The end of the end

It's official. On Friday afternoon I turned in my company laptop, ID Badge, and all my bright blue flame-retardant coveralls and was escorted out of the office on my official last day. I am no longer an oilfield worker!

I spent a lot of the weekend packing up my belongings and selling my furniture. Come Wednesday, I'll be piling all of my worldly belongings into my car and driving East. Then South. Then finally North (I'm taking the long way home).

I have to include this photo here. We had just finished our sprint-speed rig-down of all our equipment and were on the boat leaving the rig. At the time I had a hunch, which turned out to be true, that I would no longer be sent to a rig after turning in my letter of resignation, so this was to be my final farewell to oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. My trainee, who knew I planned on quitting, was easily able to account for my wide smile.

Goodbye oilfield! Goodbye Louisiana! I'm sure you'll miss me!

The beginning of the end

There have been a lot of changes in the status of my job in the past two weeks, but I haven't been writing about them because despite the fact that we live in the age of the "live-update twitter feed" it felt crass to keep a real-time update of my process for turning in my resignation.

Last week I drove to Houston to meet with my direct manager and inform him of my intentions. I have been assigned to him for over a year now, and although he has little control over my career path other than quarterly reviews, he's been a supportive and understanding voice for me in a management system that can sometimes more resemble cacophony of screaming (figuratively speaking, that is. I rarely get yelled at unless it's by a client).

Since then it's been a slew of meetings that have ranged from well-intentioned queries as to my reasons for quitting all the way to virtual interrogations and a tenacious sort of bargaining "Are you sure you want to quit? Really sure? You're sure you won't change your mind?" They offered me the chance to apply for another position in their research and development center -- a "chance to apply" mind you, not an actual offer of the position. I read the job description and briefly considered it -- the research and development center was the only segment I would have aspired to enter once leaving the field if I had stuck around that long -- but I realized the job in question would bore me to tears and of all my options that was the least desirable.

This whole process is what I imagine breaking up with a clingy boyfriend might resemble, and I feel a bit drained, emotionally, from the entire thing.

One thing that has buoyed my spirits is the support I have received from my friends. I have found that everyone who knows me personally, whom I have felt a true connection to, is thrilled for me and entirely supportive of my decision. It's only the managers and coworkers I have had little interaction with that have acted otherwise. It seems like the people who know me know that this job is not for me anymore.

So I have just over two weeks left before turning in my flame-retardant coveralls and ID badge-with-radiation dosimeter. It is yet unclear whether I will be going to another rig before then, but I guess only time will tell.

And I would like to thank all of my family and friends for their concerned calls and emails today asking if I were out of harm's way when the rig Deepwater Horizon had an explosion. Luckily I have been on dry land for the past week and a half, and no one I know or work with was on that rig at the time. In the meantime we're all praying that they find the last few missing workers safe and sound.

No time to catch my breath

I'm already at the office, at 9 am on a Monday morning (how normal sounding!) to process my End of Well data and prepare all the final client deliverables. It's been a whirlwind since our tools were pulled out of the hole yesterday -- rigging down all our equipment, processing the data as fast as humanly possible, packing up all my possessions and being dropped on the boat like the discarded bags of compacted trash that joined us. The boat ride was longer than expected and we missed our driving curfew deadline, so we were dropped off at a nearby hotel, called another shuttle for five o'clock this morning, and I arrived at home at 7:30 am to spend about an hour enjoying a good breakfast and starting some laundry before hopping back in the car (which needed gas - check!, some air in the tires - check!, and a carwash - no check) and heading to the office.

85 Feet Left

They changed their minds about where to stop drilling again. Surprised? I'm sure not -- the oil company's office has proved quite fickle lately. But they did choose to drill 400 feet less than they were planning yesterday, which means we'll be done drilling today. YES. I said TODAY.

I am so excited. During our pre-job meeting for this well well over two months ago, my manager said this job was expected to last 3.5 weeks and take 4 drilling runs. We're now just finishing week 7 and drilling run #8. I first arrived on this rig on the 18th of February, and I've had a total of 9 days off since then. To compare, a person who worked a regular M-F job would have had 14 weekend days since then.

All I can think about is rigging down, getting the heck out of here, finishing the End of Well Report, and then driving to my manager's office in Houston and turning in my two week's notice. I am virtually shaking with anticipation. I am so excited about leaving the oilfield and moving back north that I'm surprised I've been able to pay any attention to this well at all. I have, in fact proven a more than adequate cell manager lately. More than adequate is sufficient for me, since I am far too distracted for any superlative performance.

We have 85 more feet left. We're drilling at 10 feet an hour. I am all a-flutter I can barely contain myself. For all I know, these could be the last 85 feet I drill forever. FOR. EVER. Ah me!

900 feet left

Yesterday was the first day all week that I woke up on time and didn't sleep through my alarm, so I took advantage of my early rising to run over four miles on the treadmill before my shift. Had I known what a physically and mentally demanding day was ahead of me after I showered and ate breakfast, I might have cut back on the mileage.

Now after a shaky 5 hours of sleep, I'm stewing in the exhaustion from my 21-hour day yesterday, and enjoying the residual caffeine that's still in my system from downing Diet Cokes just to get through the next round of "To-Do List" items. The rig finally made a decision early yesterday morning to pull out of the hole and finish the last 900 feet (they tacked on a bit more to the Total Depth) with a different set of tools.

Unfortunately for me, my coworker who is super-experienced in these tools had just gone back to town, having finished the week we had been allowed to have him. So I was up until one in the morning obsessively checking every last detail of the processed logs and data before sending them to the client, only occasionally turning to my new night hand and green-at-the-gills trainee to teach them a thing or two about what exactly I was doing and what they should be learning at that moment.

I fear my grammar is suffering this morning. Please forgive me. Last night my brain was so over-worked I would routinely forget the names of both my night hand and trainee as well as what I had told them five minutes prior. It must have been an entertaining evening for them.

