The New and Improved Cynical Idealist

The Man that Lived at Work

I hate overtime. Really, I hate overtime. I hate thinking about overtime, but yet, when it's offered, I don't say no because I'm an idiot.

I'm a 40 hours a week kind of guy, and my paycheck is just fine without all the extra stuff. That said, I'm also the lowest seniority guy on my crew so when no one else wants it, it's mine. Welp, no one else wants it. So here I am. Tired as hell after doing a 12 hour stretch yesterday on the welders.

I'm gonna say this, 12 hours of welding probably sounds easy, maybe in the right shop it is, but what we do, 12 hours is like 12 rounds with Tyson in the early 90s. I feel like I went to the gym and did arm day, leg day, back day, and cardio all on the one day. Granted I'm not a spring chicken anymore. I'm a summer chicken now, so 12 and 16 hour shifts hit a little harder than they used to.

I'm gonna keep complaining about welding for a minute. I have 2 pairs of welding gloves, and both of have holes in them in perfect spots. One is in the left hand thumb. The other is in the left hand index finger. I'm a righty so that probably sounds good. It isn't. It seems like every last bit of dross happens to find those holes, so my left hand is always burnt up.

And now we arrive at the present state of things this morning. A tired guy with a burnt up left hand, who's sore all over, and having to give myself a pep talk just to get off the couch and get ready for work this morning to do another 12 or 16. I'm not one for complaining, but, dude, I really hate overtime. My wife really hates overtime. My kids hate overtime. Not because I'm not home, I am after all making a good bit of extra money from it, it's because I become a diva. I come home with every stick up the butt you could imagine the likes of which that not even a Snicker's bar can fix.

Now this minute or so of self-pity has got me thinking. Not so long ago, I was in the nuclear field, traveling the world and doing 84 hour (or more) weeks in some middle of nowhere place in a foreign country. Hated it then too, but there was a time when I loved all the hours. That I would say was in my 20s when I had a better back and better knees. Now I just want an 8 hour day and a beer while my daughter uses me as a jungle gym. Seriously, 1 year olds really enjoy climbing on people, I don't know why.

All of this has really got me thinking though. At a steel mill or really anywhere where there's a team of guys working on things, construction sites, fabrication shops, custom garages, forges, foundries, they have a different kind of society than you'd see anywhere else. Certain classes of workers that simply aren't in the other places, other than the one who lived at work - everywhere has that person.

I think over the next few blog posts, I'm going to explore the caste system in heavy industry and talk about some of the guys that really deserve a shout out. The unseen heroes of making the world go 'round.