intensified in the rural counties, the National Guard is coming to Junction next week to administer free COVID tests on a reservation basis. We contacted all 120 employees from 4 shifts, knowing that we needed at least 90% participation to keep the doors open.
July 4th-5th: “Where the hell are you?” My Canadian boss called me around noon on the holiday, wanting me to reformulate a lotion sanitizer product. I was at a lake outside Dallas, celebrating in true Texas fashion with the most extravagant boat parade, air show, and private fireworks displays I had ever seen. I followed that Texas-sized splurge with a convertible ride around Austin from my friend Clayton – simply an incredible weekend, an experience inextricably linked but in stark contrast to my time in Junction.
July 6th: Bad product from May and early June is blowing back by the truckload. As the quality control manager, I had to explain to our brokers what process improvements were implemented and when. The brokers revealed that they are being sued for several million dollars in damages due to our undesirable product, and they’re furiously building a case.
July 7th: It has become clear that Owen does not intend to pay me, despite the contract. Rather than embroil myself in a potential legal situation for free, I decided today would be my last day. John and I wanted to enjoy a final meal at Isaack’s, a time-worn diner serving enormous juicy ribeyes and other homestyle fare. As we walked toward the entrance, 20 minutes before close, the deadbolt clicked loudly – an emblematic parting shot.
July 8th: I dutifully stayed for the county-wide COVID test. As one would expect from a military operation, it was a quick drive-thru process: present ID, read the instructions, spit in a tube, seal and return. The employees turned out in droves, likely fearing a plant closure. I would not know if the showing was enough to convince Dr. Martinez to allow the plant to continue – I submitted my resignation that evening.
After turning my back and walking away from the (potential) explosion, I had to fully separate myself from the fortunes of that company. As far as my resume is concerned, it’s like I never worked there – though the experience did help land my next job in the hand sanitizer industry, a more stable position in an inherently safer operation. The Texas Workforce Commission is processing unpaid wage claims filed by my coworkers and me, but the outlook isn’t promising. In the time it takes to enforce these claims, the money will likely be gone, and Owen will have moved on to other exploits.
In the months that followed, I’ve heard mainly good news from Junction. The plant partially reopened, keeping a core crew including Cody and Amanda employed through the summer. Several others were able to return to their previous jobs. Curt started a business doing epoxy tabletops and flooring. Buddy, Cowboy, and Carolyn went back to ranching. John and Jason found steadier work opportunities in related chemical industries. All in all, Junction may not have been the ideal crossroads, but it brought many great people into my life and served as a departure point for all of us to move forward stronger.
Worldly Observations 