My parents both made crafts and went to craft shows to sell their wares. I asked if I could sell stuff too and they were overjoyed. I made little fluffy things out of Fun Fur: little snake with googly eyes that rose up when you petted it and tufts glued to the end of pencils to look like those little troll dolls. Each one was priced at a dollar and my mom subsidized my venture by buying all the materials. I had to sell a hundred of them to buy my truck. I was an ADD kid so I couldn’t even count that high without getting distracted.

Time rolled on and slowly over the course of a dozen or so craft sales my pile of cash grew and grew until I had enough. Just for me my parents made the three hour long (round trip)journey into the city. I was so excited. I had worked so hard and now I was getting what I wanted.

Life rarely works out as planned unfortunately. The truck also required one of those fancy batteries that wasn’t included. The kind that cost another $40. My parents didn’t come to my rescue. They just told me I’d have to work harder to afford the new cost. On the way back I was in tears, my heart broken. My mother then told me that I shouldn’t be sad, and to remember the smiles of the people I sold my stuff to. Money was just a way to say thank you, but the real reward was in making other people happy.

For several years I had worked doing technical support in various roles for various companies. The last two places, the University of Alberta Students’ Union, and Telus, took five years of my life and didn’t leave me with much to show for it. I was bored and seeking not only a new challenge, but a difficult one as well. One of my friends had graduated from Petroleum Engineering and his company was desperate for field hands. The work was technical and in the field at a well site while drilling. He assured me that I’d get on just fine and it was easy to learn. I was hired at the beginning of October and run through the paces with training galore until I could be sent out into the field.

Business wasn’t as good as they anticipated so it wasn’t until the middle of November that I was sent on my first job. I was assigned to be a trainee for a guy named Vince who I had never met before. We made small talk during the seven hour drive up to the rig. I didn’t hear half of what he said. My stomach was in knots. My mind was racing. What exactly had I gotten myself into?

We were in a hurry, which it seems is always the case in the oil business, so I was assigned to the grunt work. Hauling cables, lugging tools, and pounding ground stakes. A ground stake is a metal stake one inch in diameter and six feet long. It needs to be inserted into the ground until only two inches are left at the top. The tool to do this was a twenty pound sledge.

You only have to pound the stakes in once and we were out there for two weeks. It gave me a lot of time to think and reflect. I was deeply out of shape and my body was in pain. It hurt to even lay down to sleep. I had torn a muscle in my stomach and pulled something in my back. Even with this, I hadn’t been able to do it. Of the six feet I managed maybe six inches and my lead had to do the rest. All that pain and I had nothing to show for it. Useless, weak, pathetic: these were the words that kept echoing in my mind when I thought of my performance. I wanted to quit.

But I couldn’t quit. I made a promise both to myself and my friend who found me the job that I would stick with it for at least three months. The oil patch is not an industry known for its sensitive touch and the berating I received from my lead hand left me uneasy, but I forced myself to talk to him about it. “Stop being a pussy,” is a direct quote and pretty much the thrust of his entire argument. It was more helpful advice than he intended. I decided to start working out on my own and building up my strength and stamina. Something isn’t a switch you can just flick on. It takes time.

It was a bright January morning in northern Saskatchewan. The air was still and a balmy forty below. I had been out on two other jobs since my first and still had not managed to hit my goal. But I persisted and threw everything I had into the task that day. In the end, I walked away triumphant. I had won.

Little more than three months after I had started, and less than a week after my first stake, I was laid off. The company had hired too many people and had too few jobs. I was new, so I was let go. Somewhat strange that it didn’t bother me that much. I was still riding my high. I had won. There is a good chance I will never work in the oil patch again, but because of my perseverance I can look back and know I would have made it. I had already succeeded. I can do anything so long as I have the will to try.

The scent of beer lingers in the air along with the usual musty bar smells. The lighting is kind of bad, and the fog machine they were using to try to look cool screwed up so there’s only a thin lingering mist around. BUt the haze adds a surreal feel to it all.

All the windows are open, and it’s fall outside so cool breeze flows in, contrasting sharply with the heat from all the people in the bar. Not cold enough to see your breath, but enough to have a slight nip to it.

I’m on the second floor right in the middle, leaving over the rail to watch you. There’s nobody in my way and the I catch your eye and smile. You smile back impishly and wink.

You’re wearing a semi tight t-shirt, jeans, and a belt that’s far too wide. The shirt is a pale blue and has a single word written across it, but I can’t make out what it is. You also have a necklace on. Not anything fancy, or overly shiny, but for some reason it just fits.

