I'm currently just outside of Tumbler Ridge, BC where the weather is astonishingly great. I got here a few days ago, after a 3 hour drive from Grande Prairie. The day before I left I drove from south of Grande Cache for 3 hours plus, where the weather was also incredibly great. The days are equipped with a constant blue sky and an infrequent gentle breeze. The warm sun on my face seems like summer and I have time to think about how fortunate I am to spend this winter in a place where the weather is abnormally kind. Sure it's usually in the minus but this winter has been amazing.
I told all my friends this winter would be different because I plan on wearing longjohns. I haven't worn longjohns since grade 4. But she was mighty cold a few times last year, like -38 for a week and a half on one job and pretty much the same on another job which lasted over 2 weeks. I worked with a guy who drank red bull like it was free, he would walk outside with a can and it would be frozen in less than 5 minutes. This occurred several times a night.
Its odd when the sun is beating on your face and its still -32. But this hasn't been the case this winter. I read an article in the Edmonton Sun about a conference on climate control and the keynote speaker was suggesting that we aren't going through global warming. I think he's wrong.
Alberta is known for it's cold winters, yet all I have seen in the past 5 years is that the winters are getting milder.
Do you know scientists haven't come to terms on how oil and gas deposits are formed.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Is he or isn't he?
In a room furnished with 16 luxurious leather chairs positioned one in front of the other, in such a way that you can barely fit into it as the chair ahead of it is so close. Roughly enough space to put your feet down and have 6 inches to spare. These chairs are offset diagonally to allow for all the chairs to fit into a room which is longer than wide. In the front corner of the room is a widescreen TV in which I am watching the olympic coverage, seated one chair back and to my left is the man I seen at supper the night before.
He is an older man perhaps 65 and by the way he walks, not in the best physical condition. He's meek and has a high geeky voice with a nasal twang. He's nearing the end of his life as opposed to beginning it, if you know what I mean. He and his arrivals are late for supper which tells me this is their first day at this camp. Upon seeing him at the supper table surrounded by younger men I assume he's there on some mentoring mission or perhaps even a group outing for some organization - I'm thinking church. But, this being a camp in Alberta especially designed for housing individuals working for Encana in the oil and gas industry, I immediately decide against this first theory of mine.
At breakfast he seems kind and addresses those who walk into the dining area, bidding them a good-morning.
He says fuck a lot, which I don't find odd. This is a camp where the men are hard working, tired and dirty at the end of their day, the work "fuck" is common place. But this doesn't sound right coming out of his mouth. You see I have prejudged him and I expect him to be polite and kind, soft spoken and Grandfather-like.
After I eat my supper I go directly to the TV room and sit one seat back from the TV. The older man is in the room watching the olympics and offers me the control. "No" I say as this is exactly what I wanted to watch.
During our time together he learns I am from Newfoundland and tells me that him and a few friends are planning an RV trip this coming summer. I learn he works for a trucking company transporting drilling rigs from one location to another. He sits in the chair where he farts from time to time. No expression or gesture is made, no reference to it. He is old and farts as though every fart leads to a better life, like it is pertinent to his health at the end of the day. When he gets one out there is an audible sigh of relief. Each gaseous expulsion is like a treat for him, I guess where he is old his guts don't work like they used to and the old adage of farting being a sign of health is now his mantra.
He gives colour commentary during the moguls competition, again he uses the word "fuck" profusely. I now think he says it to sound gruff, just to fit in, in this hard working atmosphere where the man with the deepest, scratchiest voice is king, a place where smoking a pack of cigarettes a day just barely tempers the voice box and years of straight whiskey puts the finish on it. But he doesn't have to act around me, and I try to encourage this with my friendly banter.
The next day I eat my supper and head er straight to the TV room to get my full of the olympic coverage. Half asleep and yawning is the old man laid out on a chair suffering through the final hours of consciousness. After half an hour of sports coverage punctuated by slight conversation I simply say "sure buddy you're better off hittin the sack, you can barely keep your eyes open". He takes my advice and walks to the door saying "see you in the morning".
5:25 the next morning I'm sat at the table eating my oatmeal and in walks the old man with a "good-morning" and sits next to me. On the TV is Sportsdesk(as it was once called and I will forever call it) and they are showing the highlights from the day before. They are covering the NBA allstar game and after a minute the old man looks at me and asks "you watch that Nigger ball?"
"What?" I utter.
"Do you follow Basketball?" he reiterates.
I pause as 5 quick things come to mind. I'm figuring 10 long seconds pass as I try to put my words together and be diplomatic yet strong in my conviction.
Here is a man whom I have pitied and sort of befriended. Without calling him out or making a scene I decide to say in a firm and cold voice, whilst patting him on the shoulder "You know you should keep those racist comments to yourself, not everyone appreciates them"
"No" was all he said.