In the meantime I get to chill. Maybe I'll even take a chair nap -- but I probably have too much caffeine left in my system for that. We're waiting on a boat to bring a new computer so the rig floor can have a working monitoring system. Apparently you have to be able to tell what exactly it is you're doing while drilling in order to be in compliance with national regulatory agencies.

I hope to take as much advantage as possible of any chances to relax over the next few days. Once we finish this last 900 feet of drilling, my two coworkers are going to do something I've never done before: RIG DOWN. While rigging up usually has to be done quicker than it should be, involves lots of complicated planning and decision making, rigging down always has to be done faster than is humanly possible, is one of the messiest, dirtiest, and in worst cases: most disorganized parts of our job (from what I hear). We take down all the sensors and the cables that have been run all over the rig over the past couple of months. They're caked in mud and oil, tangled into the hundreds of other cables run by other service employees, and secured with thousands of sturdy plastic zip-ties to hand-railings, walkways, and cable-trays a good 30 feet over our heads. All the while you've got the company man breathing down your neck dying to drop you on the boat and ship you back to land; once we're done drilling he doesn't want to pay for us to be out here one minute longer than absolutely necessary. Not to mention the managers in the offices in town clamoring for the final processed data -- because we clearly have PLENTY of time to spend poring over our logs at this point.

And then bliss: when you've reached land, showered the diesel fumes out of your hair, and after a couple of all-nighters in the office End of Well Report is turned in, you can go to the nearest bar and enjoy that first celebratory beer. Who needs "job well done" when the words "job done" are satisfying enough?

I surely can't wait.

Will They or Won't They?

We have just about 600 feet left to drill in this well after making over a combined 20,000 feet in these past two sections (including the one where our drilling assembly fell to the bottom and we had to abandon it, cement, and restart from a couple thousand feet back). I feel like I'm watching a plot-twisting soap opera play out over how exactly we're going to finish these last 600 feet.

Sunday Morning: 1,200 feet to final depth. The inclination of the hole is getting too high! Quick, change drilling parameters!

Monday Afternoon: 1,000 feet to final depth. Oh, as it turns out, the newly-inclined direction is pointing us right back to the original (pre-cementing) target. Keep it up!

Tuesday Morning: 900 feet to final depth. But we're getting too close to the lease line -- we must pull out of the hole and run a new drilling assembly with a motor to steer away!

Wednesday 05:00 A.M.: 600 feet to final depth. OH MY GOD -- is that sandstone section the PAYZONE????!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY KEEP DRILLING!

Wednesday 06:00 A.M.: 595 feet to final depth. Oh, careful! We're getting some gas returns! We had better circulate the mud for a while before we take a kick.

My mother recently asked me if I ever was on a rig that reached it's desired payzone. The answer to that is: I'm not quite sure. I've seen areas that held gas or oil, but depending on the oil company who's hired me, they might be a bit reticent to share some of their more potentially-profitable knowledge. And just because I see oil or gas on a log doesn't mean that it's extractable. Once the drill bit is out of the hole, my job is done and the production process begins -- which is an entirely different part of an oil or gas well's life cycle.

It's possible, however, that the little squiggly lines I saw on the log when I first walked into my unit this morning are a payzone.

I guess we'll see pretty soon how this little soap opera plays out -- more plot twists ahead for sure!

There's no such thing as "TGIF" offshore

The only way you can tell what day of the week it is when you're offshore is by the menu. On Tuesdays and Saturdays they always serve steak to order. Out here on Wednesdays, they start to run out of some of the favorites -- the grocery shipment comes on Thursdays. I was once on a rig that made Tex-Mex on Mondays. And always, always, on every rig I've been to in the Gulf of Mexico, Fridays bring the bane of my existence out here. My least favorite meal by far: seafood.

I suppose it's a interpretation of the Catholic tradition many Louisianans practice of eating fish on Fridays, and if it were just fish I would be fine with that. But no, they serve a vast assortment of deep-fried and unrecognizable sea creatures that leave me confused and hungry. I look at the plates and play a guessing game "Shrimp. Not Shrimp. Shrimp, shrimp, not shrimp, not shrimp, Crab Legs, not shrimp, My GOD! Is that one even edible?" It's often hard to tell with the severe battering and deep-frying each item is subject to.

And lucky me, they usually serve these delicacies ALL DAY on Friday! So after a breakfast of cereal or eggs, I can enjoy this artery-clogging meal twice in a row!

Yesterday, however, there was a red herring* thrown in the mix. After half-enjoying some shrimp gumbo at lunch, I saw there were some sandwich selections put out for dinner, including the unsurprising fried fish sandwich, and... Wait! Did I just see what I thought I saw? And it's labeled? Oh! Oh! Oh! I think I'm going to faint! It's a:

PHILLY STEAK SANDWICH

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Louisiana cook had served his approximation of my old hometown specialty, the Philadelphia Cheesesteak sandwich invented by the saintly Pat Olivieri back in 1930-something.

But I was hesitant. I doubted. For heaven's sake, it was served on a sesame seed bun! How disgusting might it be? I took a moment to deliberate, and ... almost grabbed the fish sandwich out of fear for the destruction of happy childhood memories from the City of Brotherly Love, but I bucked up my courage and decided that no matter how horrible the experience... at least I could write a blog entry about it!



What had looked like real chipped steak through the wax paper wrapping turned out to be strange patties of meat-like substance when I unwrapped it. I almost gave up again, but courageous adventurer I, I took my first bite and was immediately transported back to Reading Terminal Market. It was amazing, but that salty, greasy concoction with protein hidden somewhere inside had the same flavors I remembered from home. I didn't even mind that they used American Cheese to top it (in the triad of acceptable cheeses, I consider myself more a traditionalist and opt for Provolone instead of the more "hard-core" Philadelphian's choice of Cheez-Whiz, but in pinch American will do).

