The Saga, Part 5 -- A Fine Irish Temper!
Leaving the restaurant, I was feeling much better due to the coffee, breakfast, and blessing. I wondered if anyone in the city would be able to understand my long, drawling way with words, or if I was going to be condemned to wander around the city, using sign language. I reached the hotel, and set off the find the Water Company. There was always work to do!
After getting lost twice, I found the water company ten minutes ahead of schedule, and managed to sandwich the monster car into the small parking lot under the sign that read "Visitors". All water companies look alike. They all have office buildings built out of cinder blocks, and are attached to large basins and filters, with industrial walkways suspended over the deeper parts, and all kinds of valves, lined up in rows. Inevitably, water company buildings are either painted blue or white. This one was blue on the bottom and white at the top-- a nice touch. It was in a more 'rural' area, and I began to feel a little less claustrophobic, and more than a little relieved to be among the pipes and pumps that looked familiar.
I gathered my things, walked into the office and was immediately assailed by the second thing that all water companies have in commonthe smell of chloramine. It wasn't strong enough to make my eyes water, but close. Oh well , I shrugged, at least we disinfect . I stopped at the front desk, which was very utilitarian and had a very pretty woman with red hair sitting behind it.
"How do you do, maam?" I said, "I am Marsha Talbot from the James Consulting Group. I have a meeting this morning with," I glanced at my instruction sheet, "Mr. Daniel Laine."
She looked at me blankly. I spoke more slowly, "How do you do, ma'am. My name is Marsha Talbot. I am with the James Consulting Group. I have a meeting with Mr. Daniel Laine this morning."
She stared at me, and abruptly motioned toward a chair next to the desk. I sat down, mystified. Had I committed a major faux pas ? Why could no one understand me?
She opened the office door to a terrific roaring. There was a middle-aged redheaded man on an Irish Rampage in the next room. He was standing with his feet apart, a Zeus of a man, screaming at some poor soul, "Ye Bluidy Orangemen! Ye dinna test the water a'fore you sent it on?" The door closed with a snap, cutting off the rest of the conversation, and I sat. Quietly. I could hear the storm continue, but could not make out the words. There was another brief burst of thunder from the inner office, but it gradually quieted.
Presently, the pretty woman returned. She looked at me like the cat that ate the canary, and I could not help but wonder, What Now? She folded her mouth primly and said, "Just a moment." So I sat. Quietly. And waited. And waited some more. Little did I know of the contretemps going on behind the door. Phone calls were being made to Owensboro. Phone calls with answers of little comfort to the redheaded man inside.
Finally, the woman's intercom squawked, and she nodded to me, pleased in an odd sort of way. "Go in."
I walked to the door and met the redheaded man in the doorway. "Are you Mr. Laine?" He nodded, his face very red and getting redder. I held out my hand and spoke slowly and clearly, "How do you do, sir. My name is Marsha Talbot and I'm with the James Consulting Group."
Abruptly, he turned on his heel, and strode into a small office with a broad mahogany desk. I followed him into the office and he suddenly whirled on me. "James dinna say he was sendin' a girrul!"
So that was the problem! I was a 'girrul', and he was expecting a man. I held out my hand, pointedly polite, and said, "I am very pleased to meet you Mr. Laine."
Again, he ignored my outstretched hand, sat at his desk and slumped, his face in his hands. "A girrul! Of what use is a bluidy girrul!"
Probably 100 things flashed through my mind to say at this point, but not one of them seemed to fit. I suddenly stood back like he had, a small Zeus, put my hands on my hips and mocked his wide Irish brogue, "Ye dinna say ye wouldna' gi' me a chance!" I was indignant! "A fine Irishman like you! Me Da would be ashamed o' ye!"
Realizing what I had done, I dropped my stance immediately, and looked steadfastly at the floor. My heart was pounding, and I thought I may just have called the wrath of the Gods down onto my own stupid skull. But Mr. Laine slowly raised his head. "What d' ye say, girrul?"
Gazing steadfastly at the floor, I said firmly, "you never said that you wouldn't give me a chance, Mr. Laine. I'm all my father has, and he trusts me to try my best." What did my father have to do with all this? Why did I suddenly tell this man that my father loved and trusted me? My heart was pounding so hard the ruffles on my blouse were shaking. I knew he saw it, too, and a blush flamed my face. How could I have been so unspeakably rude to mock the man in his own accent?
