Chapter 6

Sunny’s turn:

I need my own wheels. I feel like I’m sort of dragging Carl around after work, although he’s a pretty good dinner buddy. And breakfast buddy. And work buddy. But I desire the ability to just hop in my truck and go without having to bother Carl for the keys, or to tell him ‘no’ if he asks about going with me.

This evening, though ... We went to dinner. The guy’s a pretty good conversationalist. I have yet to come up with a topic that he didn’t have something on.

“You can take the truck, you know...” he said again. “I don’t mind ... Really.”

“I believe you. I dunno ... Sign of my independence.”

“Look, Sunny, I am quite capable of lying over there in my trailer listening to music, watching TV, reading a book, maybe two or three at once while you go ... where would you go?”

“Just driving around. If I see something interesting, I can stop and look...”

“Well, short of having to be someplace at a certain time, you can do that while I’m in the truck, too...”

So ... argument. And he’s right. I really don’t know why I’m arguing. We discussed this before we left Louisiana.

Next day, back on the job. Jumbo and I and Carl are discussing what’s going on. Steel’s showing up, and there’s a crane involved, and swinging loads, and nobody needs to be underneath that while the load’s suspended. Twenty feet of twelve-inch galvanized steel structure would severely hamper your next day’s work if it fell on you.

“Luggage,” I command, “Doble test set and lead bag.”

“Ooo-kayyyy,” replies Luggage.

Jumbo shakes his head. “That still amazes me.”

“Me too,” Carl said. “All those days of backaches from hauling test equipment around.”

I walked over to the door, pushed it open. “Luggage, that goes to T-2 transformer, north side.”

“Ooo-kayyy” and a whir and off he went, platform carrying the test set and the bag of cables that went with it.

“I’ll have ‘im pull the power cable back here when I get it uncoiled,” I said.

Today Carl’s on top of the transformer moving test leads around and I’m on the ground running the equipment. I like this setup. I’ve worked with a lot of techs who saw the junior guy (I don’t mind being a ‘guy’ on the job) as the gofer and mover of test leads and hauler of equipment. Carl says this way I get to learn.

“You’ll be going on these things as lead tech one of these days,” he said. “Could prob’ly do it now...”

“I lack confidence,” I said.

He looked at me with a strange cast to his face. “You? Lack confidence?”

“When it comes to work. I know I can handle the routine tasks, but it is rather daunting to see some of the strange twists...”

“Sunny,” he said, “I’ve seen you in real action. You just spring...”

“That wasn’t a technical issue, and it was a matter of any action was going to have some effect. That’s not the same as finding that there’s a major issue with control wiring or such, something that doesn’t look right...”

“You’re right. But you’re working with me and I WANT you to stretch. If you get into a fuzzy area, go ahead and stretch, but don’t put yourself in danger and try not to damage the equipment.”

“How’d you learn?” I asked. I probably know the answer. I’ve worked with some good techs and engineers.

“Just like that. Or getting tossed into the water where it was sink or swim. In the aftermath of disaster, sometimes the solutions are not so apparent.”

“Mistakes, either,” I countered.

“That’s right. And if you DO make a mistake, then figure out what went wrong and move on. Nobody’s perfect.”

“Nobody,” I said. “But I try really hard NOT to mess up.”

“We do a lot of things, darlin’...” he started.

“Darling?!?” I blurted. No, I’m NOT offended, but there’s a certain amount of give and take on the job and if he’s a little bit off balance, it’s gonna be more fun...

“Uhhh...” He back-pedaled quickly.

I smiled at him. “Relax ... I’m NOT one of those...”

“Didn’t think so, but your eyes flash...”

So he’s noticing my eyes. At least I don’t have those ‘zipper eyes’ some Korean girls get. I think I look more Japanese, but heaven knows I wouldn’t say that to my grandmother. Older Koreans do NOT have a good opinion of the Japanese.

“At least that means you’re not watching my butt...”

He’s got a boyish look sometimes. “Uh, try not to. Have to watch when you’re climbing a ladder, though. Safety, you know...”

That’s okay. I’ve watched him, too. He looks pretty fit, as one might expect from a somewhat physical job like ours. Apparently he doesn’t do the gym thing – at least he’s foregone it since we’ve been on this job, but he climbs and lifts and pulls – it’s part of the job.

“Might have to start doin’ something to stay fit,” he said, though. “Luggage is doing a lot of the physical work.”

“Watch your diet, then, fat boy,” I snickered.

