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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I worked on drilling rigs for the better part of thirty years. I sweated buckets of sweat while my wife cried barrels of tears. The work was seldom easy and to say it was safe would be a lie. The more dangerous the job the higher the high. You either loved the job or you hated it. I know I’ve seen a million or more quit. The money was good but it was more than that. It was the challenge to those men in their steel toes and hard hats. I’ve seen men killed, crippled, and maimed. There is something that gets in your spirit that cannot be tamed. Drilling holes in the ground to earn a days pay. Sounds pretty easy I’ve heard many men say. Till you get them on location and the iron starts to rattle Seen a many tuck tail and run watched them skeedaddle. There’s a pusher on every rig, dope comes in five gallon buckets, and they’ve got joints that are thirty foot long. It’s not what you are thinking so don’t get me wrong. It’s kinda like the Marine Corp you be the best that you can be. That’s kinda the way it is to roughneck you try to shine so all can see. It’s a place where rules are few and there is only one boss. You learn to follow those rules or you find people get hurt or you might even witness a tragic loss. I sure miss those days but they are mostly for the young to do. It’s Hell getting old but it’s something we all must go through.
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