But, Mr. Laine had bigger fish to fry that day. He dismissed me with a wave, "Well, girrul, I ne'er said I'd no gi' ye a chance. Go and find Fred. He'll take ye aroun' and we'll figure it out."
I stumbled out of his office, reprieved. At least until he could get James of the James Consulting Group on the phone. I knew the answer to that one, already. There is no one else to send. I was it. Like it or lump it, Mr. Laine, we're a team.
Outside Mr. Laines office, everyone , including the secretary, was standing with their mouths open. So this is why that woman was so smug I smiled faintly and asked, "Does anyone know who Fred is?"
One of the men closed his mouth with a snap and stepped forward, "I am Fred VonDyke. I'm one of the engineers on staff. What do you need?" Only he said, "Whaddayaneed?" Smelling salts , I thought.
I gathered my scattered wits fast, and said, "Nice to meet you, Mr. VonDyke. I need to change clothes before I go out to the well field. I need you to take me to the well field so that I can get set up for the pumping test. Do you mind driving? My equipment is in the trunk of my car, in that Cadillac out there. I've already gotten lost twice today, and it would help if you could drive me there and explain the layout of the well field and monitoring wells. Then, if you have time, you can tell me about this salt water problem you have. And, may I have a cup of that coffee over there?" My knees were knocking, so I bolted them together, and thought, Stupid fool; I'll never get away with this.
Mr. VonDyke nodded his head and said, "Sure." (I nearly fainted.) He held out his hand, "Call me Fred." He turned and walked toward another door, "The women's restroom is this way. Shut your trap, Stella." Stella, the redheaded secretary, closed her mouth and looked thoughtful.
I changed clothes in record time, pulling on my field boots with a stomp, and taking a moment to splash my face with cold water. Well! Wasn't THIS fun ! I folded my suit into my bag, and went out to the office area. Fred stood by the coffee, holding a Styrofoam cup. "Sugar?"
"Yes, please." I said, smiling. "I could use some sweetening up this morning." Someone on the other side of the cubical wall chuckled.
Fred was a nice looking man, with dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a calm manner. I guessed that he needed a calm manner, with Mr. Laine. On the way to the well field, I learned that he had lived in the Great Neck area all of his life, and had worked for the water company since he graduated from college. He was about 6 years older than I, and liked the water industry. I later learned, and not from him, that he was second in command at the water company office. He seemed to have no trouble understanding me, although he listened carefully. He was, that day, and all the days to come, a perfectly delightful colleague.
Fred drove us to the well field, unlocked the front gate, and drove down the long gravel driveway to the first concrete block well house. The well field was inside a wooded valley, with a long gravel drive. Even though it was the first of April, (everything at home was blooming and budding), here on Long Island, the forest was locked in winter.
Several small streams ran down the valley, to pool near Well #1. There was so much underbrush, it must have been beautiful in the summer and, even in winter, there was wildness to the little valley that was very appealing to me. I was accustomed to well fields in the woods, and there, among the trees, I could easily forget that I was really in a big city. For the first moment since I had arrived the previous day, I felt more at home, and very comfortable working with the engineer known as Fred VonDyke, who didn't seem to hold it against me that I was a 'girrul'.
All that day, we readied the well field for the pumping test, digging into my boxes for well probes and other equipment. We took several sets of water level measurements in all three pumping wells, and the three monitoring wells. We collected base-line water samples, and practiced the field analysis for sodium. We spread plastic garbage bags on the ground and put notebooks in each one to keep the data records of each well dry for the test. We lowered well probes in the wells, then pulled them up out of the water and turned them off. We worked out logistics about available personnel to help measure the wells the next day. There were seemingly hundreds of details to work out, many of them requiring input from Mr. Laine, and, in those days before cell phones, Fred left to make several calls back to the office. As we worked, and all through lunch, we talked about the salt water intrusion.
Of the three wells, the one closest to Long Island Sound had the worst problems, (no surprise). But, strangely, the other two wells, which were in line with Well #1, had intermittent problems. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to which well would suddenly begin to pump salty water, and which would pump fresh water. The well field had been turned off for a couple of weeks, and they were hoping that the problem would right itselfbut I knew that wasn't going to happen. Nothing ever fixes itself in the water industry.