You down your drink and pick up the mike and the crowd starts cheering and clapping. Some jackass in the back calls out “Take it all off!” You just ignore him and the music starts in.

The beat cuts in hard and fast. Everyone else in the room aside from you and me is a fuzzy. The fact they don’t matter is transformed visually by them having no form. Only the knowledge they exist is there. No band. No spectators. No servers. Just you and me.

You begin to sing and it’s like the words flow through me. Penetrating me. Your voice wraps around me. It’s calm and exciting at the same time and it draws me in. You are very passionate and you want to express that how you know best to.

Even though your eyes break from mine to travel the crowd from time to time, I know you’re still focused on me. The look in your eyes is one of bliss. You are loving what you’re doing.

The lyrics and music fade away. I still feel them coursing through me but they no longer are something I can define. Your voice holds me entranced as you move your hips in time with the beat. You close your eyes and smile. The song ends and though it all fades away, the connection is still there.

You look at me and lick your lips, with another impish grin. Song after song you sing and it happens again and again. Everything fades away but you and me and the passion of the lyrics you share with me.

Time begins to run together and soon it feels like we’ve always been there, sharing that connection. The songs run together and the evening passes like a dream.

As the evening winds down, with you getting a standing ovation, I walk down the stairs to the stage and you jump down, having me catch you in my arms. I give you a hug and tell you you were wonderful and brush my hand over your cheek, leaning down to give you a kiss.

We had to trip out (pull everything out of the hole) to replace the battery in our tool and change the bit. We’re putting everything back down now. We’ve only got 350m left to drill, but it’s hard and crappy stuff so it’ll be a while. Word is we’ll be out of here in four or five days though.

That’ll be nice. My own bed. Hot shower that lasts 45 minutes. Oh yeah. Maybe not in that order.

Today I’m feeling very sore. I decided a few days ago I was more out of shape than I’d like. So I started doing pushups and situps. Man. My body aches. My gut feels like I took a few good hits. It’s a shame they don’t have a masseuse on site.

Working 12 hour days 7 days a week away from home is the nature of oil field work. And it is, I believe, the biggest reason it pays so well. It’s not too bad once you get used to it. It’s work sleep and eat. The days just fly by once you get into that routine.

Now I don’t really work 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year. I work from whenever they need me until we’re done. Which can be anywhere from a single day to several months. This job should last from two to three weeks. Before that I was sitting on my duff for six weeks because it wasn’t busy. Summer is very slow, winter is very busy, spring and fall fit in the middle. It averages out to being home 1/3rd of the time.

These days I’ve been helping make a really big hole We’re currently 2753m deep and have another 700m or so to go. I’m off around Grande Prairie so it’s quite beautiful country. Lots of hills and trees and snow. Some moose and elk. No bears, which is nice. I don’t want to get eaten. I enjoy the occasional nibble from time to time, but no blood flow from arteries and the like. That just leads to pain and death, and as a general rule I’m none too fond of pain and death.

I’d love to go back to Europe. I’d like to see Scotland when I go back, maybe live there a year. With my job there’s opportunities, if I want them, to go and work around the world. It’d be nice to go spend a few months working in Cuba or the middle east or Brazil. Might get shot, but that’d make for a good story

One day my little sister decided she needs a horse. She wants to ride in the rodeo and show off to all the cowboys with their over sized belt buckles. And being a daddies girl she gets one. And my dad and my sis get it into their head that I should learn how to ride. So they get me up in the saddle and I’m a little bit nervous. Show me how to steer and the like and my confidence builds. I’m a cocky teenage boy so it doesn’t take long before I’ve gotten into the groove and Bailey (horses name) and I are tearing around at high speeds.

My sister and I… we don’t get along. Many reasons, many horror stories I could spin in great exacting detail. Now then, she gets it into her head she’s going to get me. Now I’m ripping along and a good clip and she jumps out just ahead and to the side. Jumping and screaming and flailing about. Apparently horses don’t take kindly to that. I don’t blame them. I don’t take kindly to it either.

So now here I am about four feet higher than I should be, which is a total of eight feet higher than I’d like to be. Not a skilled rider by any means, just a cocky one. So I do what any good red blooded boy would do. I scream like a sissy and clamp down tight. Apparently this means add more energy to whatever you’re doing. Bailey slams back to the ground. I follow soon after, my man bits smashing into the saddle horn. I die a little inside and whimper. In a heartbeat he’s back up in the air taking me for another ride.

Horse is bucking. Dad is screaming. Sis is laughing. Me? Still panicing. Took almost a minute but I never got bucked off. White knuckled grip the entire time. Heart pounding in my chest. Swearing up and down I’d never do that again.

