This is a sample from the CD we listen to in the pick up on the way home: http://www.wesstjon.com/music.html. Please listen to the last song in this list, “Service Hands”. This is my life. This is thousands of people’s jobs. [Checking over this page, it seems to be giving me hiccups. If you are also experiencing problems and would like to listen to oilfield music, go to the home page, click on oilfield music, and navigate from there.]
For the job I am on now, we use explosive guns to blow holes in the ground, called perforating. Before we perforate, we set a plug in the well to separate the zones. The plug we are using is from another company. They have a tech out with us. He helps out with our operation. This man looks like this:
- Now imagine if this man had a (tobacco) ball in his cheek, somewhere between golf ball and base ball sized
One of the other men on location is a consultant to the client. Let’s call him Chuckie. He used to work for Whataberger. I am fairly certain he is missing a small part of his jaw due to chewing tobacco. This is purely speculation. Chuckie is extremely cool. He wears an American flag hard hat. He is also understanding, informative, and interested in talking to people. I am told not everyone on site is as nice. The company man is a Canadian Hindi, who went to Mississippi State. He is laid back as well. He wears no PPE (hard hat, boots, coveralls), and just walks around the well site checking up on the different operations. He is awesome.
Today, I sat in the fracking truck during their operation. I wanted to take a picture, but feared that would make me look like a tourist. I am not a tourist; I’m a gosh darn professional! This truck looked like the control room for some high-tech spacer operation. I intended that to be a hyperbole, but as I think about it, that is exactly what this truck was. I felt like I was on a field trip in school.
While I was sitting in on the frac operation next to Chuckie, he asked me “So how long have you been here?” I replied by pointing down as if to gesture to Oklahoma “How long have I been here…?” I asked to clarify. “No, how long have you been in The States?”Chuckie specified, obviously. “Hahaha. I was born here. I’m from Dallas.” Chuckie back tracks, “Oh, good for you! I thought you were born over seas.” Chuckie was so nice, I was not even offended. But after thinking about it, my reaction is, “Seriously, Chuckie? I don’t even have an accent?!?!?! And what a bold assumption. You could have eased into that one with a more broad question, such as “What is your ethnicity?” Like a regular person!!!!” I digress, this is completely normal for oilfield seniority in west Oklahoma.
“Kids are the coolest pets you’ll ever have.” -Guy at the office
“That’s my Indian name, Two Dogs Humping.”-Trevor
“Dave, if you have a kid within the year, you have to name it after me. If it’s a girl, name her Junior-ita” – A man named Junior. He is the guy we rent our pressure gear from.
“I have as many credits in philosophy as I do engineering.” -Hindian
“Why is that?”- Chuckie
“I got burnt out on engineering and up and changed my major.”-Hindian
“Yeah right. You went and rolled some marijuana and went to class….The teacher askes, ‘What’s your philosophy on that?’….’My philosphy on that is I don’t give a sh!t!!!'”-Chuckie