By the end of the day, we were ready. All we had to do in the morning was synchronize our watches, check the radios, and flip a switch at the electric box. We drove back to the office, where Mr. Laine waited impatiently.
As soon as I walked into the office, Mr. Laine opened the door to the outer room. "Did ye' know that yer Mr. James isn'a IN today?"
I smiled up at him and said, "Yes, he is on vacation in the Bahamas. On a sail boat. For a month."
Mr. Laine blinked, and asked me, "Ye didn'a think to tell ME that, did ye?"
"No, sir," I said. "How could I say that you couldn't find him to fire me? "
Mr. Laine's blue eyes twinkled ever so slightly, "Well, girrul, ye got yer chance!" And he wheeled around and slammed the office door shut.
Fred, turned to me, and said, "You're a hit, Miss Marsha."
Thanks for coming by!
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If you want to know what chloramine smells like, open a bottle of bleach and take a whiff. EW!!! Every water company in the US smells like that...
I used my first name and middle initial all through my career, Marsha L., and EVERYBODY who hadn't met me, thought I was Marshall. Oh well... I guess a woman couldn't be a hydrogeologist. I didn't know it, refused to acknowledge that as a remote possibility, and on I went.
Thanks all of you for coming by!
At the risk of offending you by asking you to reveal your age ... what year did this happen in ? I just need a frame of reference to understand the events , if ya don't mind ...
1982! Times were sure different, then!
I'm 57 years old, and happy to be alive! Every day!
However, young people, (er, young women), don't realize how it was back then-- this was not harassment, this was normal. And just wait. There's more.
OK thnx . Now tell me what test they used for sodium . Was it considered accurate ?
Yes, it was accurate to within, I want to say 50 mg/l. Which was fine for what we were doing. We used a silver nitrate reagent. You poured so much into a test tube that was marked, added two drops, and it turned a color. You then held the tube up to a color chart, and could tell how much was in it.
Silver nitrate is deadly poison, though. I bet they use something else today, but back then, the cheapest and best answer was silver nitrate. We practiced those tests until we were expert. and then, during the test, ran 3 samples every hour. It got to be a PAIN, collecting them, but it gave us a lot of information.
[[Silver nitrate is deadly poison]]
That does not jibe with what I know about it . Back in the old days [you think you are old ?! ] they used to put silver nitrate solution into the eyes of all newborns at birth to prevent some infectious diseases . But I suppose it could cause problems in high concentrations .
This sounds like an interesting process to perform these tests . Lookin' forward to your next installment .
Well-girrul, (LOL) can't wait fer more
Love it!
Best of the series yet Dowser; and, I'm hooked on the saline mystery now too...
:~)
This was mixed with something, but I don't know what-- it was poisonous to drink, and I think the silver was dangerous in groundwater. To be honest, I can't really remember all the chemistry of the test. But, I know we called it silver nitrate, because I had it in my notes to ask about 1) getting more and 2) disposal of it.
Oh my, the next day was really something!!! Alone in the dark...
Just wait! I 'met' the mob, punks, the police department, a long thorny bramble, etc. Such fun!
Question: Is the accent understandable?
Oh my, where all the salt water was coming from was the real problem... All this dedicated testing, and thousands of dollars was devoted to where on earth is it coming from? Duh, I know, the Sound, but, why and how? Why was one well affected and the others wouldn't be?
At the time, the New York Environmental Protection Survey used my report as a model for these types of studies, which was quite an honor.
IT be fine fer folk tha' know 'na whacha be-a talkin bout
You dinna git me joke? Double entendre...
It went RIGHT over my head, and I'm sorry!!!
LOL!!!
!982... a few years later in 1986 while I was waiting for my temporary teaching licence after I gave up accounting I spent a year as a foremen on a loading dock for "Imperial News", a publishing clearing house, telling 30 some odd teamsters where to go. I got the job, since I was the smartest person on the packaging floor (no great honor, since I was also a CPA), and I had grown tough from 3 years of defending people from the IRS. I suddenly had to bump up my game on "tough". Thinking back on my childhood years, I could hear my father's voice in my ears as he gave me his Brooklyn advice," Grit your teeth and look them straight in the eye. If you don't they will know you are afraid". It was good advice. The first fish comment that came my way, I slowly approached the guy, looked him straight in his eyes and asked him how would he like to loose his job for a few days? I was nervous but I never showed it.