I examined my sandwich further, and was startled to realize that the steak meat was perhaps authentically, if perhaps strangely prepared. It was if someone had taken a pile of chipped steak, balled it all up, frozen it, and then cut it into patties from the frozen mound before preparing on the grill like a hamburger.



You could even discern the individual slices of meat like rings on an ancient tree stump! I couldn't resist; I had to wrap it up and sneak it out of the galley and back to my unit where I could photograph this modern marvel. My night hand may now think I am touched in the head, for after pulling a half-eaten dinner out of my pocket and snapping a few pictures of it (which you can now enjoy), I proceeded to eat the rest of it at my computer before going back to work. I couldn't explain my wonder to him. He would not have understood.

And just in case you haven't had enough of the fascinating horror of it all, here's a nice close up for you. Remember: just like the real thing, it tastes a heck of a lot better than it looks.



*Please pardon my inaccurate use of this literary term. I claim artistic license and a strong sense of whimsy. And can you fault me for wanting to make another "fish" joke? Haha!

Happiness

Yesterday I returned to the same rig that I've been working on since February, and people seemed happy to see me return. I suppose this rubbed off on me since just this morning one of the drillers mentioned that I seemed happy to be back on the rig! I was momentarily puzzled by this observation.

NOBODY is happy to come back to the rig. With the rare exception of a man who's relieved to escape trouble at home, the rig is generally a place of hardship, privation, noise and stress and coming to the rig means giving up a lot of personal freedoms.

So why was I so happy? And examining my feelings I have to say that Yes, I am happy to be back. There are a number of reasons I can name. The friendly welcome I received was certainly a mood-booster, and I'm always happier when returning to a rig I know and feel comfortable on. I know the crew and I know the rhythm of the job out here -- no new-job jitters for me today.

I'm also still enjoying the leftover pleasure from my weekend in California: being with Meg and helping throw a bridal shower in her honor was truly balm to my soul. I've been feeling trapped in Louisiana lately, and getting out of the state and spending time with people I love really refreshed me.

Not even the worry of running a tool I've never seen before is getting to me (yet). I was unexpectedly lucky when my previous night hand was stolen away to go to another job, because the only other guy available for me this week was someone with almost twice the experience as I! He's perfectly happy to be here, since he been twiddling his thumbs waiting on a job that won't be starting for likely another 2 more weeks. Plus he used to be considered the go-to guy for this particular tool (the one I've never seen before) and I'm learning a lot about it from him.

Maybe it's the thought in the back of my head that's reminding me this might be my last rig visit ever. I'm counting down the days until I turn in my two weeks' notice and my heart is pounding in anticipation. I'm certainly distracting myself sufficiently with all the plans and preparations I'm making these days.

Today I read an article about a study that determined people are more likely to be happy with their jobs when they were already satisfied with their lives, and are not as likely to find satisfaction with their lives when their jobs made them happy.

Of course, I also got a good eight hours of sleep last night which could be as big a factor as any of these reasons.

Whatever it is, I'm hoping I can ride this good mood for a while yet to come.

In lieu of complaints...

So there's this new company man out here on the rig, and I've been told that he is of the "old school" style of company man. Translation: he's a big, fat, jerk.

But I'm not in the mood to complain right now, and I'm sure that he'll provide me ample material for anecdotes of hair-pulling frustration as we work together over the next few weeks. You can hear about that later.

So instead, I'm going to post a new favorite sunrise photo that the directional driller took the other day. Unfortunately I haven't gotten to see many good sunrises and sunsets out here, since the rig is positioned where the derrick blocks my view of the Eastern sky and the living quarters block the Western sky. But we can sneak a few glimpses in and amongst the machinery as you can enjoy below.

The One-hundred-and-first First

As I was compiling that list of 100 "firsts" a new first was occurring simultaneously. This new experience for me came to its stunning conclusion early yesterday morning when our drilling assembly was officially declared "Lost in Hole".

That means that there is 1.5 million dollars worth of equipment sitting at the bottom of a 9000 foot hole, and we can't get it out.

A number of days ago we were in the process of pulling the drilling assembly part-way out of the hole so we could circulate the mud and clean the hole when all of a sudden the whole rig shook (and jolted me awake from a mid-day nap I was taking in my chair). The next thing they noticed was that the weight hanging from the derrick was 100,000 pounds less than it was supposed to be. Yes, ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS LESS. What happened to that extra 100,000 pounds? Well, it twisted off and fell down to the very bottom.

The next six days were a relaxing time for me. The tools that I am in charge of are literally screwed into the drill bit, so they would be the very last items to reach surface. The rest of the rig was in a flurry of activity, however, as they tried fishing out the tools again and again with various fishing assemblies.

The very last thing they tried was a "freepointer gun" which was lowered down via wireline. It used blasting charges to cut the drilling assembly in half, and then we were able to successfully fish the top half out. They were hopeful that they could then fish the bottom half out, being lighter for the lack of 2000 feet of drillpipe, but after six days at the bottom of the hole the drill bit may as well have grown roots; it was not to be budged.

1.3 of those 1.5 million dollars is the high-tech equipment that my company is now short. I'm currently working with my manager on the bill for the client, and it's going to be a doozy.

Rating the Vegetables

I've been on a new rig for the past 2+ weeks now, so it's clearly time to give my appraisal for the quality of their vegetable service.

Unlike past rigs, this one varies greatly from day to day in the presentation and variety of the greenery for consumption. When I first arrived here the galley crew at the time was immediately awarded a C- in my mind: sufficient, but only just. They had a bowl of iceberg lettuce, some diced tomatoes and peeled, thin-sliced cucumbers out with lunch. Those same bowls were trapped under a giant protective plastic lid at dinner which was accessible, but very awkward to open and serve. Their cooked vegetables were few and far between, and anything remotely green was served with hunks of ham stewed in it and dripping in grease or butter.

