Workin' with Mikey

The place where I work just underwent a four day shutdown for maintenance. Now, over these days a few disagreements do arise, one of which I was a part of. I work with this fellow, Mikey whom I will refer to as my partner as he calls me his, when he isn't mad at me. During this maintenance we were to change oil in a gearbox. This is a pretty simple process unless Mikey is helping. What normally is a 7 part operation became 27 parts. He has the thought in his head and set in his reinforced concrete cranium that all oil, regardless of viscosity, must be heated with whatever device he can lay his hands on. There has been many a shutdown when Mikey was berated for hugging a gearbox or two, and why he has to first get naked is anybody's guess, but today he found his personal favourite, an electric barrel heater, which spares us all the mental image.

The draining of the tank was uneventful if you don't count Mike bitching that we had to use a pump as the oil was too cold to drain out at room temperature. We hook it up and Mike ventures forth to get a new barrel. My mistake, I thought we could just pump it in like they do at normal mills. I forgot to remember we needed to heat it. While waiting for him, I decided to assist the guys who were working on the gearbox by washing down the greasy, black safety guards. The barrel wasn't in danger of overflowing and there were three people there, so I left it running and went down to clean the guards, just helping the guys out. Upon arrival at the pressure washer station, I found that it wouldn't work. I then took the guards to the varsol tank where 2 separate employees Ken and Howard gave several tips and complained that I was messing up their varsol tank. You must realize I am just an employee, the rest of them are employee/owners. If one was masturbating in the middle of the shop, someone wouldn't hesitate to stop to point out any errors they felt you were making in your technique.

After my scolding downstairs, I am approaching a higher irritation level as I head back upstairs only to be greeted by Mike who is complaining that I left the scene and ruined the pump, which is bullshit. Now, I am pissed off. Let's just get this done, I'm thinking.

Now the job of refilling the gearbox is about to begin. Mike directs me to go up top and watch the level rise while he runs the pump. As the level goes up I tell Mike to "Stop" which he ignores,"Stop" he ignores again." Whoa!" I scream "Unplug the pump, you deaf bastard!". He finally follows the last plea, and then is mad. "Why didn't you say so?" he yells.

"I did, moron", I just as angrily replied.

I guess that the pump I ruined, still fakes pumping, really well.

Then I tell him we have to drain the gearbox down again as he wouldn't stop and the gearbox is over full. This apparently is all my fault as I didn't tell him when to stop. He gave me a quick sermon that morning for using words that had more than 3 syllables, 2 is his limit. I didn't jump down to help him as he came up with the make work project idea, let him run with it.

Breaking the lines apart he manages to spill oil all over himself, which again, I am cursed for. He then starts the pump and I shut the tap off when it reaches the proper level. If you are wondering why I didn't use the tap for the fill procedure it's because Mike made the hose up without clamps and I didn't want to give myself and the millwrights a drenching with Mike's superheated oil when I slammed the valve shut. Another reason is that it doesn't look very professional when you burn people and they break their necks trying to leave the accident scene slipping in the hot oil.

I think me and Mikey need a little time apart...