noise."Monday · 2:05am Dec 17th, 2019
But before I tell you about Monday, let me tell you about Friday. Which, you might remember, was the 13th. And the moon was full-ish.
Y’all know what to do.
On Friday, I had a 93 F250 dually to work on--we’re replacing the front cover. We were still waiting for a part, because the Ford dealer said they didn’t have it and couldn’t get it, which was a great story except that their online store said that they did have it.
We also had a Dakota that needed exhaust manifolds.
Since I was waiting for parts, I tore the exhaust manifolds off, and the rearmost upper stud was broken off in each cylinder head. My manager attempted to extract them after I’d exhausted all the tools at my disposal, broke an EZ-out off in one of them, and then failed utterly at welding nuts on to get them off that way. Then he had to leave for up north, so the Dakota stayed unfinished.
I had to do a tire rotation, which took over an hour because I was working solo and there were incessant phone calls and customers, and then I got back to work on the F250. RTVed up all the gaskets, struggled to get the Dorman replacement cover into place, dealt with the bottom studs being too short, managed to get the water pump, back cover and two gaskets all put where they needed to be, and got half the bolts in.
Only half of them.
I struggled for an hour, maybe more, and they just wouldn’t go. Finally pried the cover back, and they’re not lining up with the holes in the block. Nothing I can pry with helps, and I finally give up on it an hour after close.
I had the weekend to reflect on dealing with these two fine automobiles come Monday morning, and this morning, I got to go back to the F250. My manager suggested that I tear it back down, and we try changing the front part of the oil pan gasket (which is how you’re supposed to put it together anyway, but wasn’t what we did). So I got it back apart and I’m over on the bench whirring away with a die grinder (mechanics love die grinders) to get the RTV off when I hear a weird noise.
My manager’s lifting some import SUV on the alignment rack, and just as I turn, I see my BRAND NEW TOOL CART WHICH I JUST MADE MY LAST PAYMENT ON TODAY lift up and then drop--he caught the lid with the lip of the hoist.
Now, I bought this thing with the full knowledge that it’s in a shop environment, and it’ll get some wear and tear to it. Personally, I would have preferred to be the one to put the first scratch on it (but then I would have liked to peel the protective film off it, and he did that, too). I wouldn’t have been mad, except that he of course denied that he’d done it, claimed he hadn’t heard a thing, etc.
Monday is the day that Snap-On comes around, and a bottle of touch-up paint would be pretty cheap. Maybe ten dollars . . . well, probably more like 20, ‘cause it’s Snap-On. It’d take a few minutes to fix, and that would be that. And if he’d apologized, I would have done that. After all, accidents happen.
I got the F250 almost done today. Got to put new gas tank straps on a Tahoe I’d put the fuel pump in last week--I thought the straps looked sketchy, and they’re coated so it’s impossible to tell how good the metal is underneath. He decided to save the customer money, and . . . well, he did, ‘cause he ate the cost of the new straps. I also got to put an ABS sensor on a RAV-4, and look at the brakes on a Jetta, and more importantly, he spent half the day working at the Dakota. He still didn’t get it done, either. But it’s close. Not as close as the F250, though.
I thought about what I should do to fix my toolbox, and by the time the Snap-On truck rolled in and I was ready to make my final payment for my tool cart, I knew what I needed to do. Since he didn’t apologize, I decided I’m gonna fix it my way. I thought about covering it with a strip of HPHT,* but then inspiration struck! A bit of googling, and instead of just a little scratch on the back of my toolbox, he’s going to see this right beside it:
He’ll hate it.
*Hot pink hockey tape
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Interestingly enough, that Friday was the day that I learned that we would not be working a fourteenth week of overtime. I guess Grandmother is right, Friday the thirteenth is our lucky day.
The sticker makes me think of John cleese, and then your Manager makes me think of Minister for Silly works.
Some messed up stuff across the pond on the 13th.