He said it in a way that I couldn't discern whether he was defiant or concurring with what I said and he had just realized.
I had nothing further to say.
What puzzles me is that the first night of us watching TV together, one of the people who works at the camp walked in the TV room and grabbed a bag of potato chips and smiled acknowledging the 2 of us. The old man commented "that guy's a good fella". "Who? Isaac?" I said in agreeance, while actively making him aware of the worker's name. "Yes" he said saying "he's a good guy"
The funny thing about Isaac is that he's Black.
He is an older man perhaps 65 and by the way he walks, not in the best physical condition. He's meek and has a high geeky voice with a nasal twang. He's nearing the end of his life as opposed to beginning it, if you know what I mean. He and his arrivals are late for supper which tells me this is their first day at this camp. Upon seeing him at the supper table surrounded by younger men I assume he's there on some mentoring mission or perhaps even a group outing for some organization - I'm thinking church. But, this being a camp in Alberta especially designed for housing individuals working for Encana in the oil and gas industry, I immediately decide against this first theory of mine.
At breakfast he seems kind and addresses those who walk into the dining area, bidding them a good-morning.
He says fuck a lot, which I don't find odd. This is a camp where the men are hard working, tired and dirty at the end of their day, the work "fuck" is common place. But this doesn't sound right coming out of his mouth. You see I have prejudged him and I expect him to be polite and kind, soft spoken and Grandfather-like.
After I eat my supper I go directly to the TV room and sit one seat back from the TV. The older man is in the room watching the olympics and offers me the control. "No" I say as this is exactly what I wanted to watch.
During our time together he learns I am from Newfoundland and tells me that him and a few friends are planning an RV trip this coming summer. I learn he works for a trucking company transporting drilling rigs from one location to another. He sits in the chair where he farts from time to time. No expression or gesture is made, no reference to it. He is old and farts as though every fart leads to a better life, like it is pertinent to his health at the end of the day. When he gets one out there is an audible sigh of relief. Each gaseous expulsion is like a treat for him, I guess where he is old his guts don't work like they used to and the old adage of farting being a sign of health is now his mantra.
He gives colour commentary during the moguls competition, again he uses the word "fuck" profusely. I now think he says it to sound gruff, just to fit in, in this hard working atmosphere where the man with the deepest, scratchiest voice is king, a place where smoking a pack of cigarettes a day just barely tempers the voice box and years of straight whiskey puts the finish on it. But he doesn't have to act around me, and I try to encourage this with my friendly banter.
The next day I eat my supper and head er straight to the TV room to get my full of the olympic coverage. Half asleep and yawning is the old man laid out on a chair suffering through the final hours of consciousness. After half an hour of sports coverage punctuated by slight conversation I simply say "sure buddy you're better off hittin the sack, you can barely keep your eyes open". He takes my advice and walks to the door saying "see you in the morning".
5:25 the next morning I'm sat at the table eating my oatmeal and in walks the old man with a "good-morning" and sits next to me. On the TV is Sportsdesk(as it was once called and I will forever call it) and they are showing the highlights from the day before. They are covering the NBA allstar game and after a minute the old man looks at me and asks "you watch that Nigger ball?"
"What?" I utter.
"Do you follow Basketball?" he reiterates.
I pause as 5 quick things come to mind. I'm figuring 10 long seconds pass as I try to put my words together and be diplomatic yet strong in my conviction.
Here is a man whom I have pitied and sort of befriended. Without calling him out or making a scene I decide to say in a firm and cold voice, whilst patting him on the shoulder "You know you should keep those racist comments to yourself, not everyone appreciates them"
"No" was all he said.
He said it in a way that I couldn't discern whether he was defiant or concurring with what I said and he had just realized.
I had nothing further to say.
What puzzles me is that the first night of us watching TV together, one of the people who works at the camp walked in the TV room and grabbed a bag of potato chips and smiled acknowledging the 2 of us. The old man commented "that guy's a good fella". "Who? Isaac?" I said in agreeance, while actively making him aware of the worker's name. "Yes" he said saying "he's a good guy"
The funny thing about Isaac is that he's Black.
Friday, February 5, 2010
He has seen it all!
Know it alls, aren't they the best? Consummately talked about after they leaveand a pain in everyone's ass. Especially other know it alls!
I was working with this one know it all who said he has seen WD-40 freeze. Now my co-worker and I found this quite hard to believe, we've been around some cold situations. Naturally my co-worker and I countered his comment, suggesting it would have to be pretty cold in order for this to happen. To which he said "I've seen it happen".
