The requirement as a lifeline is me. I have my magnifying glass riveted to my eye, I check everything all the time. The slightest pitting, crack or oddity in the metal earns the right to go back to the workshop to be reworked, not to mention the setting. A claw that is not right, a thread that is not clean, and it goes back too. I make the jewellers howl and my fellow setter sharpens his tools in preparation for a remark. I am not unpleasant, no. But demanding and nitpicking, yes! That’s how I learned to work, with perfection. As they are unfortunately either deceased or retired, I can name them. M. Béhar père, M. Foubert, M. Thibaudin… And so on. Jewellers like I have the impression more and more that they are no longer made. The mould must be broken and I’m sorry about that. But it makes my workshop manager, who is like me, smile. Well, I’m certainly more of a pain in the ass, but I’m a polisher. The slightest defect stands out in the polish and is visible like the nose in the middle of the face. No, I can’t let something that bothers me go. You know, you’re like me, rude to metal and uncompromising with it if it tries to resist you.
A* (first name changed), polisher for about twenty years
Poinçonneur des Lilas
When I arrived at the workshop at the end of last week, my boss had left this on my workbench. And the first thing I thought and smiled was that jewellers have a vocation as ticket inspectors like in the song. And I might as well share this funny...