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5170489
Ninja'd Monty Python reference.
At least he didn't hook the bumper on the toolbox and bump it down into the oil change pit. That'd make some noise.
The tape was a good idea. The sticker is better.
Putting the box on the lift and dropping it on him would be good, too.
Accidents happen in the workplace every day.
Just a scratch... you made it seem like it lifted it up and fell over or something. I like the OwO sticker. Any time he's looking remotely in that direction, you should point at it and loudly say "OwO WHAT'S THIS?!"
You're working all alone on cars? What if you have an accident?
5170483
Even with overtime (which I hope you get), a person’s gotta have some rest.
5170489
I could see Cleese saying “Owo, what’s this?” I don’t think my manger’s creative enough to have a silly walk, though.
5170491
Yeah, looks like Britain and the US are trading “hold my beer and watch this” back and forth. . . .
5170508
On the plus side, we don’t have an oil change pit, so that helps.
I have had my old tool cart fall over. Picking everything back up was . . . well, I don’t recommend it, if you can avoid it.
5170515
That’s what I was thinking.
I don’t think we’ve gotten to the point where we need that level of retaliation. From what limited experience I have, jail sucks more than my job does.
5170529
It did lift up a bit, but didn’t fall over, luckily. And I wouldn’t have been mad if he’d said he was sorry right away, or offered to buy a bottle of touch-up paint or really anything other than denying it happened.
Yeah, it’s going to be amazing. I’m really looking forward to it, and to leaving it there practically forever to annoy him.
Even better, it’s actually a magnet (which cost more, but totally worth it), so if I do decided that he’s been punished enough, I can take it back off.
5170546
Some days, yeah. I suppose if I have an accident, I can hopefully get to my cell phone and dial 911. Or a customer will walk in.
It’s not the best thing, really.
5170555
Oh, of course! I wouldn't ever seriously suggest such a thing.
Besides, you'd have to get more stickers.
Sorry this guy is such a jerk. At least you have a great sense of humor from which you always rise above him.
5170550
Aye, the money was good, but it'll be better not to be in debt to the caffeine...
Man, venting about work... So I went into work on Saturday at noon. Sometime in the afternoon, we start getting phone calls about upwards of 4 aircraft, all freighters, coming in from Mexico. This isn't unusual... we know this company. And they always pay their bills, which is like, the one god send with them. Because, you see... they can't keep track of time for a damn. They say this time, and it's hours later, or hours earlier. Their dispatch is horrible at letting us know when these changes happen, or if they even do at all. We are "on call 24 hours", but they think and operate like we're just always there. So we had the first one come in around 2pm, which was fine. Unloaded it, all was well. A metroliner, if you're curious. Next we were suppose to be having a CRJ 200 coming in at 5pm. Great. Awesome.
So 4pm rolls around, and they finally leave Texas (from customs). For that plane it's a little over 2 hours depending on how heavy they are. We were also told it was only 20 boxes of freight, moveable by hand. Also not a big deal, sure. So lets keep this particular plane in the back of our mind, okay? Just... don't forget about it, because I surely won't. Anyway, so while waiting, we get a call on the other two supposed planes, which at some point unknown to me, turned into three planes. Another CRJ 200 added to the mix (the company only has 4 of those, because they're new to their fleet and expensive to purchase). The other two we were expecting were CRJ 200 number 3, and a DC9. Our ramp is only 2.8 acres. A DC9 takes up a good quarter of our ramp, and if not parked correctly, will block our entrances. Also remember this little nugget of info for later.
So we know we have one CRJ on the way, in the air, trackable. We still are awaiting word on CRJ 2 ETA: 0100 (great), DC9 ETA 0500 (super), and CRJ 3 at 0800 (God kill me). I'm the weekend bitch, so guess who's stuck at work for all of this? This guy, right here. Granted, my manager stepped in and didn't leave me to fend for myself, because if he did I'd have just quit because fuck this. So, CRJ 1 is finally getting in, and I park them leaving plenty of room to maneuver the other planes. Unfortunately, our work does not have the correct equipment to move these airplanes, so wherever we park them, that's where they sit until they leave. Again, not a big deal, we know our ramp well.