He’s NOT fat.

“Oh, yeah ... sure ... You can end up one of those plump little mama-sans...”

“What do YOU know about mama-sans?”

“Uncle was in the Army. Spent a tour in Korea.”

“And I’m sure he spent his off hours surveying the finer points of the country’s culture.”

“No doubt,” Carl grinned. “Prob’ly the Korean equivalent of the beach at Padre Island on Spring Break...”

“So much for cultural superiority.”

He turned his head to look at me sideways. “Like a second generation child of Korean descent...”

“Roots,” I laughed. “Coon-ass.”

“Heyyyyy!” He whined. “You ain’t supposed to know what a coon-ass is...”

(Auth. Note: ‘Coon-ass’ is a colloquial nickname for ‘Cajun’. Its origin is murky, but for years the Louisiana Air National Guard was known as the ‘Coon-ass Militia’. It’s pretty wide-spread along the Gulf Coast)

“I’ve been working on construction sites too long,” I laughed. “I’ve seen a few. You’re one.”

“I’m in good company. Half the Alabama bunch...”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “Nikki, her Dan, Dan Richards ... Three of ‘em.”

“That’s why I ain’t scared of kimchi,” he laughed. “I’m Cajun. I’ll eat anything.”

Why was I reading a double entendre into his phrasing. And why was I concerned. Pleasantly concerned.

Next day was my day as the ‘helper’ while he ran the test set on the ground. That activity put me climbing a ladder to move the test leads we needed. It put my butt at HIS eye level. If he was affected, he gave no indication.

Friday came. We’d done a lot of the testing that could be done before we had real power out in the yard. We’d locked up the trailers behind us when we left this morning, each with an overnight bag in hand with a couple of days’ worth of clothing and necessities. We got away from the jobsite early, drove to the little country airfield.

Carl talked with one of the guys, got to park his truck inside an empty hangar, got a key to the lock. The guy said, “If I’m not here when y’all get back, just leave the key on the floor. I’ll get it later.”

And... “What kinda plane’s comin’ to get you?”

“Pilatus PC-12,” I said. “You’re gonna like the pilot, and she gives free tours.”

“Oh yeah?” the old guy said. “What’s the deal?”

“Better I should let you see for yourself.” I smiled. “Trust me.”

He looked at Carl. “What she said. Good stuff.”

Presently the radio speaker on the outside of the office blatted, “Uh, Howard County traffic, Pilatus zero seven tango sierra, five miles west for landing on one-niner.”

“Girl’s voice,” the old guy said.

“That’d be the co-pilot. Dana. She’s sixteen. Student,” I told him.

“Oh, that’s interesting.”

“Trust me, it gets better.”

We watched the white and blue airplane approach from the west, cross the midpoint of the runway at a thousand feet, then curl gracefully to the left in a graduated descent, straightening out just a bit short of the north end of the runway. There wasn’t so much as a hop when the wheels touched.

“Very well done. That’s pretty nice flying.”

She swung the plane to a stop a safe distance from us. The door opened, the engine shut down. First head out was a tech I know.

“You got a rest room?”

“Sure. Just go in the office. It’s marked,” the old guy said.

Three techs popped out, then Cindy. “I told ‘em to go before they left...”

“Cindy,” I said, “this gentleman’s the airport manager...”

“Hi,” Cindy chirped. “Cindy Richards.”

“John Day,” he said. “You’re the pilot?”

“Yep!”

“Nice plane!”

“Thank you. I like ‘er. You been inside one?”

Mister John shook his head.

“Wanna?”

“If you don’t mind...”

By that time, Dana was on the ground beside her.

“Mister John, my co-pilot, Dana. C’mon. Get the tour. Dana, if you could get Sunny ‘n’ Carl’s bags stowed.”

Dana smirked. “Aye-aye, captain!”

“Miss Sunny said she’s a student?”

“Yep,” Cindy answered.

“Kinda expensive trainer...”

“Oh, she’s along for the ride. We have a Cessna 152 for REAL training.”

Cindy gave Mister John ten minutes of tour before he came back out and we all loaded back up.

“I’ll be back Monday for my truck,” Carl said.

“Not a problem. Glad to help.”

We got the door closed, sat down and got buckled in. I’ve worked on jobs with everybody in the cabin. Carl didn’t know a couple of them.

“Sorry to foist ‘er off on you, Carl,” Lynn Fullman said. “But we gotta spread the misery...”