Now what brought this all on was our canister of WD-40 not working/spraying in -22 weather. The problem as we soon found out was that there was ice around the nozzle preventing the lubricant from coming out.
As soon as Ginger (as I will now refer to him) seen that the canister was not spraying he didn't suggest but told us that it was frozen. We obviously didn't think this was the case as we have both used this product in temperatures below -30. Given our experience with WD-40 we had to argue against it.
Another instance was when we were talking about hunting and bottling meat. He offered that he eats it straight from the bottle, not even heated. This was all fine and well. During this conversation he says that "rabbit meat isn't really good for you" because it "doesn't contain any protein". Well I knew that was totally incorrect right off the bat! I told him that he has received some bad information. No he says, "there's no protein in rabbit". I told him that it was impossible, that lots of things have protein, "Christ dude" I said "even grass has protein", but to say an animal doesn't have any protein is blasphemous.
Me being me and knowing I was right I argued with him. See I used to be a know it all too. I had a fucking comment to say about everything or a fact to offer that people rarely gave a shit about. I rid myself of this sometime ago, but the temptation is always there, I just let it pass - knowing how bad it looks. My co-worker and I were in on this arguement and as much as Ginger tried to convince us of his "bad second hand news" - as I called it, we just would not give in. Normally during our days working together we would let Ginger go on and on about his superior knowledge and not challenge him since it made the day go longer - but it added quite nicely for something to laugh and talk about when we got back to our office. Realizing it was futile to continue arguing we let him have the last word. His last words and which seemed to me to be his sure fire way of substantiating this claim was that, and I quote "I was talking to someone who works at the hospital"
By the way WD-40 does in fact freeze. It's freezing point according to my second hand information is -73 degrees celsius.
I was working with this one know it all who said he has seen WD-40 freeze. Now my co-worker and I found this quite hard to believe, we've been around some cold situations. Naturally my co-worker and I countered his comment, suggesting it would have to be pretty cold in order for this to happen. To which he said "I've seen it happen".
Now what brought this all on was our canister of WD-40 not working/spraying in -22 weather. The problem as we soon found out was that there was ice around the nozzle preventing the lubricant from coming out.
As soon as Ginger (as I will now refer to him) seen that the canister was not spraying he didn't suggest but told us that it was frozen. We obviously didn't think this was the case as we have both used this product in temperatures below -30. Given our experience with WD-40 we had to argue against it.
Another instance was when we were talking about hunting and bottling meat. He offered that he eats it straight from the bottle, not even heated. This was all fine and well. During this conversation he says that "rabbit meat isn't really good for you" because it "doesn't contain any protein". Well I knew that was totally incorrect right off the bat! I told him that he has received some bad information. No he says, "there's no protein in rabbit". I told him that it was impossible, that lots of things have protein, "Christ dude" I said "even grass has protein", but to say an animal doesn't have any protein is blasphemous.
Me being me and knowing I was right I argued with him. See I used to be a know it all too. I had a fucking comment to say about everything or a fact to offer that people rarely gave a shit about. I rid myself of this sometime ago, but the temptation is always there, I just let it pass - knowing how bad it looks. My co-worker and I were in on this arguement and as much as Ginger tried to convince us of his "bad second hand news" - as I called it, we just would not give in. Normally during our days working together we would let Ginger go on and on about his superior knowledge and not challenge him since it made the day go longer - but it added quite nicely for something to laugh and talk about when we got back to our office. Realizing it was futile to continue arguing we let him have the last word. His last words and which seemed to me to be his sure fire way of substantiating this claim was that, and I quote "I was talking to someone who works at the hospital"
By the way WD-40 does in fact freeze. It's freezing point according to my second hand information is -73 degrees celsius.
The misunderstanding
I remember as a wee man, one day a Mr. Parsons was at my home when I arrived from school. He was making a brick mantle and shit behind our woodstove downstairs in the basement. I spent - what seemed like- all day with him asking questions and watching his trowel lift and place motar on the wall and lay brick neatly, one atop the other in staggered rows. There was a pleasant smell of brick dust and mixed motar, a musty smell, like that of my grandparents' vegetable cellar. The sound the trowel made as it scooped up the grey mud againt the metal board was satisfying every yearning my ears where in need of. The sound was complicated with bass and treble it had a pitch and a particular rhythm to it which I could count as Mr. Parsons without missing a beat, spread motar along the brown brick. The scraping of metal with the grit of the mud in between was nearly hypnotizing. The mud was prepared in a heavy plastic which lay on the floor protecting the carpet. Many times I bent over to smell the mixture on the plastic and stick not only my finger but tissue, wood, crayons and even slathered some over a piece of paper, all to see the after effects.
