What Price Adolescent Pride?

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I was a teenager, so obviously I still knew it all, and I wanted money. I lied about my age and got a job at the steel works relining furnaces over the Christmas. I’d been warned but, what the hell, I wanted the ridiculously high wages that went with the job, and it was just a job. I’d never heard anyone say, ‘If something seems too good to be true then like as not it will be.’ They dressed me in an asbestos suit that made me look like the Michelin Man, complete with helmet that came down over my shoulders and had like a welder's darkened glass visiplate and heavy heat proof boots and gauntlets. I had a twenty minute practice using the breathing equipment – no health and safety nonsense then – then they clipped a fire proof steel cable to my belt and gave me a wrecking bar and a sledge. I was hotter than I’d ever been in my life, and then I went in.

I was melting before I went into the hades that was the still glowing furnace. Three minutes inside before I was pulled out for the next guy to do his three minutes. I’d no idea just how long three minutes could be. It was blacker in there than the inside of the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat and breaking out the faintly glowing firebrick which provided the only light other than my helmet torch was punishing. My heart was hammering, I felt light headed and my suit was running in sweat so badly that I was steaming when I came out for my thirty minutes in the cool.

Three minutes in there was for ever, but thirty out was no time at all. I was to do it in twelve hour shifts for a fortnight. Next morning I really didn’t want to go back for a second day, but I didn’t want to be laughed at either for not being able to take it. “You’re back then?” I was asked by some of the regulars. Only two of us out of six came back for our second shift and I subsequently found out the men bet on who would last. I was pleased to know they had thought I would. Sixty odd students did a day, only fourteen did a second or more, and only I did the full fortnight till the job was finished. What price adolescent pride? I earnt six months wages in two weeks but I only ever did it the once, I’d finally learnt some things are just not worth the money.

Trouble was some lessons don’t stay learnt and for the next ten years I worked academic holidays building motorways with the Paddies. Some folk just don’t learn.

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Adolescent Pride

Jean Shepherd (best known as author of Christmas Story ) in his radio days, he had a comparable story, although only did one time.

The Job from Hell Described by Radio Commentator Jean Shepherd
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwKv2X0I8_I

Not steel

erin's picture

Not a steel furnace but a cement kiln, I used to write reporting and control software for kilns and power plants. One kiln in Missouri had our software which collected data and produced reports on emissions for the feds. It also kept track of inputs and measure the temp inside the kiln by analyzing emissions. One night, at a kiln in Missouri, the operator decided that his expertise in how to run a kiln was better than our indirect method of reading temp.

He shut off the alarms during a reduction burn and ended up melting all the firebrick, and in fact, most of the kiln. Measuring emissions really was more accurate than judging the color of the glow you could see.

Good story.

Hugs,
Erin

= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.

Working with 'Paddies'!

Working with regular Paddies is okay. The bosun on my first ship was a paddy and he took me under his wing even though the whole crew knew I was seemingly a transvestite. He was the best thing to ever happen to me and one of the kindest, most insightful men I ever met. He was also hard working, tough and as hard as nails but as honest as the day was long. Provided he could see I was trying and putting my all into the job, he treated me well. I got the occasional smack around the head for doing something stupid or dangerous but at least I deserved it.

On the other hand, the Irish 'travellers' who plague Britain are people I wouldn't trust at all.

bev_1.jpg

Working with the Paddies

A friend is Donegal Irish and I have come to know a lot of her friends and relatives over the years, and a lot of folk who worked on the motorways when the system was being created. I have a huge fund of material for amusing tales, but all in agreement with your comment.
Regards,
Eolwaen

Eolwaen