Trainspotter’s Boilersuit

The Gothic Musk was anchored close to the Murray coast when we arrived. It was a Friday and the drilling rig was rolling in the swell. Further out to sea a storm was causing the water to lift up and down in a repetitive and ancient dance routine. The weather at our destination was too rough to run anchors. So the rig couldn’t go to work and we would be paid the same money to do a bit of painting, tidying up and looking busy. What more could a North Sea Tiger ask for?

As a general case it was an ideal first day on a new rig. For myself I could manage a few regrets over how I came to be here at all. The previous rig was one where I should have been able to get on with everyone. Yet my dismissal seemed to have been orchestrated. Whether this was for trade union activities, political preferences or ethnic considerations made no difference. My days on the Gothic Musk were numbered. Junky Jordy and I had fallen out years before. He was the other Toolpusher, fortunately not due back for two weeks. The agency I worked for were only giving me this job so I couldn’t say they dismissed me over the last fiasco. We were far too easy-going with these gangsters!

I knew one of the agency hands from his interest in motorcycles. He introduced me to some of the others. We were pretty much the lowest in the hierarchy. This was supposed to make us keen and enthusiastic, even the stupid ones soon saw the light. One young guy had come out on the chopper with me. It was his first trip with McPhindem, the agency. I think of him as Young Briny as I was later told that, like myself, he began his oilfield career with Briny Drilling & Exploration Company. I never knew the young man’s name. The Muskies called him Trainspotter.

The appellation of Trainspotter came about over Young Briny’s pre-employment medical. The Scottish Police were nominally responsible for law enforcement in the oilfields. If this actually happened it would tend to undermine the imperial claim on oil revenues. So it seemed that the Police encouraged the employers to enforce drug policies. This they did, acting in unison without consultation. It was said to be a safety issue. The system that all the employers used made smoking cannabis an easily detected sackable offence. Two of my better supervisors were forced to quit. One lived in Canada the other in Spain. Their “crimes” had taken place weeks before in countries where they were not deemed to be breaking the law!

There was an opposite effect on the heroin, cocaine and amphetamine abusers. Three days abstention was the most they needed to produce a “clean” urine sample. By the time I landed on the Gothic Musk cliques and cartels of junkies were commonplace. These sad creatures genuinely believed that they were doing a great job. The strange bit was that their pals in the office were producing dubious paperwork to back their delusions. That can’t be a very efficient way to run an industry, you might be thinking.

A highly profitable industry might see it as a pressing problem to ensure a loyal and devoted workforce. People with guilty secrets and expensive habits might well suit the command and control freaks. The bonus of being able to send the odd dissenter for a urine test would appeal to such supervisors, pour encourager les autres. If you think I am making this up you over-estimate the power of the human imagination! Which brings me back to Trainspotter.

McPhindem had been short of bodies that particular Friday. Although Young Briny had never worked for them before he had the necessary certificates. They sent him for a medical and told Musk that their personnel requirements were not a problem. We flew out to the rig in the early afternoon, before the results of Young Briny’s medical were faxed to McPhindem. By the time we started work the story was all around the rig.

“Trainspotter” had failed a drug test! The next chopper was not until Monday. The Muskies would have a whole weekend to amuse themselves at his expense. While he was there Young Briny would be expected to work the same twelve-hour shifts as the rest of us. This did not infringe on safety; it was a financial matter. If Musk failed to keep the rig fully crewed then Galveston, the oil company would be entitled to reduce the day rate they were paying. Try your hardest, do your best, you’ll go down the road because you failed the test!

Young Briny seemed to take it quite well. I came across him on his own in the coffee shop once and assured him he’d soon find another job. He asked me about blacklisting. I could have told him a lot about the different ways they excluded anyone with a trace of self-respect. Instead I honestly stated my belief that nobody was going to hold hash-smoking against him.

For Young Briny’s final shift I decided to add my own touch of gallows humour. I got up early and cut out a cardboard stencil of the government “arrow” mark seen on convict’s uniforms in The Beano. I then took Young Briny’s navy blue boilersuit from the laundry and decorated it with yellow arrows. I felt the end result was a minor work of art!

I was a little shocked and horrified when I met Young Briny on deck. He was wearing a navy blue boilersuit but without the arrows. I asked him what had happened to my original artwork. Trainspotter informed me that he had two boilersuits. Not being aware that I was dealing with a wily ex-Briny hand I went back to my painting.

By the time the helicopter arrived I had dreamed up a new plot to bring out the humour in a sad state of affairs. As we loaded the chopper I attached a freshly painted gloss black ball and chain to the handles of Young Briny’s bag. The ball and chain looked the part, though they were actually plastic. I’ve occasionally wondered whether my former colleague and fellow ex-Briny hand saw anything amusing in these antics.

Old Briny, August 2004

© Louis Mair 2012