In the first week as supervisor, Pablo understood sothing he had not known before.
Authority is not in shouting.
Nor in threats.
Nor in showing power.
True authority lies in every person knowing exactly what you expect from them, and what will happen if they do not do it.
---
On the morning of his first day, Pablo stood before the workers before the shift started.
It was not a long speech.
Only two sentences.
"I do not punish mistakes. I punish the repetition of mistakes."
---
On the third day, a worker on the first line made a mistake. He placed boxes of rotten fruit in the place of good ones due to inattention.
Pablo arrived when the workers discovered the mistake.
He looked at the boxes, then at the worker.
"Resort everything again."
"But that will take an hour."
"I know. Start."
The worker resorted everything alone while the line continued running.
He did not repeat the mistake.
---
In the second week, a senior worker ca. A man in his fifties nad Jordo, who had worked at the factory for many years.
He ca with a flushed face and angry steps.
He stood in front of Pablo.
"I have worked here for eight years."
"I know."
"And do you think I need a child to show what to do and what not to do?"
Pablo looked at him with complete calm.
He did not raise his voice.
He did not step back.
"I am not here because of my age. I am here because of what I provide. If you think you can provide more than , the director's door is open."
Jordo fell silent.
His eyes calculated the situation.
A man in his fifties facing a fourteen-year-old child.
But behind this child were Tom, the new Export Manager, and the general director who had signed his appointnt.
Jordo turned his back and returned to his work.
He did not speak of the matter again.
Pablo did not care what Jordo or others did. In the end, he was sorting the workers. People like Jordo had no place here as long as he was here.
He had noticed from his first day here who always worked seriously and who only worked when watched.
Who completed their task without being asked and who needed an order at every step.
Who complained in secret and who carried their work in silence.
Now that he was in charge, he had a clear picture in his head.
Three types of workers.
The first: those who work with genuine seriousness regardless of whether the supervisor is present or absent. He needed these.
The second: those who work acceptably but slow down when no eyes are on them. These could be managed.
The third: those who do not work seriously, spread laziness around them, and grumble in secret. These were a problem.
Pablo began to filter quietly.
He did not fire anyone directly.
He did not confront anyone publicly in a way that created problems.
But he began distributing tasks differently.
Those who did not work seriously found themselves in the most difficult positions and heaviest tasks.
Those who grumbled found their break hours shrinking slightly due to work demands.
And those who made the sa mistake twice found a written report in their file.
Three reports and the matter went to the director.
At the end of the first week, a grumbling worker was absent an entire day claiming illness.
Pablo did not respond to his absence with words.
When he returned the next day, he found his tasks permanently distributed to others.
And he was given other, harsher tasks.
The worker did not speak after that.
At the end of the second week, two other workers requested transfers to other lines for various reasons.
Pablo agreed.
And transferred them to harsher lines on the other side of the factory.
After three days, they asked to co back.
Pablo agreed with clear conditions.
Better performance or no return.
He was not acting out of revenge.
He was acting out of calculation.
The director looked at numbers.
And numbers rose when those who needed to work worked.
Every rising number was an additional argunt for another promotion.
That was all that mattered to him now.
---
In the middle of the second week, Pablo arrived at the factory in the morning and found the night supervisor waiting for him with a worried face.
"We have a problem."
"Speak."
"Line two stopped last night. The main belt broke, and we sent for maintenance, but they haven't arrived yet. We have boxes of fruit sitting for four hours."
Four hours of stopped production.
A big loss.
Pablo walked toward line two.
---
The belt was stopped, and the workers stood beside it with eyes hoping it would not be fixed.
Pablo examined the machinery with calm eyes.
He was not a chanic, nor an expert in machines.
But he was a thirty-seven-year-old man who had seen buses break down and engines stop.
He bent down and looked under the belt.
He saw sothing.
A large piece of fruit had fallen and gotten stuck between the belt and the main pulley.
It was completely blocking the movent.
He stood up, grabbed a tal rod beside him, carefully inserted it between the belt and the pulley, and pressed slowly.
The piece moved a little.
He pressed more.
The piece slid and fell.
"Start the belt."
One of the workers pressed the switch.
The belt began to move.
---
The night supervisor looked at Pablo with wide eyes.
"Four hours, and we didn't notice it."
"You were looking in the wrong place."
Pablo continued walking.
---
At the end of that day, the director asked him to write a report about the problem and how it was solved.
Pablo wrote the report in ten minutes.
Clear and concise.
The problem, the cause, the solution, and the ti taken.
At the end, one suggestion.
Daily inspection under the belts before each shift to prevent the problem from recurring.
The director read the report and placed it on his desk.
"Your suggestion is accepted."
---
At the end of the half-month, Pablo sat in his small office that had beco his.
A simple desk in a corner of the factory, but it was an office.
He looked at the numbers in front of him.
Production in half a month had risen an additional four percent.
Not much, but steady.
Then he looked at his salary.
Seventy-five thousand per month.
In half a month, thirty-seven thousand five hundred.
And with every passing month, more money accumulated.
---
On the last day of the half-month, Pablo walked slowly through the factory lines after the shift ended.
The workers were leaving one by one.
So nodded to him as they passed.
So avoided his gaze.
And so looked at him with eyes trying to understand.
A fourteen-year-old child walking through a factory as if he owned it.
With steps that neither hurried nor hesitated.
With eyes that captured everything.
And a face that did not reveal what lay behind it.
Pablo stood in the middle of the factory and looked at everything around him.
The belts, the lines, the departing workers, the arranged boxes, the quiet machines after a long day of work.
Sothing in his chest was slightly satisfied.
Not the satisfaction of a man who had arrived.
But the satisfaction of a man who saw the road ahead clearly.
He was still at the beginning.
But he was walking in the right direction.
He turned off the light in his office and left.
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