The deep, constant pulse of the machines wrapped around me the moment I stepped through the steel doors of the plant. The clock read 6:42, just before my scheduled start, yet I prefer the stillness of those extra minutes. Inside the high, steel-tongued bays of the nation’s largest soft drink plant, I willingly give up every other luxury for solitude. Long before the first six-pack slides through a scanner, a concealed ballet of wires, valves, and instinct has already bowed, and I take my place at the center.
I headed first to the glass-walled control room, where the night crew, like a colony of night moths, was folding another yesterday into the machine. Alex, the leaving operator, ran me through the log—steady rates, one brief carbonation stack spike, already soothed by a maintenance crew who hummed the fresh numbers into the head of the unit. I keyed the revised values into my own screen and let the trend lines flow one extra time, allowing my gut to confirm what the digits already say.
When I felt that ache of certainty settle, I walked the lane to the first robot. I touched the circulating motors with one open hand, a simple gesture that doubled as inspection.
The main track hummed its even pulse, the ceramic tiles still cool beneath my palm. I ducked beneath the overhead braid of pipes, tuning in to the lean whistle of compressed air and the quiet clink of sterilized carriers. Each click was a small, lonely declaration that progress, however subtle, was still possible.
I hope to still bring you more updates as I dive Into afternoon session, but until then stay safe and have a great day ahead.
Gracias 🙏