I'm on my fork lift, and I mean that literally. It's my father's and mine, we store it at my work, and use it. My father is "paid" in jet fuel for his oil furnace in his house. Anyway, so I'm sitting there, the truck arrived, all is well and right in the world. Then they open the cargo door. There's no 20 boxes. Final count? 117. I would have loved to comment about it being the Master Chief number, but I was too angry at the world, and Mexicans, to care. It takes two people to move one box, and none of them are on pallets because they're stuffed into the plane so tight they couldn't fit them. As a late afterthought, we could have gone down to the local water softener store and gotten some pallets, but it was too late for that. Now, I'm up here in Michigan (as Admiral knows well), and it's occasional flurries, cold, and winds at I believe 15 knots, which if you're moving around isn't too bad. I was, in fact, not, for I was sitting on the fork truck for 2 hours as we unloaded them. Even with thermals under my clothes, sitting still is no match for winds.
So we get them loaded, truck leaves. Plane shuts down. It's like, 7pm I think, so it's dark. Just as I park the fork lift and go to get inside and warm up, all hell breaks loose. First a Citation 5 for a QT (Quick Turn, as in stop, fuel, go.) Then a Lear 35. Then some small planes, I don't even care to remember what, Cessna's I think, maybe a Piper. Whatever, point was, I went another 2 hours, because by the time I finally get inside to warm up, it was pushing 9. The crew for the CRJ actually stuck around, because they were waiting to hear if they were leaving back for home, or staying the night, the next day, etc. It's more cost effective to have a plane sit somewhere, pay for ramp, pay for crew hotel, than it is to just fly the plane back home, empty, with no purpose. So as I walk in, the crew is loading up into my managers truck, and he's taking them to the hotel, then going home to catch a few winks before the 1am plane.
This is fine, I was planning to just sleep in the lounge recliners anyway. I brought my PS4 and we got a big screen TV in there, so I'm cool with that. I think I was talking with some friends on Discord when I got the text 30 minutes later. As my manager was dropping off the crew, their dispatch called, saying they had to depart at 11. I wanted to cry. They insist they'll get an uber back, and I tell my manager (because I'm an idiot and too nice for my own good) that it's just fuel and go, I'll handle it, get home and get a few winks. He says thanks, and does just that.
So I do, in fact, remember talking with people on Discord, and realizing at one point... fuck it's 1230 where the fuck are my crew? I'm about to give up, I even go so far as to clock out and take off my boots and pants, when I see headlights in the parking lot. Eeyup, it pushed back, but as usual, no heads up about this. So I rush to clock back in, throw my boots on because I was stupid and walked through the hangar in my socks and stepped in something, opened the lobby and got back to work. Thankfully, it was quick. Well, quick in terms of handling. Got their fuel release so I could fuel the plane, and for the next 30ish minutes did just that. They took about 1,600 gallons, cause they were going back to Texas for customs, and then down to some country in South America.
So this is when things start getting interesting, Admiral, and please tell me if I'm boring you at this point.
I find out from the crew that they are leaving because CRJ number 3 broke down in Mexico, so they are flying down to take it's freight, and bring it in their steed. So naturally, this pushed their time around from 0800 to we don't know. Great. Awesome. Then I asked if there was any word on CRJ number 2, cause they still hadn't filed for Texas. They shrugged. Always a good sign. So 0200 they finally leave. I set my phone to go off every hour, so I can track the two planes I was worried about (CRJ 2 and DC9). After going through several fitful one hour naps, at 5am we learn that everything pushed back until Sunday afternoon/evening. I just said fuck it, and finally went to sleep.