Then about 5 days after my arrival there was a crew change and an entirely new galley crew arrived. Their grade was immediately raised to a B- or even a B+ out of sheer relief for the fact that they chopped their tomatoes and cucumbers into much more salad-friendly sizes. Their cooked vegetables are also less greasy, and I even got to eat broccoli one day that wasn't dripping in butter. Not to mention the time that the salad bar had a bowl full of baby spinach! Heaven!

But then they do awful things like set out a tossed salad with too much dressing and grated cheese with lunch. THE DRESSING AND GRATED CHEESE WERE TOSSED WITH THE SALAD -- THERE IS NO ESCAPING THEM! I ate a small half-bowl of that before I gave up trying to pick the dripping slivers of cheese off the lettuce, and judging by the fullness of the salad bowl at the next meal I'm sure I was the only one to even try eating it. There are about 40 men on this rig, and their idea of a vegetable seems to be a baked potato filled with sour cream and "Parkay" butter substitute.

In fact, I seem to be the only person on this rig that consistently eats from the sad little salad bar we have here. As the key demographic, I'm almost tempted to leave my suggestions for better preparing the salad to my preferences.

So the verdict is: C. This rig gets a solid C average for quantity, variety, and overall preparation of vegetables. To be more specific, I would have to say that this particular galley crew gets a C+, and the other crew that was here when I first arrived gets a C-.

And despite my best efforts at cultural learning, I still don't understand why people think it's necessary to peel the cucumbers.

Happy 101st!

It's my 101st post today! I was too busy complaining on my last post to notice it was my 100th, but 101 is 1 post more awesome than 100, an indisputable fact that clearly makes this the most awesome post in the history of posts.

In honor of the occasion, I have decided to compile a list of "100 Firsts" (Get it? One hundred and first? Yeah I'm witty like that). So, in no particular order, I would like to present "100 things I never did before entering the wondrous world of oil." Now many of these are not related to the oilfield, but without the oilfield and my job in it, these "firsts" may never have come to pass. After having written it over the course of FIVE days, I have a new appreciation for lists; it's hard enough to come up with a list of 100 of anything, let alone something specific as "100 firsts for me"

So without any further ado, may I present "100 1sts for Holly"

1. I deployed a fire extinguisher
2. I put out a diesel fire with a fire extinguisher
3. I drove an SUV
4. I drove a pickup truck
5. I did a 180 with the pickup truck – on purpose!
6. I ran off the road – on purpose!
7. I learned what "cattle guards" are
8. I drove over "cattle guards"
9. I flew in helicopters
10. I practiced escaping from a simulated helicopter crash
11. I took a helicopter, a car, a plane and a train all in one 24 hr period
12. I got seasick (a little)
13. I rewired computer equipment
14. I used duct tape on actual ducts
15. I got fingerprinted at the police station (for work! I swear!)
16. I spent Mardi Gras in New Orleans (not for work)
17. I was serenaded by an accordion player
18. I wore steel toed boots
19. I wore insulated steel toed boots in the snow
20. I wore flame retardant clothing
21. I wore pajamas to work (under my flame retardant clothing)
22. I handled radioactive materials
23. I was in charge of radioactive materials
24. I worked the night shift
25. I worked the night shift so much I didn’t bother to switch back to days when I was home.
26. I used the “night shift jet-lag” as an excuse to skip anything I wasn’t interested in doing
27. I actually made an effort to eat more vegetables
28. I ate crawfish
29. I ate alligator
30. I ate corn dogs
31. I ate homemade donuts (and far too many of them)
32. I ate Indian food and LIKED it
33. I ate Mexican food for three meals a day
34. I actually got tired of Mexican food (until the next day)
35. I made my own sushi
36. I ate hominy. Just plain hominy.
37. I ate collard greens
38. I ate black eyed peas
39. I learned that collard greens and black eyed peas are traditional New Year’s dishes, and ate them both on New Year’s
40. I worked on New Year’s
41. I worked on Christmas
42. I worked on Thanksgiving
43. I went to school on Memorial Day
44. I didn’t go to school/work on Mardi Gras
45. I visited two presidential libraries (George H.W. Bush & Bill Clinton: what a pair!)
46. I bought a margarita at a drive through daiquiri stand
47. I visited the Tabasco Factory
48. I became addicted to scrambled eggs with TONS of Tabasco
49. I pointed a satellite dish
50. I made calls on a satellite phone
51. I used satellite internet (which is sooooo slow)
52. I went to Arkansas
53. I went to Wyoming
54. I went to Texas
55. I went to Oklahoma
56. I went to Utah
57. I went to England
58. I lived in a hotel for more than two weeks
59. I lived in a hotel for more than two months
60. I evacuated for a hurricane
61. I rode out a hurricane on the water
62. I drank a “hurricane” on Bourbon Street
63. I went to a crawfish boil (pronounced “ball”)
64. I was forced to listen to country music for hours
65. I learned to tolerate country music
66. I learned to love country music
67. I learned the “Texas Two Step”
68. I faked the “Cajun Two Step”
69. I went to a rodeo
70. I saw the space shuttle take off – in person!
71. I saw people chewing tobacco
72. I saw the gross insides of a tobacco chewer’s “spit cup”
73. I saw Spanish moss
74. I saw Yellowstone Park
75. I saw “Old Faithful” erupt
76. I saw wild bison
77. I saw wild alligators
78. I saw wild dolphins
79. I saw wild barracudas
80. I saw wild barracudas reeled in while deep-sea fishing.
81. I saw plantations
82. I saw sugar cane farms
83. I saw the month-long fires before harvesting the sugar cane fields
84. I saw crawfish farms
85. I saw wild crawfish holes
86. I entered two new income tax brackets
87. I started saving for retirement
88. I paid my own health insurance
89. I made my own dentist appointments
90. I got my own membership to the local art museum
91. I bought a washer and dryer
92. I shopped at a Piggly Wiggly
93. I bought groceries at WalMart (sigh)
94. I bought a piano (electric)
95. I bought an iPod
96. I filled my iPod with country music
97. I used a Self Contained Breathing Apparatus (not for underwater)
98. I experienced banana oil
99. I spent entire days doing nothing but reading strangers’ blogs
100. I wrote my own blog!

