During the 1980’s, I worked in the machine shop of a factory that made showers, valves and industrial metering equipment. I had several jobs there over a period of 14 years, including Machine Setter, Production Engineer and Quality Control Inspector. I mostly worked in a machine shop, where metal components were made.
This stuff actually happened. And it happened over thirty years ago. The world was a totally different place then and today’s standards and sensibilities didn’t exist or apply. Bear that in mind.
Mike the Bike
The machines that manufactured the showers involved the cutting of metal – mainly brass and steel. The by-product of this cutting process was the generation of chips (or strands) of metal called swarf. This swarf was superfluous to the shower production, and was seen as waste. The swarf used to fill up the beds of the cutting machines, so (in the 1980’s) a chap was employed to shovel this swarf out of the machine beds (usually into a metal dustbin) and take it to the back of the factory, where a huge spinner was installed. The swarf would be loaded into the spinner and literally spin-dried. Swarf was mixed with cutting fluid, spinning it would separate the two. The metal was sent away for recycling and the cutting fluid was reprocessed.
One of these chaps that used to collect the swarf was called Mike (not his real name). Mike was quite a character. He was quite a loud shouty man, who had an opinion about anything and everyone. I quite liked him, but most people tended to avoid him whenever possible, as he would keep you talking for ages, ignoring anything you had to say in preference to his own opinion.
Mike bought himself a step-through moped. It was a Honda 50 (pictured) – this type was a step through with an automatic clutch and three gears. All you had to do was start the bike, put it in gear by pressing down with your left heel on the gear lever, then twist the throttle to go. The
Mike used to park his bike directly outside the spinning room (the spinning room being adjacent to the back yard). It was common to have a top box fitted to the rack at the back – ideal for storing your helmet, or sandwiches.
An opinion ensued
The naughty people on the factory floor used to wind up Mike often. You’d only have to start a conversation with him sometimes and off he would go. Sometimes, he would get particularly fired up and go off with his dustbin of swarf, still opining at the top of his voice.
One such occasion occurred one day, as I was in the room next door to the spinner (it was an ultrasonic cleaning room). Mike went past all shouty and loud, the dustbin went a-crashing and then there was silence. A few minutes later, there was a further crash and someone shouting “baaaaaaaaaaastard” at the top of their voice over and over. The word elongated and drawn out in his best West Country accent.
Hilarity ensued
Naturally being concerned, a couple of us rushed outside to where the hullabaloo emanating. Right before us was Mike. He had his right hand on the throttle of his bike, obviously wide open. The bike was wheely-ing at a furious pace in a circle with Mike hanging on for dear life. Clearly, he had left it in gear when he last parked it. Now when he started it, he had started it with the throttle wide open. It had taken off with him hanging on to it – and he wouldn’t let go!
The sight was hilarious (this was the 80’s, no concern for people’s wellbeing in those days!). It took us a few moments, but we managed to rescue him (and his bike). That little tale was repeated a few times over, much to the dismay of Mike.
All’s well that ends well
Poor old Mike didn’t get hurt (apart from a bruised ego), the bike survived also and it was all forgotten about a few days later.