Recycling (2)

Back to recycling: That company had 3 sites; 2 in Germany and 1 in France. Headquarter was Germany. Those sites were the dirtiest places I have seen so far in my life. There was not even any concrete to walk on, but only mud and even more mud. I know now what it must have been like in the middle ages when there was nothing like that existing. Obviously, as it was February or March, it was bucketing it down in all those 2 weeks. My black suit was to be thrown.

First week was in Germany, second one in France. In both I did a brown paper with the plant manager and supervisor about their processes. The German one was easy, the French one was quite a challenge. I will never ever forget Monsieur Bréton when he explained that process to me. My first ever Frenchman I spoke to more than the usual holiday “bonjour, ca va?”-conversation. He whisteled and threw his hand up all the time when he tried to transmit a “Whatever! Does this face look bovvered?”-message. It took me years to figure out that this is quite a French feature. An adorable one though.

This analysis went on for a while, but I was called off and sent to another one.

Recycling (1)

So, there I was, the training expert on my first ever analysis. I knew they were tough. Little did I know that I had to do 3 in a row, which means 6 to 8 weeks of sleepless nights, up-tight analysts, new colleagues, and a desire to actually leave training and get into operations. It was clear, my training days were counted, I started to like operations.

The first analysis was a multiple site one in the recycling business. The company recycled industrial waste. In those sites were huge “Waelz Ovens” (from the German word "Wälzofen"), sort of 20 to 30 metres long revolving tubes into which one throws all the scurry (metal waste) on one side and after that waste has travelled through the oven, as the oven is reclining a little, exits as recycled iron (I think) on the other. That was in the year 2000, so my memory for details is sort of lost.

During the analysis they asked who spoke any French. Well, I did, but only very marginal in those days. But together with another German who lived in Italy we were sent to the client’s French site in Fouquiers-sur-Lens, which is in the toilet of France, in its very north, the old mining area, the perfect site for a “Four Waelz” as they called that big revolving thing there. Little did I know in those days that many years later I would spend many months there. In fact, I am there right now when this blog is appearing online.