What's the Correct Word?

I'm trying to think of the correct term for most of the political critters that we elect and pay to harass. Whore doesn't work, because a whore is a slang word for a prostitute. They, at least, provide a wanted service and work for their money.

Pimps? Nope. Although this is closer, there is still a private sector enterprise, even if it's illegal in most places.

Thief? It works for many. They steal from others. Most call them taxes, but I think even the founders would say there is a problem when the taxes have to be collected at gunpoint. What happened to the polite "no"? Imagine a society where it's acceptable to say "No, I do not want to finance that part of your budget and have deducted the percentage from my total tax bill, Thanks and have a good day."  No tax levies, or sheriff auctions for property taxes. Government only worked with what it received. If they became belligerent, just cut off the money until they behaved.

I can think of a lot of other words, but I won't write them here. None are considered compliments and describe my disgust for the people that subvert the simple reasons for a government.

It Was A Beautiful Morning

It was an early Fall. The temperature was in the mid 50's and the skies were crystal clear. I had just finished breakfast and we were driving to the job site in the twilight of dawn. The motel was close to our project site, so the trip was short.

Traffic was light as we placed the advance warning signs and started closing down the inside lane of U.S. 59 in Cleveland, Texas. We had five sections of concrete to pull. We sawed the concrete the day before, drilled lifting holes and now needed to pull the sections of failed pavement and start preparing for the new concrete. The pour was set for 10:00 am.

It didn't take long for the lifting machine to pull the first section of paving. As soon as the broken slab was moved to the shoulder, the crew started drilling holes for the anchors. When the anchors were placed, the crew placed a mat of rebar and moved to the next patch.

The procedure was moving as planned, so all five patches were well on the way to being prepared by 8:00 am. We would be ready for the concrete. I checked the work and started documenting the sizes on a daily report.

Around 30 minutes later, my boss called my cell phone. I assumed he was checking our progress, but he wanted to tell me that a plane had hit one of the World Trade Towers. He didn't have any details. I wondered what failure had led a pilot to fly their small plane into the tower. Bad weather? An error in judgement? I thought about it for a few minutes and then went back to work.

It didn't seem very long after that when my boss called me again, which I thought would be a progress check. It wasn't. He explained that it was a passenger jet that hit the first tower and another had flown into the second tower. He described the preliminary news feeds he was watching on television. I could only stare while my mind raced.

We continued working. My boss kept me informed. It was now clear it was a planned terror attack. He was in contact with the area engineer office for the Texas Department of Transportation. We were working for them and their decisions would decide whether we would pour concrete, which required hours of time to set, or place a temporary material to be removed in the future. The decision was to proceed as we always did, so we prepared for the concrete pour.

Before the concrete arrived, my wife called. She was terrified and wanted me to come home. I told her I couldn't leave until the concrete was poured and we were off the highway. Even then, I couldn't leave if we were to continue with our project. I told her I would come home immediately if the project was shut down, and to go to her mother's if she became too worried.

More information was now available, so I knew there was an immediate call for all air traffic to land. I noticed the absence of air traffic immediately. We were close enough to Bush International in Houston to see the constant flow of air transports, which dwindled and eventually ended.

We poured the concrete and started the process of preparing for the next day. I went to the motel to catch what I could on television. The loops of the impacts, the falling towers and the smoking section of the Pentagon was almost unbelievable. My mind was having a hard time wrapping around the fact we had been attacked and the result was the death of thousands of innocent people.

We finished the day as usual. We were prepared for the next day when we started opening the lane in the early afternoon. I had spent long minutes as we were finishing staring at the empty skies, It was bizarre to not see the heavy air traffic. Contrails from military jets stretched across the skies. I wondered if they were ours, or the jets of an enemy that was in the process of invading.

I had kept in contact with my wife during the day. After I reached the motel, we had a long conversation. She was calmer. I knew she still wanted me to come home, but she understood that it probably wouldn't happen until the week was over. Since I was only about two hours from home, I reassured it wouldn't take long to reach home if anything changed.

Watching television was like watching a fictional disaster movie. I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around the events of the day, but it was becoming clearer that it was a middle eastern terror group. My anger was rising and all I could think of  was how cowardly it was to attack innocents. I wanted our military to bomb half the Middle East to Hell. Kill them all and let God sort them out.

I'll never forget that day. Time stopped and it became apparent that the cruelty in the world is always only moments away. Barbarians had tested our defenses and managed to find a weak spot for their advantage. It wasn't a pleasant thought then and still isn't. I feel no compassion for such people and can only offer their death be swift, although many days I'd prefer they would suffer the agony of those trapped on the upper floors of the World Trade Center Towers.  Even after ten years, I'm still angry. I'm not ready to forgive, or forget.

Blow Out

My last year and a half offshore was as the "nightman". I was senior contract roustabout, so I was the only person that worked at night. My duties varied, but they were mostly maintenance, such as straightening up the shop, or repairing some of the safety controls that ended up on the shop table. I, also, had to immediately answer the phone, or radio. If we lost a well, I had to wake the field superintendent, who would make a decision on whether to wake a pumper/gauger or leave it until morning. I helped whoever was sent, which varied, but the only thing they liked was the overtime. They were losing sleep, which they wouldn't be able to make up until they went home.