So 3 hours later, I get woken by my co-worker coming in early. CRJ 2 is on its way, an hour out. I almost drew my .45 and told him to tell them to come back later. Almost. Anyway, so I put my pants on, boots, and go clock in. We got prep to do. Fill up the trucks, gas up the fork lift, and hurry up and wait. CRJ arrives, bam. Great. No clue what it is onboard. Turns out to be 20 boxes.
Huh... Okay. That makes some sense, we figured.
Unload, things go well, then they actually take fuel right away and blast off. Then we got busy with more traffic coming in. Citation jets, mostly, with a couple King Airs mixed in just to spite us. We finally get word on CRJ 3 and DC9. CRJ 3 was in the air, on their way. 1500 (3pm). Great. It's another 80 boxes. All this time, all these have been are Chrysler Wiring harnesses, as we learned when a box broke open and we saw what was inside. Crew is staying over night. Great, awesome. They fuck off. Just before they go, we ask about the DC9. They saw it in Mexico, waiting to get loaded. Alright, sweet.
So my co-worker goes home around this time, cause we're caught up, and me and my manager will handle the DC9. He brings in his grandson to assist. Pays him in movie tickets, strangely, but whatever. So I take care of more planes. By this point, we've gone through almost 5k gallons, which for us in just two days, is really good. We average about 1k a day. We actually run out of 100LL, and have to start telling people we'll get them later if they are based on the field, or transients we send to one of the other FBO's on the field we like. By this point, I'm running on like, 3 hours of actual sleep, and random cat naps mixed in. Same with my manager, cause he, like me, was waking up every hour checking on the planes that morning.
2100, 9pm, DC9 files their flight plan. Hella. 2 1/2 hour flight, so they must be on the lighter side with cargo. Also okay. Bear in mind, we were only told about one plane's cargo, and it wasn't even the right plane. So we're just expecting the worst, because we're intellectuals like that. I make the wise choice to go get Taco Belle and pick up some shots of Fireball, because I know I'mma need it. Take a little nap, and around 2200 I get ready. Manager shows up with his grandson, and we're ready for this nightmare to be over.
Then his grandson opens his fucking mouth. "Hey, where's the freight truck?"
...
...
...
"Fuck."
(To be continued in second post. Stay tuned!
5170676
So, the DC9 is 30 minutes out, and of course their dispatch is useless at getting any info on the truck company. So we sit around, biting our lips as we listen to the Unicom as the DC9 is 20 miles out. 15 miles out. 10. 5. 2, on approach. Cleared to land. Touch down, taxi to parking.
We are already feeling the dread of the night, and my manager makes a big mistake, that just kinda fucks us.
We were both tired as shit. So he's martaling the plane to park, and with the CRJ at one end, we have to be very specific on how we park the DC9, otherwise we'll block our only open entrance and we're fucked. I'm spotting the left wing of the plane, against our building, and watching. Then, I see my manager's mistake. I'm trying to yell at him, correct him, but it's too late. He started their turn way too soon. So, in case you didn't know, a DC9 can practically turn on a dime. It's really impressive. Sucks, though, because if you start turning them too soon, they'll fucking crank the controls and turn that bitch hard. And they did. So now they're literally in the middle of the ramp, 50 plus feet from the building, and the right wing is blocking our entrance. My manager is cursing, screaming, swearing up and down. I start to break down and laugh. He goes inside to punch a wall, or himself, whatever. The crew opens the passenger door, and I quickly run through my practiced drills of (oops we fucked up, what are our options?)
First I ask if they happened to carry with them a tow bar, or head for a bar, for their plane. "No." Okay, well we fucked up, and parked you in a bad spot, so- And before I can finish, he smiles at me. "Oh no problem. We can start up and swing her around for ya. Hella fuckin' yeah. I run in, grab my manager before he shoves his head into the toilet, and tell him what's up. We rush out, and swing the plane around closer to the building, facing the opposite direction. IT's still not ideal, but at least now planes can come into our ramp area.