P.s. While considering plans for this post, and this list, I tried out various ideas like "100 things I like about the oilfield" but I doubt I could have gotten to 50. Then I considered "100 things I hate about the oilfield", but that would just be unpleasant. So next time you try to write a list of 100 things that you think might interest people, good luck! You've got your work cut out for you!

I Jinxed It!

I was just about to start my shift this morning in a rather good mood. I had gone jogging on the treadmill in the gym after waking up, then ate a good breakfast, and I was looking forward to a nice calm day of steady drilling. As I put on my steel toed boots and braved the strong sea winds, I thought to myself "How pleasant the job is when we drill steadily for thousands and thousands of feet. The daily routine becomes solidified, paperwork is kept up-to-date, and I have plenty of time to update my blog on the relative merits of the local vegetation."

Thirty seconds later my bliss was shattered when I arrived in the logging shack to find out that they had STOPPED drilling only three hours before because they suspected the drill bit had failed. We had gone from drilling 100ft/hr to 4ft per hour in a matter of minutes, and they decided to change drilling assemblies in hopes of a better rate of penetration.

So lucky me, I got to spend all day doing the most labor-intensive aspects of my whole job, all rolled into one shift. I had to program tools, prepare paperwork, and prep them for drilling. I had to stand around on the rig floor to watch all our equipment being loaded and unloaded. I had to dump the recorded data off our old tools, process it, and write brand new log formats before I could even generate the logs to send to town. And I've got plenty more to do.

In fact I should be working on keeping all my paperwork timely right now, since its fast getting out-of-date. But I needed to detail my day's struggles and thus benefit from the therapeutic aspects of writing a blog.

We're almost back to drilling again. In 14 hours! I cannot recall the last time we turned around drilling operations in ONLY 14 hours. I'm honestly surprised I'm not dead on my feet right now from having to work that fast -- although I can't say the same for the directional driller. He's gotten less than half the sleep I have!

I look back at the post I wrote yesterday about having to juggle many different tasks throughout my shift and I LAUGH! I LAUGH at that girl who thought she knew what it was like to juggle a million different tasks at once. SHE HAS NO IDEA WHAT A MILLION TASKS IS LIKE!

I had probably better stop now before I jinx myself even worse...

Oh! And in an interesting side note: our rig was struck by lightning last night! I was lucky to be asleep at the time, because it tends to surge all of our equipment and crash all of our computers. My night hand thus had the enviable task of getting us back up and running. And kudos to him for doing such a good job at it that he didn't have to wake me up. I have such a good night hand!

False Alarm... Sort of

I woke up this morning surprisingly alert. Good news: I don't have a crippling cold. It turns out to be confined to just a simple head-cold, leaving me a slightly lethargic dripping faucet of mucous, but no aches, pains, fevers, or other debilitating un-pleasantries.

I was not so lucky with work, unfortunately. Last night the electronics of one of our tools was nearly flooded with mud. These tools are worth $500,000 a piece, and it's more than my job if one of those dies. This morning our manager called to yell at us to get our End of Well report (from the previous job) finished faster, because apparently in his opinion yelling at us makes the computers process quicker. Let me tell you: it doesn't. And today I had to juggle what felt like six different tasks at one time for the first nine hours of my shift. It was just a recipe for one big headache.

Although one thing good happened out of all that: it certainly made the day go by quickly!

Skirting the Cliff Face of Sickness

I think I'm getting sick.

Actually, I've been continuously thinking that I'm getting sick for the PAST MONTH. About twice a week I experience a cycle where I have minor symptoms of a cold (fuzzy head or scratchy throat or tender lymph nodes) accompanied with a stronger-than-average sleepiness. I'll get a bit worried about it, maybe drink some tea, and go to bed with a terrible feeling of dread hanging over me. Ugghhh, when I wake up I'm going to feel ten times worse, and then I'll have to just suffer until this cold is over.

Then I go to sleep, and I wake up, and I feel so fine that I don't even remember I thought I was getting sick the day before. In fact I feel so fine that I don't remember until a few days later when I feel like I'm about to get sick AGAIN.

This has been my constant cycle for the past four weeks. Each time I think, Oh boy, here it comes for real now. Except it never does. But now, I swear, it really feels like it's coming for real now!

I suppose this is nothing new to those readers of mine who actually have experience working in the real world. But for me, the discomfort of having to go to work sick is an acute and intolerable pain that I have never known the like. Growing up, sick days were almost as much fun as snow days. Sure, I was tired, groggy, feverish, and perhaps chained to a bowl of the toilet variety, but I got to stay home from school! In college a sick day was just another excuse to miss classes and take extra naps -- one of my favorite past times as an engineering student.

But now I know the hardships. You may be inclined to brush my frustrations off with a "Oh, Holly, now you know what it's like to be an adult and to have to be responsible." But in a potentially egocentric declaration, I would like to say that being sick at my job is definitely worse than being sick at your average adult-person's job.

For one thing, I have to be here for a minimum of twelve hours per day. No skipping out early as soon as my reports are done. For another, I often have to work outside. And the weather hasn't been exactly balmy in the Gulf of Mexico lately. Thirdly, well, thirdly... did I mention that I have to work for twelve hours! Do you know how hard that is when you're sick?

Sigh. I suppose all the real grown ups (and especially parents who had to work AND take care of kids) do know.

I should be fair and admit that my job isn't so bad if one's sick. Most of the time I do spend leaning back in my semi-reclining office chair paying a modicum of attention to three different computers streaming data from downhole. If I happen to fall asleep for fifteen minutes, chances are I haven't missed anything important. One can work a long time on nothing but fifteen minute chair-naps.