As I read this chapter, all that could come to mind, was that. Woman in a man's world. Ironic that we were both on Mikes article with the same theme today.
Back in the day, that was not excepted. In fact, you were going to get a run for your money. But if you could look them in the eye, it leveled the playing field. If I can do the job, just treat me no differently than you would anyone else and nothing more.
Well at least you got to see our beautiful sound and our wonderful woods. And I applaud your gumption!
Yeah, it finally occurred to me that if that is what some women want to do, who am I to stand in their way? And I did exactly as I pleased, and fought tooth and toenail to do it. Who am I do deny them the same struggle?
It was a wonderful experience, dear Perrie. Wonderful! and this was NOTHING compared to some of the other stuff I had to put up with.
I know that you understand that. I once made a whole mine go on strike, because I had the temerity to walk inside. And, I've sat at a table, watching them plot the death of my career, with me sitting there. Stupid, they were, they gave the ammo to have them fired. I've stepped in front of a shot gun, aimed at my head driller,to save my crew, and would do it again in a heartbeat. NOTE: In 30 years, I have NEVER filed a harassment suit. not once. Never will, either.
A couple of years ago, I watched a test well being drilled... They weren't keeping the hole clean and telling me the wrong footage. I made them stop the drilling rig and gave them 9 kinds of hell. "Do you think I'm STUPID? I've been doing this for 29 years and have sat over 500 of these things. You're not keeping the hole clean-- we're drilling 10' or so of the cuttings from the formations above. This is NOT giving me the samples I need. You are lying to me about footage! We're not at 60', we're at 40', we're at the end of the second stem, you numbnut. NOW, either clean up this hole and get me decent samples in the next hour, OR, you will be fired, and I will PERSONALLY file a lawsuit against YOU for trying to ruin my project. Get with the program, or pack up and get out."
I felt much better. They cleaned up the well, shoveled out the pit at my insistance, and I got the samples I needed. What do they think I am? They think they can get away with shoddy work that may destroy my project just because they are 24-year-old,men?
I was so mad, my gray hair was standing on end... Sometimes, you have to get nasty. I don't give two hoots if they think I'm some cast-iron bitch. Do it right, or leave. I never had trouble like that with my regular crews... We worked together!
It's a hard old world out there. Grandma always said I would catch more flies with honey, and she was right. On occasion, though, you have to let 'em have the vinegar, just so they don't take advantage of you. HARRRUMMPH!
I understand how you felt, and what you were going through. More than I can say...
'tis a fine accent yea be havin for an irishlady with a scotish twang....lol...and that's from a real irishman,....lol....love ya
Love you, too!
I tried to do this on NV, but got sick of NV and stopped. Somewhere along here, I'll catch up to where I was! Then, you can read, The Rest of the Story...
You just gave me a good laugh! I have often thought the same thing.
Neither have I, nor would I. I never bought into that "Woman's lib" thing. If a woman wants something, it's up to her to stand on her own two feet and do it. I just don't want the game rigged against me either. Don't tell me I can't just because of some old fashioned idea of what I can or can't do.
Yes you do. I watched my mom play hardball in a man's world. She was/is fearless. And when people didn't know we were related, I would hear them call her a bitch. I would smile and say, "Hey, that bitch is my mom", with a smile on my face. It was her moxy that took our family from poverty to wealth on a wish and a prayer.
My mom used to say that, but oddly enough she was more inclined to the vinegar, LOL!
I'm glad that this turned out to be a good experience. I would hate it if Long Island left a bad taste in your mouth.... other than the water.
I've wanted to go back for 30 years, now... So, it couldn't have been too bad!!! It was a wonderful trip-- I was just from a small town, and unused to the bustle of a big city!
I've always been more inclined toward the honey part. Only when pushed to the wall am I nasty. Those drillers pushed me to the wall. It is a lot of responsibility and $$ to waste on someone that won't listen, just because you're a woman.
On just about every job, the drillers worked with me. I protected them, took care of them, and did my best to meet both their needs, and the needs of the project. This crew was a bunch of hot dogs. They just wanted to 'make hole', when their job was to take them time and get accurate samples...
Love you, very much!