But I did. Every time it was something. Tripped in a gopher hole. Startled a rattler. You name it. Finally I decided it was best for the health of both our horse and myself if I just ride the quad.

We visited Holland, France, Belgium, Germany, and England. And on our stop in Belgium we got time off to go shopping. Most people got sweaters. I picked up my girlfriend at the time some Godiva chocolates right from their original store front, or so they told me. I also went exploring.

And off on a side street away from everything I found a little tourist trap medieval armory. They had swords. They had crossbows. They even had several types of full armor. I looked around and out of the corner of my eye I saw it. Shining. Glowing almost. It called to me. A huge battle axe.

Then I saw the price tag and my heart sunk. It worked out to about two hundred and fifty bucks Canadian. For me, who was working as a dishwasher in the prestigious Milk River Inn, that was a metric shitload of cash. It was almost everything I set aside to buy things in Europe. I hummed and hawed but finally it dawned on me.

The Hard Rock Cafe shirts and shot glasses would break, rip, and go out of style. A battle axe. That’s unique. That has meaning. That is just solid. So I got it and a letter opener shaped like a dagger.

My mother was livid. I showed up at the bus with a large unmarked box in hand and she wanted to know what I got. When I pulled it out jaws dropped and people whispered. One of the boys who got a switchblade in Amsterdam pulled it out and looked at it, as if it would make the truth any different. Mine was bigger. Inflicting that state of penile inferiority is something every angsty teenage boy yearns for. Oh it was nice.

But back to my mother. She was livid. How could I waste that money? How could I expect to get it through customs? How would my father react? (With hidden amusement I was sure) Did I know how bad it made her look that her son was buying weapons when she was supposed to be responsible? Whatever mom. Teach you for horning in on my trip.

The box was very flimsy so I shoved it full of my dirty laundry and wrapped it up to be shipped as my second luggage piece. No issues with it all throughout Europe. Until we got the the airport.

I handed my box to a security guard and said, “There’s a battle axe in there.” He just looked at me sideways for a moment then turned to his coworker running the x-ray machine. A slight grin crossed his lips and he said nothing as he set my package onto the belt to be fed into The Machine. He stood with his back to his coworker and winked slightly.

The look on the operators face was priceless. You could see the scanner monitors clearly show a large metallic axe. He coughed. Nothing happened. He whispered. Nothing happened. He tugged at his coworkers shirt and was thrice ignored. Panic crept into his face. Finally he got a response and a good laugh.

I thought I was clear but I was wrong. The letter opener I got apparently constituted a security risk. I got a security escort through Heathrow airport. I got to ride on a little golf cart thing and wave to my Mom as she ran to the plane. We were one of the farthest gates away. Oh the look on her face was so put out. Again. It was glorious.

Back in Canada they didn’t even blink. And now I have a battle axe.

No sooner than my head hits pillow than I get a call. ‘Be at the shop ASAP. You’re heading out.’ Well fuck. Throw all my clothes, ppe, laptop and ds into a bag and head out. Wait at the shop for over an hour and a half until my lead shows up. Only then do I find out where/when I’m going.

Ensign 114. Out by Grande Prarie. Three weeks. Two if things go well. By my calculations at current ROP and depth left we’ve got 6 days 4 hours 26 minutes. I forgot to bring shampoo.

Anyways, we’re on the road by 10am. Get into the rig at 5:30pm. Luckily, since we’re rather late, they’ve got lots to do. I got to go pound ground stakes. In snow up to my tits. Fuck. I’m so out of shape. Our first tool is bad so we had to switch to another one. By the time we’ve got everything tested and laid out it’s just past midnight. Three am before our tools finally hit hole and they’ve still got 1.5km of pipe to lay in before we even kick off.

My lead was feeling kind so let me get a few hours sleep around then. He also hadn’t yet shown me how to actually work spectrum and the like so I was fairly useless anyways.

So that was my first day. Tired as fuck. Sore as fuck. Confused as fuck. And I was so obviously new that you might as well have painted me green and slapped a sign on my back.

Second day I learned how to shoot the survey’s they wanted and use PACEON a bit. Lead hand seemed to get the idea that I would take to it like oil to water rather than er… whiskey to coke. He got a few hours and came back. I was willing to go straight on through until 7am but he told me to grab some sleep so I have another four hours under my belt.

I was very nervous and confused but now things are starting to click. I’m starting to get a feel for everything and to understand my place in it all. Once I starting getting into it and gaining confidence everyone seemed to start treating me a little better as well, which is good.

Oh, I also put the DD’s truck in the ditch today. I’ve a feeling that won’t make it on any official report