Regardless of all that, I still fear getting sick while on the rig like I fear nothing else. I don't want to get sick! Please, God, prevent me from getting sick! Is it too much to ask to be sick less than once a year? Am I being selfish? Because I reaaaallllly don't want to be sick right now. We've got seven thousand more feet to drill before I get to go home....

P.s. I'm hoping I'm not actually getting sick, and these phantom symptoms are being caused by the incessant cross-breeze I sit through allllll day long.

P.p.s. I just wanted to say that although the salad far surpassed their average level at lunch today, the spaghetti was the worst spaghetti I've eaten in memorable history.

Self-Improvement

It's hard to think of the oilfield as a character-building environment, with its tobacco-spitting profanity-spewing ill-mannered denizens, but there is one bad habit that this job has taught me to practice no more.

I am no longer a procrastinator.

This fault has been wrenched out of my by countless episodes of sheer horror at the consequences of procrastination on the job. Have the tools already arrived at the rig? Have they been measured, programmed, prepped and been loaded with batteries? If there is any reason why the rig can blame you for any delays in loading the tools into the hole and getting ready to drill, they will be charging you $$$. Of course that $$$ charged doesn't directly affect my paycheck, but a delay of even a few hours due to procrastination can put a permanent mark in my file. And this ain't no baseball game. Here it's 2 strikes and you're out.

If there's a single piece of paperwork or a single small task that needs to be done, I'm going to get right on that. This morning, as our tools were being offloaded from the boat, I was dripping with guilty feelings for waiting a WHOLE HOUR to go outside and start working on them. Why? It was pitch black, 35 degrees, biting horizontal winds and a steady rain. NO EXCUSES, HOLLY! But at 7:15 am when the sky became a dismal grey instead of an unforgiving black, I layered up and soldiered on with my duties. Now my work is mostly done, and I'm only taking a break to write this because I'm waiting on someone else.

My time off has taken quite the same tone. One of the first things I always do upon my arrival home is pull out all my dirty laundry, start the wash, and immediately start restocking and repacking for my next trip. Once that's out of the way, I go out and have as much fun as I can without hesitation. I see all the friends, catch all the shows, and do all the shopping I can handle because I never know when I'm going to get a call that says "Be ready to leave for the dock in three hours!"

I'm not perfect, as yet. The other week I did wait three whole days before I finally got myself to the craft store to buy the last of the bridal shower invitation supplies, and yesterday I did use rationalization for why I was putting off a particularly arduous task for today (which I have since begun). But if my mother could watch me at work, she would not recognize her daughter.

In Case You Didn't Believe Me...

Photographic Evidence!


See? It really does say "VIP Room". Okay, it actually says "Pride VIP Room" which would be even cooler (I can take pride in the fact that I'm a VIP?) except for the fact that "Pride" is the name of the company that owns this rig.

But just so you have a taste for what a VIP Room actually looks like, please satisfy your curiosity with the following:


I checked yesterday and the television does NOT get the satellite channels. Which means that it does not get any channels. Broadcast doesn't quite reach out here in the middle of the gulf and through the signal-attenuating steel structure of the rig itself.

You can see my bed on the bottom left, piled up with laundry and every single blanket I could get my hands on. The outside temperature dropped a good fifteen degrees last night, and I had to bundle up extra tight in bed just to be comfortable enough to sleep.

The V.I.P. Room

Every time I go to a new rig, there's one thing that I have come to expect without fail: the problem of finding me a room. You see I always ask my manager ahead of time "Does this rig have the proper accomodation for women?" You would think the manager in question might make sure to check on that before sending a female engineer out to a rig, but I have known colleagues of mine to be sent home immediately upon arrival to an offshore location with little more than a "Ain't no space for females here, ma'am."

No matter my efforts in ensuring my accomodations, on my three most recent rig arrivals I have invariably been welcomed with a "deer caught in headlights" look. A blank stare, a gaped mouth, and a virtual speech bubble above our orientation leader's head that might say something like "Oh crap, where are we gonna put her?!"

On the past couple of rigs I had to wait a good three or more hours for some men to wake up so they could be kicked out of their room before I moved in. But on this rig I didn't have to wait at all! They had a room, which although not planned to house me, was available and the only room which gave me the regulatory accomodations (which are: attached bathroom with lock on bathroom door).

I have the VIP Room. It actually says on a plaque on the door: "VIP Room". It's not the nicest room I've ever had, but it is relatively spacious. There are four bunkbeds, and as I'm the only female, I have no roommates. The bathroom is also attached to the neighboring room, however I've never seen or heard anyone from that room using it. Other than the attached bathroom, the only extra amenity available in the VIP room is a clunky old T.V. which may or may not be hooked up to the rig's satellite dish; I haven't turned it on to check.

I do consider it a lucky thing that I have a four-bed room to myself. They blast the air conditioning so strongly on this rig -- to keep the mildew and mold from accumulating, I am told -- that it is hard to get any sleep with the one measly blanket provided with each bed. After lying awake for about an hour last night with wet hair and shivering feet (despite my three layers of warm clothing!), I got up and scavenged the rest of the beds for their goods. I ended up with all four blankets and enough insulation to keep me toasty warm all night long.

That was a lucky thing, indeed. For after 32 hours on the rig with no better rest than a catnap in my office chair, I may have done something desperate to get to sleep in a cozy bed.

Run-around and around and around

On Wednesday I was informed that I would be leaving the rig once our tools were out of the hole. After that the rig was planning on running casing and they needed to get all non-essential personnel off the rig to make room. It's a pretty small rig, so bed space is a high commodity.

But first we had to unload our nuclear source, download the data from our tools, and process and send the logs to town. Wary of how late at night that would be, I went to take a nap with a promise from our lead hand that he would wake me up when they were ready to unload the source.

A short forty-five minutes later I was awakened from my semi-somnolent state by a knocking on my door. I opened it not to find my lead hand instructing me to don my coveralls and grab my dosimeter, but instead a pair of casing workers with bags in hand and looking to move into my still-warm bed.