I had certainly spent an hour and a half with Mr. Parsons talking and asking him about his work in as much as a 9 year old kid's comprehension would allow. I found it interesting and for that short time, him and I were friends. Our conversation was light but mutually respected, I asked questions and he gave answers. I made sure too, not to pester him as he was there to perform a job. I remember joking around in the simple way a boy and a man could, so it was some surprise to me when my Dad came home and I made an "off" comment.
When my Dad arrived I stayed there in the basement while they made small talk and when Mr. Parsons was finished I made the comment: "that doesn't look very good", I said it with a tone that - between friends - would be easily discernible and taken as a tease. Well my Father didn't think so. He was nearly appauled at his little boy's comment and thoroughly embarrassed. I was told to apologise to the man and was further repremanded apres.
I tried to explain to my Dad that it was taken all wrong that I was just joking with him, teasing him in fact. I pleaded my case right there in front of my Father and Mr. Parsons. I suggested that it was OK to make a comment considering I had spent that time with him and was able to say such a thing and it not be taken seriously. I mean I was kidding anyways, I guess I had the tone wrong. You know how kids try to emulate grown-ups and make uncomfortable comments or converse in such a way that it's obvious they spend a lot of time with people not of their age. Comments that you would expect a 60 years old to say spoken through a youngsters mouth are often curiously peculiar and humourous - like a 2 year old saying "fuck".
At that time I didn't know how to explain to my Dad that I had build a friendship with Mr. Parsons, I was years away from using the word rapport which would have summed it up. I thought I had created a certain rapport with Mr. Parsons which would allow such comments to be passed of as easily as I tell my friend Parsons to go fuck himself, he knows I don't mean it! Without my being able to solidly justify my actions to my Father I must certainly been seen as a brat - which I most definitely was not. Although many babysitters would disagree - but look at me now - I'm a nice guy, and well behaved.
What was further troubling was that Mr. fucking Brick Layer wouldn't come to my defense, I even said to him to tell my Dad the difference but he wouldn't after my Father told me not to be disrespectful. Maybe he felt bad, maybe he didn't have the self-confidence to speak up, maybe he felt guilty or maybe he didn't think it was an appropriate comment. I bet if I made the comment before my Dad showed up it would have went over quite the way I imagined it would, I'm sure I did everything according to normal conversational rules, perhaps it was the fact that it came from a youngster. Nonetheless I got in shit for something which was meant to be taken lightly.
I had certainly spent an hour and a half with Mr. Parsons talking and asking him about his work in as much as a 9 year old kid's comprehension would allow. I found it interesting and for that short time, him and I were friends. Our conversation was light but mutually respected, I asked questions and he gave answers. I made sure too, not to pester him as he was there to perform a job. I remember joking around in the simple way a boy and a man could, so it was some surprise to me when my Dad came home and I made an "off" comment.
When my Dad arrived I stayed there in the basement while they made small talk and when Mr. Parsons was finished I made the comment: "that doesn't look very good", I said it with a tone that - between friends - would be easily discernible and taken as a tease. Well my Father didn't think so. He was nearly appauled at his little boy's comment and thoroughly embarrassed. I was told to apologise to the man and was further repremanded apres.
I tried to explain to my Dad that it was taken all wrong that I was just joking with him, teasing him in fact. I pleaded my case right there in front of my Father and Mr. Parsons. I suggested that it was OK to make a comment considering I had spent that time with him and was able to say such a thing and it not be taken seriously. I mean I was kidding anyways, I guess I had the tone wrong. You know how kids try to emulate grown-ups and make uncomfortable comments or converse in such a way that it's obvious they spend a lot of time with people not of their age. Comments that you would expect a 60 years old to say spoken through a youngsters mouth are often curiously peculiar and humourous - like a 2 year old saying "fuck".
At that time I didn't know how to explain to my Dad that I had build a friendship with Mr. Parsons, I was years away from using the word rapport which would have summed it up. I thought I had created a certain rapport with Mr. Parsons which would allow such comments to be passed of as easily as I tell my friend Parsons to go fuck himself, he knows I don't mean it! Without my being able to solidly justify my actions to my Father I must certainly been seen as a brat - which I most definitely was not. Although many babysitters would disagree - but look at me now - I'm a nice guy, and well behaved.
What was further troubling was that Mr. fucking Brick Layer wouldn't come to my defense, I even said to him to tell my Dad the difference but he wouldn't after my Father told me not to be disrespectful. Maybe he felt bad, maybe he didn't have the self-confidence to speak up, maybe he felt guilty or maybe he didn't think it was an appropriate comment. I bet if I made the comment before my Dad showed up it would have went over quite the way I imagined it would, I'm sure I did everything according to normal conversational rules, perhaps it was the fact that it came from a youngster. Nonetheless I got in shit for something which was meant to be taken lightly.
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