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(xanga transplant)
Jun. 13th, 2005 06:48 pmAnywho, as the most junior and inexperienced "engineer" at my office, I commonly get assigned tasks that are often unskilled, unpleasant, or just low-priority. (I use the term "engineer" loosely. I'm merely an Engineer-In-Training; I might be breaking some law if I referred to myself as an engineer with a capital E.) Last week for example, I was a lone flagman directing traffic around a blind curve from the middle of a state highway. That gave my adrenaline glands a heck of a workout. Those near-misses are not the kind of thrill-seeking I go for.
Starting tomorrow for the next couple weeks I'll be assigned as construction inspector at what is basically a quarry in the middle of downtown. A narrow pit carved into the limestone, forty feet deep by thirty wide. Spending the day in that confined, airless oven with heavy equipment rumbling about all around me . . . it's not very pleasant. But that's not the part that really bothers me. What bugs me is that I'm not qualified for this role. I've never done this sort of thing before, nor did I ever imply that I was so qualified. But we're short-handed, so I've been thrown in to plug the hole. The safety of the building and by extension, the safety of those who will use it depends on the inspector insuring that it is built as required. But I don't know what the hell I'm doing. And the foremen, drillers, and other construction veterans are all hanging on my every word, even though any of them has decades more experience on me. Even a minor screw up can result in thousands of dollars in wasted material, days of downtime, or heaven forbid, lawsuits.
I guess I'm just not accustomed to this level of responsibility and/or stress. My immediate colleague tells me that when he started, it was sink-or-swim for him too. I can't help but think of that altered version, "The best time to learn to swim is when you're drowning." If only it didn't have such a morbid tone.
Starting tomorrow for the next couple weeks I'll be assigned as construction inspector at what is basically a quarry in the middle of downtown. A narrow pit carved into the limestone, forty feet deep by thirty wide. Spending the day in that confined, airless oven with heavy equipment rumbling about all around me . . . it's not very pleasant. But that's not the part that really bothers me. What bugs me is that I'm not qualified for this role. I've never done this sort of thing before, nor did I ever imply that I was so qualified. But we're short-handed, so I've been thrown in to plug the hole. The safety of the building and by extension, the safety of those who will use it depends on the inspector insuring that it is built as required. But I don't know what the hell I'm doing. And the foremen, drillers, and other construction veterans are all hanging on my every word, even though any of them has decades more experience on me. Even a minor screw up can result in thousands of dollars in wasted material, days of downtime, or heaven forbid, lawsuits.
I guess I'm just not accustomed to this level of responsibility and/or stress. My immediate colleague tells me that when he started, it was sink-or-swim for him too. I can't help but think of that altered version, "The best time to learn to swim is when you're drowning." If only it didn't have such a morbid tone.
