Tamara
What the hell was that all about?Jason is normally the most affable guy you could find. Now he sounds almost...jealous?
For a second I’m questioning myself. Jason had been a fixture of this company for years. Other people had good days and bad, but unless he was hungover, everyday he was just Jason.
Is it because we had sex? Of all the women he’s had, I’m the one who gets his tighty-whities in a bunch? Maybe I didn’t give him good oral? No. I was damn good, and so was he. So, what’s he being all passive-aggressive about?
He totally thinks Kenneth is some sort of corporate spy? Well, I’d be lying if I didn't think he’s a bit strange. He’s quiet and there’s been nothing pipe up about him from the other guys. They might like to poke fun at women for being chatty, but these men put some of the most gossipy school-girls to shame. Certainly, something would’ve come up about him by now.
I shouldn’t matter though. I didn’t hire him to spill his guts out to us on his first day. I did to have him work, and he’s already one of our best men. Once he settles in, he might be right up there with Jason as my go-to man. Asking any more of him would be unfair, or just plain inappropriate.
The day finds a way to crawl by, while also never giving me a second to breathe. A guy comes in talking about a possible injury on the rig, but when he tells me that Jason says the guy’s good, I know that means he's fine.
This follows back-to-back phone calls from other firms wanting to contract with us, so I have to maintain the relationship where I’m telling them no, but still keeping us in mind for future work. Which quickly follows even more men practically using me as a councilor to air their grievances. Once they're done, I sent them on their way and let my head fall back with a guttural sigh.
I swear this place would be on fire in a day if I wasn’t here.
“Hey, Tammy,” a voice says before even opening up the door to my office. Just from the rough high pitch, I can tell it’s Willard. He’s this site’s motorman and a good one. But the man has a glaring flaw. He’s not the sharpest crayon in the box.
He walks up to my desk, covered in oil and grease. The smell practically singes my nose and I wonder if I’ll be smelling it on my deathbed.
“Hey, Tammy, we got a problem,” he drawls, meekly.
“And what’s that Willard?” I ask, patiently.
“Well the motor that’s powering the support lines for everyone is busted.”
After waiting a few heartbeats, I ask. “Do you know what’s wrong with it?”
He nods and starts twiddling his fingers together anxiously. God bless his heart. “Would you mind telling me what that is?”
He proceeds to list a collection of technical jargon with some old grease monkey slang in there to ensure that I’d barely understand a word of what he’s saying. After I see the tiny second hand of the clock make its second round, I cut him off.
“What I’m hearing is that one of the motors has been giving us trouble. That’s fine because you’d foreseen it happening and ordered the parts necessary to fix it. But the problem is that because of issues you’d foreseen, another part of the motor is crapped out and we don’t have the parts to fix it. Is that about it?”
Willard gives me a nod that says I’m more or less getting it. He isn’t an intentionally difficult man, he’s just about my parents age and has been here for the firm his whole life. It’s tough on a guy. Still his problem can be a right pain in the ass, depending on whether our safety coach has got a stick up his ass.
“Well good news is that no one throws out any of the old gear around here so we should have some manual supports for the guys to get them by until we get the parts you need to order in. Sound good?” I ask.
His pale blue eyes brighten and he gives me another nod and walks off without another word.
I know the guys will be fine with the manual supports. Hell, if it was up to them, they’d go out there without any support at all and probably go shirtless to beat the heat. But the safety coach isn’t one of the guys. He’s here for the people we’re drilling for at the moment, so he’s going to have more concerns if something goes wrong and they’d be able to sue the company.
I make a quick phone call to the man in question to get a feel for his mood. I bring up some bullshit excuse to talk to him, and judging from his calm apathy, he isn’t going to throw a hissy fit today.
After I get off the phone another man damn near breaks the door off its hinges. I jump halfway out of my seat, but try to compose myself fast. This wasn’t an uncommon entrance for the guy. It’s the man who signs my paychecks and he’s bright and chipper, likely because I’ve been doing his job all day.
“How's it going, Tammy?” he asks.
“Fighting the urge to pull my hair out. I swear it’s been a revolving door here, and if that isn’t happening the phone won’t stop ringing.” I say, trying to make a joke of it.
He laughs while leaning against my desk. “It sounds like a typical Tuesday for you.”
My laugh sounds snide and bitter.
“To be serious for a second, Tamara, you’re an irreplaceable asset to this company. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
He’s buttering me up after a hard day’s work and I know it. Still, it’s nice to hear it said. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks,” I say with a smile.
He turns to head out the door, saying over his shoulder. “The most in the nation for your position.” Yes, but still less than anyone who actually does the job that I do. Realizing he’s leaving, I ask “Where’re you going to?”
He shrugs and says nervously. “I’ve got to go prepare for the in-laws to visit.”
“Good luck to you,” I say with exaggerated concern.
“I’ll need it,” he says as the door swings closed behind him.
Then again, I’m alone. He isn’t nasty or creepy, so I’d never say he’s the worst boss I’ve ever had, but he’s left more work at my feet than anyone else. Most of it being well above my pay grade. I’ve got to confront him about it. I can’t let him shut me up with a slight pay raise.
Lost in my thoughts I barely hear the door swing open once again. I look up and see Kenneth.