The Worst Fire Drill Ever

While living in the dorms in college I was frequently roused at all hours of the day or night for fire alarms. Our smoke detectors were notoriously sensitive, and us college kids were notorious flame-inducers. They occurred randomly and without warning, at inconvenient hours and sometimes as often as 5 per week. But as with most things in the insular academic world, nothing will prepare you for there for the struggles you will face... in the REAL WORLD.

Of course many people will argue that the oilfield is hardly "the real world" but that's not the point. The point is that fire alarms, and more specifically fire drills, are an insidious part of my life now solely bent on robbing me of sleep and a stable circadian rhythm, and today was the worst of them all.

Most offshore rigs have some sort of fire drill policy in place. My first offshore rig, the humble little barge rig that was somehow placed offshore instead of in the benign inland waters, had simple, not quite-weekly affairs where we mustered in the galley with our lifejackets and checked our name off on a clipboard.

My next rig, the large, haunted rig in service to the Queen had very regular fire drills. There we first mustered to the galley with our hard hats and lifejackets where pre-appointed "safety officers" would do a roll call of their group like elementary school teachers on a field trip. Then we would muster again, outside by the lifeboats after donning our steel-toed boots (no boots in the living quarters!) and stand in neat, but cramped queues next to our assigned lifeboat while our 3rd grade teachers would check us off on their clipboards again.

I only was involved in one fire drill on that monster rig back in August. It was a quick, organized affair that split everyone up into muster stations spread far and wide. I was assigned to the gym, which was just down the hall from my room. We stood around while the safety officers discussed absentees on a walkie-talkie, and were dismissed after fifteen minutes.

The problem with most of these fire drills is the timing. A lot of the bigger rigs have the drill crews (the manual laborers) work shifts from 12-12, but the 3rd-party hands traditionally work 6-6. The fire drills, organized by the drilling company, are therefore naturally scheduled to accommodate the drill crews and typically occur at 1pm. Which, when I'm working as a night hand, occurs right in the middle of my sleep.

When I first arrived on this rig, I was informed that they had just had a fire drill that day. Thank goodness! I have a week's reprieve! The following week, having heard rumors that there might be a fire drill sometime Sunday, I found myself awakened at 10am by the blaring of the siren call that announced our drill. Moments later a man pounded on my door, opened it, and in a voice thick with urgency announced "Fire drill! Get to your muster station NOW!" as if the five seconds it had taken me to sit upright were inexcusable. I brushed off the confusion of harshly interrupted sleep, threw my coveralls on over my pajamas, and tied my hair back as I walked up the stairs to get to my boots and hard had. As I neared the second floor, a general announcement went off declaring that it was only an alarm test, and no mustering was required. I later submitted a report about it to my company, which is more to fill my quota for safety reports for the year than in hopes of any results; my company has no control over the sorts of safety drills our clients perform.

I had heard some rumors that there was going to be another fire drill yesterday. It had been two weeks since the last drill, but I was hoping it would only be an alarm test like last week's. Alas, no. I was awoken again at 10:15am and told by the P.A. system to report to my muster station. Here they had a row of cards, almost like the old office punchcard system, which had our names on them. We had to flip them over to announce our presence. One side was red, and when you flipped it, the reverse side showed blue.

Then I stood in line. Boy, did I ever stand in line. It was midmorning, in the Louisiana sun, not quite the end of summer, and they had us stand in line with no shade. I was wearing my coveralls over my pajamas. I had luckily had the foresight to remove the sweatshirt I sleep in to offset the ridiculously strong air-conditioning, but I was still sweating in my long sleeves and two layers of (thin) long pants. The heat, my clothes, and the oppressive lifejacket I wore all combined to have sweat dripping out of every pore in my body.

And they kept us in line. Did I mention that we were standing in the sun? There was no breeze. The sea was a calm, glassy surface which rippled more from the vibrations of the drilling rig than any air circulation that morning.

And we kept standing in line. I started to feel a bit faint, and I had to go to the bathroom. But we couldn't leave muster during the drill unless we were essential personnel to the drilling operation. They drill 24 hrs a day, without exception, and since I was off-shift, I was definitely non-essential.

All told we were out there for 45 minutes in direct sunlight in what I estimate to be 90-degree weather. I had halfway thought I might faint out there, and I didn't, but when I returned to my room I saw my face was an alarmingly pale shade and my hands started to shake. So I went to the galley and grabbed a tall glass of watered-down juice and drank it fast.

I then read for hours being unable to get to sleep, then skipped the 5:30pm meeting and showed up 20 minutes late for my 6pm shift. I later asked the Safety Representative if the drills were normally that long. He hmmed and said they were sometimes closer to 30 minutes.

New rule: in case of fire drill, always hydrate first.