In the summer, few things caused problems with the gas wells scattered over the square miles of the leases under production. Most problems were minor and easily repaired. Winter was different. The controls would freeze and finding the problem could be tedious. Besides having to troubleshoot, and work, in low light conditions, the north wind was unimpeded. When added to the moisture in the air, it could be miserable.

Late one night, I heard someone calling one of the two workboats that stayed tied to the satellite platforms. This was unusual, since I was the one that usually made those calls. I moved closer to the radio when they called again. The call was from a drilling rig that was drilling a new well about 4 miles from the production platform. The boat skipper didn't answer, so I called the boat. The skipper answered, so I explained he was being called from the rig.

The man on the rig requested immediate assistance for evacuation. I looked from the shop and looked across the Gulf at the rig. It didn't look different, but I could hear a sound that can make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. High pressure gas was blowing and it was loud enough to overpower the sounds of the platform. Within seconds, all the lights from the derrick went out. That's when I noticed the zenon strobes in the water surrounding the rig. Somebody was in the water and their strobes had activiated when their life rings hit the water. It was now obvious; they had lost control and the well had blown out.

I listened to the boat skipper talking on the radio. The other skipper had wakened and was getting up to speed on the situation. As I ran up the stairs to waken the field superintendent, I noticed the cloud of gas drifting to the southeast. I wondered how long it would be before it lit.

Time seemed to have stopped. The entire event, from the first call, to awakening the field superintendent had taken about one minute. It was now a waiting game as the boats picked up the people in the water and finished evacuating the rig. Nobody was hurt, although a few ears were ringing. Those that went in the water were chilled, to say the least.

I went about my duties, while the field superintendent made phone calls and kept track of the evacuation. I would stop and look at the rig, which was now completely dark. Somebody had killed the generators so there were no lights except the navigation beacons. The northwest wind caused the sound of blowing gas to become louder, then softer. The boats were now back at the platform with those they had picked up. Eventually, only a few stayed at the platform. I figured they were higher up in the food chain and had responsibilities to stay close. The rest rode in on the crew boat assigned to the drilling rig.

Eventually, the sun started rising. A coast guard cutter patrolled around the rig for awhile, then left. The blowing gas was now very clear and a slick from the condensate liquid drifted to the east. My shift was over, so I went to bed.

I didn't sleep well, so I was up in the afternoon. When I went down to the galley, there was a new stranger talking to the field superintendent. He was wearing a pair of plain, well faded, red coveralls. He looked like any other oil field hand, except for the ring he wore. It had a huge diamond, which indicated he was either foolish with his money, or somebody of importance. He was a representative from Red Adair's company and had just returned from his examination of the drilling rig. His recommendation was to get another rig on site as soon as possible to drill a relief well. There was nothing else to do. There was no equipment that could be placed to control the well. He left within minutes on the helicopter.

Before nightfall, the amount of blowing gas started lessening. Eventually, it stopped and it was decided to make a complete investigation in the morning. It was too dangerous to get close to the rig. One spark would cause a terrible explosion and condemn the rig to scrap.

I watched the rig all night. I had been told to wake the field superintendent if anything changed. Nothing did, so the next day started with boat trip by the "powers to be" to determine what to do. Their decision was to return to the platform and complete the operation they hadn't finished.

The well had blown out at a point when all drilling was completed, the well was supposedly completely under control and they were in the process of final cementing to fill the voids between the casings. Gas from the production zone was leaking into the casings, which allowed its final escape. While blowing, the gas had disturbed enough of the uncured cement to allow it to collapse, which stopped the escaping gas.

Eventually the well was completed, a platform was placed and special production equipment was installed. All of the equipment was very expensive due to the high pressure of the well. All equipment was required to work with pressures in excess of 10,000 pounds per square inch.

The well turned out to be jinxed to the end. After placed in production, the pressure started dropping. Over a few months, the pressure dropped to the point the well couldn't produce into the main pipeline that operated at 1200 pounds per square inch. It was shut in and never produced again while I was there. Even at full production, it only produced 4 million cubic feet per day, which qualified it as a low producer, even in the best of situations.

I think of all the money spent on the well. Besides the drilling costs, the costs to bring it to production were more costly than usual. I guess that's part of the game the big boys play. It's all a gamble and losses are huge.

I think I'm being probed.

No. Not the kind with aliens. Spam probed. I wouldn't think this, but the blog wizards tell me where visits to my blog originate. Some are commercial sites, so I figure they're trying to post all kinds of crap about cheap shoes, useless appliances and how to increase my girth without any dangerous drugs.

Maybe not. Maybe the people that run the sites have a genuine interest in what I post and follow when they can. After all, even spammers need to take a little time from spamming to read for enjoyment. They'll probably leave a comment and explain that's exactly what they're doing.

I'll wait in anticipation.

For Many, This is Summer

Down here, it was in the upper fifties last night and the high today will be in the mid 80's. Around here, we call that the start of Fall. Considering the high and low temperature is around 20 degrees lower than it was last week, we have no other way of describing the weather; except relief. That's why we really enjoy Spring and Fall. It's the best of summer days in other places and we get it twice a year.