"But you're supposed to be on the boat tonight!" was their response to my claim that I wasn't leaving until the next morning. "I can't go anywhere until my source is out of my tool!" It's a complicated and dangerous enough process unloading the source as it is -- it would be impossible with only one person.

What next ensued was an unpleasant confrontation in the Company Man's office where the Company Man claimed he told us to have three people ready for the evening boat, and our directional driller claiming he had already assured the Company Man we couldn't send anyone in until the tools were out of the hole.

We made a compromise to send the second directional driller and our third MWD hand in on the boat departing in fifteen minutes, and the rest of us would stay until the tools were out and ready to ship back to base. Unfortunately for them, both of those guys were sound asleep and had to be woken rather abruptly to pack and be ready to leave in record time.

As I was preparing to go back to bed to catch whatever sleep I could in anticipation of my red-eye work, another knock sounded on my door. It was the same casing hands saying they had been instructed to move into my room.

"You're not on the boat yet?"

No.

Seeing as how it's the only room on this rig that is appropriate for female use, I spent the next thirty minutes running all over the rig's offices again trying to track down the people who could fix the error.

In the end I got about thirty minutes of sleep before I was awoken by the third interruption of the night which was at last the wake-up call I had been expecting. Unloading the source went remarkably smoothly, as well as the processing and uploading of the data, and I was up until one o'clock in the morning checking off various to-do items that I was too conscientious to just leave until the morning (never have I learned the risks of procrastination better than on this job).

It turned out that the Company Man threw another fit that evening when he found out that (as per our agreement) we had only sent in two people on the boat. He ranted and raved and claimed we had agreed to send three, but no, that would have been impossible. I was glad to have missed that discussion.

After a refreshing four hours of sleep I relieved my lead hand so he could rest up, and sat myself down in our unit in front of my laptop for a relaxing few hours since I had already finished most of the work.

I had just turned in the shipping paperwork for our tools, and was expecting to be on a helicopter in a few hours when I got a call from the Company Man saying that he wanted to send all of us in as soon as possible. All of the crew, all of our tools. I woke up all of the sleeping guys, instructing them to pack and be ready to leave, and re-did all of the shipping paperwork.

Two hours later, the weather is looking pretty iffy and we're not sure if the helicopters will be able to fly. I get a call from my manager instructing us to leave one set of tools on the rig (and a nuclear source! Is it allowed to stay on the rig unsupervised? Apparently so.) I redo the shipping paperwork again.

By early afternoon a thick, pea-soup fog has set in and its clear the helicopters won't be flying. Our tools are all ready to go, and other than a few last-minute requests for additional data from town I have little to do but sit and stew. When I went to bed I was given the possibility of leaving on a boat that evening and was told I would be woken up in that event. Morning came with no wake-up call, and little elucidation into the future's plans for me. The fog was gone, but a check of the three posted helicopter manifests failed to reveal my name or the names of my crew members. I found out that I might still be sent in on the boat, which hadn't even left port yet, or I might be on a fourth and yet unscheduled helicopter.

With all these delays in leaving, our time to be home during the casing break is contracting tighter and tighter. As it is right now we are expected to return on Monday morning, which means we'll have to be at the hotel near the heliport Sunday night. An unexpected call from my manager yesterday, however, instructed me that I would not be coming back on Monday. There is another engineer who has been waiting in town for too long and needs some rig days. Now normally this would be considered "stealing" my spot, but she'll only be here for a week and I don't have the energy to care. A week on land looks like a nice little piece of heaven to me. And I could really go for a cold beer tonight.

As I wrote this post, I was confirmed on the manifest of the fourth flight this afternoon. The fog has cleared, and the first flight has already come and gone. Home, I'll be there soon.

Hit the ground running.... a MARATHON

I was woken up from a lovely nap on Saturday (since I was still partially stuck on night shift from a WHOLE WEEK before) by a phone call from the rig. Guess what! The helicopter that everyone said wasn't going to be scheduled -- because a). it's the weekend and b). the weather is pretty bad for helicopter flights -- was slated for a last-minute departure early Sunday morning. I had three hours to pack, clean my house, and prepare myself and the trappings of my life for my next exodus to the rig.

A 4-hr car ride later, I was dropped off at the "Lighthouse Lodge" in Venice, LA <-- for all those interested in maps, check out that link. Venice, LA is in such a spotty area it doesn't even look like it should EXIST, let alone be habitable. In an unexpected yet unsurprising note, Venice is a world-class fishing destination and the Lighthouse Lodge is marketed as a premier spot to cater to such a tourist crowd. The front desk clerks were slightly befuddled by my pajama-clad, incredibly mussed female self checking in at 11:00pm and scheduling a check-out time for 5:30am the next day. They clearly get plenty of oilfield traffic, and must have assumed that I was part of that set, but under no circumstances do I fall into the "stereotype" of oilfield personnel. No matter how greasy and unkempt, I remain an anomaly.

The early morning helicopter ride was quite hairy, and our first attempt was actually aborted when the pilot did not feel safe continuing after the first twenty minutes out to sea. A few hours in a utilitarian waiting room and one more helicopter ride later, I eventually arrived at the rig just in time for lunch. I wolfed down a quick and juicy hamburger, and headed up to our unit to see what was going on.

They were finishing the data processing from the previous run, and I helped complete it and send out the necessary logs to the client. Once that was complete, there was nothing left to do but wait for all of our tools bobbing up and down on the boat a few hundred yards away. One surprisingly deep and thorough nap later, I was back in my hard hat just as the tools were loaded onto our deck. From there it was a frenzy of preparation for the next foreseeable future.

We had to program the tools (which proved problematic when our cable to plug into the tools shorted), we had to measure them, load two 30-pound lithium battery assemblies into them, type up a few dozen forms of data, etc, etc, etc, and all within a window of roughly 7 hours. There was very little breathing room that night. My cell manager, the night hand and I all worked unceasingly until four a.m. this morning when some equipment on the rig floor malfunctioned (unrelated to us, thank heavens!) and we got a few hours to catch our respective breaths while they repaired it.

