I threw myself onto the floor between my desk and the wall. “Please don’t make me go!” I cried out to my co worker. My manager had just called to tell me I am going back to the rig which I was kicked off of a few months ago. Déjà vu, I’m also running the same service as the previous time. All the things I’d rather do come to mind. As most are rather graphic, I’ll spare you, dearest readers.
This morning, I go to the heliport, armed with two dozen chocolate truffles and a turkey sandwich to calm my nerves. My trusty operator and I check in for the flight. Each of our bags is well over the allowed weight. Typically, this is not a problem, and the guy at the counter will let it slide…. not today.
“Your bag is too heavy.” He said with the utmost unsympathetic focus.
“Okay…” The poker-faced staring contest begins.
He raises, “What will you to do?”
Nothing, I think to myself. “Do you want me to unpack right here and you tell me what to leave?” A rather taunting dare.
“The limit is 30 pounds.” Ol’ PokerFace is not budging this morning.
It should be mentioned that my bag(s) is 45 lbs. I carry two laptops with associated accessories and cables (both for work), steel toed boots, hard hat, 2 t-shirts, a handful of dirty undergarments to be washed once I get to the rig, 2 coveralls, an unknown and mysterious quantity of socks, a handful of toiletries, and one jump rope. “I can’t leave anything behind.” I say, wishing I had chosen another time to wear my bright red “Comedy Barn” t shirt. After years of experience, I finally succumb to the sad reality- people let you get away with things when you dress nicely and wash your face. I dust off residual turkey sandwich crumbs from the rooster on my t shirt and try to flash a cheeky grin. Femininity eludes me this morning.
We were relegated to the second chopper of the day, arriving to the rig around 2 pm. I get here to a crew who has been on board for a day. I bust out my chocolates and get ready for whatever will transpire over the next few days.