Then... his fucking grandson opens his fucking mouth again. "So, still no freight truck?"
At this point it's midnight. We are beyond dead tired. IT's technically Monday, but if I was taught anything about time management thanks to delivering newspapers... it isn't the next day until you're done. So fuck it, it's still Sunday night. We got this. The next hour and a half is spent trying to figure out the trucking company, who they are, where they are, and when we finally get in touch with their dispatch, sleeping at home and wondering why the fuck we're calling... they say "someone will be out at 7am" and hangs up.
...
...
"Fuck."
So, technically, we do not accept freight in any capacity. All we do is the unload, and load, into the truck/plane. It is not our responsibility to store, house, or manage any freight. These poor pilots have been through the ringer, like us, so we decide to bend rules for once. We unload the freight, and put it in he hangar. 60 boxes, so not terrible, but still takes us over an hour because we're all just dead inside.
0200, I think, the clocks started mocking me at some point so I shut them out, the crew is figuring out if they're staying, or fueling and going. We realize, fuck, we didn't fuel any of our trucks yet for this fucker, and long story short, our fuel is at the current moment, unavailable to us until the next day (Monday). Miracle, they are staying. Manager takes them to the hotel. I drink my whiskey, steal a couple beers from the mechanic's beer fridge, and sleep on the recliner, because the freight truck will be there at 7am. I can get 5 hours, lets do this.
So I'm woken up at 0600 by the morning desk girl freaking out about something, and "well you're here doing nothing important so help me." So while doing this, I make a pot of coffee, and around 7am my manager stumbles in looking like death. Apparently the Mexican company called him 4 times over the night, asking about the freight, drop offs, etc. So yeah, we're just... both fucking dead. Freight truck shows up around 9am, because fuck you, and we hand load it, because again, fuck you.
The whole rest of the day is filled with, shocker, more jet traffic. Get the trucks fueled up, and pump another 1500 by that evening. Now, all of these planes throughout the day? None of them schedueled. The only one on our board is a Lear 60 that's due in at 1900. I can do this, I got it. By the time I'm all caught up and taken care of, it's 1930 and I'm asking for God to just let a airplane fall on my head. Lear arrives around 2100, so 9pm. Unload the passenger, all is well. Then the crew asks for hangar.
I start to cry, but then I look in the hangar, and my manager, bless his heart, had planned it, and already dumped part of the hangar when I wasn't looking. Straight shot in, and by 2230 I am driving home.
So, that was my weekend.
(Edit): Sat hours: 13. Sun hours: 13.5. Mon hours: 14.3. Total hours in 3 days: 40.7 hours.
5170684
Ouch!
Sorry, I don't get the O w O! sticker reference?
5170676
That gives me flashbacks to driving wrecker . . . the dispatchers would be listening to the police radio, trying to get an idea where we were going to need wreckers soon, and they’d try to get the right truck out that way. Or the nights we were so busy with accidents that we were dumping cars wherever, hiding them at body shops, that kind of thing, then moving them back where they were supposed to be later.
Snow days--there was one where I spent most of my shift pulling cars out of the ditch on a five mile stretch of I-94. Or running a 21 hour shift, with only an hour nap in the truck. . . .that was a fun day.
5170922
I should have it next week . . . maybe not until after Christmas, though.
5171053
The original meme goes something like this:
<notices bulge> “OWO, what’s this?”
Here’s a more comprehensive reference
5172170
I don't think your boss is ever going to get the reference, but that's half the fun, right? :)
5172330
Oh, there’s no chance he will.
So, funny story, I usually have a kind of racy calendar on my toolbox, but last year I didn’t get one for reasons. So, knowing his political preferences, I got a calendar that was all Republicans photoshopped to look like White Walkers (from Game of Thrones). He never figured that out . . . he did recognize that they were from GoT, but didn’t catch that they were various Republican senators and congressmen.