Now we are tripping in the hole, which means that they're lowering the drilling assembly in piece by piece; screwing the 90-ft long stands of drill-pipe together one at a time. And lucky for me they seem to be taking their sweet time about it. I have been left on my own to keep this popsicle stand running, as both of my coworkers have gone to bed from utter exhaustion. We're all roughly equally sleep deprived, but in a twisted sort of logic it seemed to make sense to have me be the one unlucky soul who gets to sleep last. So until our tools reach a more interesting depth, I can nap in my office chair with impunity. We've got over a mile to go -- and I have improvised a nice little footrest for my purposes.

Good night.

It's that time again!

Time for that 2a.m. post because I can't sleep like a normal person!

I arrived home on Friday evening, and even after a 4 hour nap in the car ride back I was still able to sleep a good 5 hours straight in my own bed on Friday night... since I had stayed up for 23 hours straight before leaving the rig.

I had a pretty easy last few days on the job because they had some problems downhole and we didn't go back to drilling until late last night -- when I was already home. But apparently my luck gave out when I reached dry land.

Today (or yesterday, rather since it was Saturday), I tried all the "right things" to get myself switched over to a normal schedule. I knew it was going to be tough, but I thought it would be fun -- and helpful -- if I did a 19 mile hike around a nearby lake. Exercise and sunlight are two of the highest recommended aids to resetting your circadian rythym, and I received a surfeit of both. Now I'm sunburned (just a little) and sore (all over) ... and I just woke up as if I'd planned on only taking a 3 hr nap. Sigh.

Now, I have a couple of great photos from my hike which I would LOVE to post, but I seem to have misplaced my camera cord sometime between Thanksgiving and now. Mom, Dad, is there by any chance a small black cord that mysteriously appeared at either of your houses? Yeah, it's really distinctive, I know.

I guess it's time to whip out a movie and do some crocheting. Enjoy your restfulness, all you slumbering readers, and be grateful for it.

P.s. Don't believe this website's timestamp, which they get from West Coast time -- just add 2 hrs and you'll have my ungodly hour.

When all else fails... VEGGIES!!

I've been on this rig for nearly three weeks, and it hasn't exactly been a cakewalk in that time as you are well aware from my recent blog posts.

I've been trying to come up with a topic to discuss, but I was having trouble avoiding any subject matter that wouldn't involve a great deal of me whining to you. No matter how low-key work has been lately -- we haven't been drilling for a number of days now -- I still have plenty of spleen that begs venting. But no! I refuse (at the moment) to inflict any more vitriol on you, my beloved readers. So I've decided instead to devote this post once again to vegetables.

I realized in 2009 that despite my valiant efforts to live up to my New Year's Resolution of eating more vegetables that I still failed pretty miserably whenever I was on days off in Lafayette and cooking for myself. I have therefore decided, perhaps quixotically, that I will redouble my efforts this year in a renewed and re-focused resolution to EAT MORE VEGETABLES ALL THE TIME.

It's only the 5th day of the New Year, and I haven't been back on land in weeks, so we have yet to see how well this resolution will pan out for me. It's going to take effort, but all good things do, right?

I'm currently on a jackup-style rig about 120 miles south of New Orleans. It's about half the size of my previous digs, but still offers a good variety of amenities and a very cozy environment. To grade the produce selection of the galley, however, I would have to give them a C+ .

They have a dedicated salad bar with every meal (except breakfast), but the vast majority of items are NOT vegetables! They have potato salad, noodle salad, hard-boiled eggs, grated cheese, etc, etc. I routinely grab a big bowl of iceberg lettuce, sliced cucumber and chopped tomatoes, for they are the only items which I deem nutritional and enjoyable enough to eat.

They will often serve cooked vegetables as side items to various meals, like the standard broccoli on steak days (Tuesdays and Saturdays in case you're keeping track), but they fall prey to that LOATHED southern habit of cooking them with a couple tablespoons of butter! I don't know how I shall survive such nausea-inducing dishes. Every once in a while I get lucky and they've forgotten to butter up the cauliflower, but those are rare and precious days.

Fresh fruit is laid out in abundance, so I use it frequently as a source of dietary fiber (fruit has fiber, right?), but this blog is not named "Vegetable Oil" for nothing, so they get no points there.

So they get a C+. The C is for general blase-ness about vegetables, the + is for the fact that I can always load up on the aforementioned uninspired salad with each meal, so I'm not lacking for greens.

But would you please stop peeling the cucumbers when you chop them? Pretty please?

I hope it's not a sign of things to come

Guess what I get to do to start off the new year? Switch over to night shift! Yayyyyyy!

*crickets chirping*

Okay, so admittedly I have said in the past that I enjoy working night shift. There's something quieter about the world -- even when I have to wear earplugs to keep from going deaf on the rig floor, the job just seems a bit calmer.

But really, I'm just NOT in the mood to work night shift right now. Too bad for me, because I promised my night hand that I would break him out as day hand this week. He's ready for the promotion to Cell Manager, and he certainly deserves it. At least now I can ease off some of the onus of responsibility from my shoulders onto his -- he needs to learn how to run the job, after all!

I woke up today at the usual 4am. I sort-of worked, mostly goofed off until my night hand arrived on the helicopter at about 9am. Then we had a long talk about operations and job plans, and I went to bed at noon for the "short change", where you work six hours, get six hours off, and then work twelve hours. Some rig crews have to short change every week they're out here. I don't know how they do it.

We picked today to be my short change because our new tools haven't arrived yet, we're not going to be drilling anytime soon, and we're mostly caught up on all the backlog of paperwork, etc. So it's a low-key enough night that if I fall asleep in my chair repeatedly for hours on end, nothing will go wrong.

So, have a good night to all of you who are going to be in bed in a few hours. I hope you realize how lucky you are.