A LONG STIFLED RANT “HEY LOOK AT ME” – Q8 1991

During the process of writing my Posts for the Kuwait portion of my life, something was gnawing at me, like a rat, in the base of my guts. At first I did not recognize the issue. It was as if I was forgetting something important or overlooking something that needed to be dealt with. Like a lump in my insides created by skipping school or a bad test result. I knew that there was no getting rid of the feeling until I stood face to face with it and admitted to what was bothering me. It was elusive at first and I tried to ignore it. However, the feeling would not leave and even grew more intense.

Until finally at 2:00(am) I am suddenly wide awake with this seething monster of a “full on” rant sitting squarely on my chest staring into my sleepy eyes. Finally here it is. My temperature is starting to rise and the relief of a full scale rant takes over my mind. My god it feels good, I haven’t vented myself for two months. Now I am ready and wide awake. I am now crouched in front of my “machine” peering into a big screen. Along with, a giggle on my lips and venom at my fingertips. “I AM BACK”! As the memory floods my mind, I am reminded of just how “pissed” I was at the time. It goes something like this:

As I had mentioned before, by the time we had brought the firefighting process to full scale productivity. There were 1000 of us (including fire-fighters) in the oilfields of Kuwait tasked with putting out the fires. Professionals from every discipline were required and moved into Kuwait from our company offices and project sites worldwide. Most of us were chosen without our knowledge. No one was recruited. Basically you were told, get on a horse and head for Q8 or head towards your new employer.

Each and every person selected was placed in extreme danger by the company. We were thrust into something that had never been experienced in the Engineering, Procurement and Construction industry before or since. Many, many, many times I heard people say “well I think I’ll just go over to Kuwait and sign up for the firefighting effort”. I do not believe that “anyone” was hired by applying for a job there. I believe each and every person assigned to this task was selected. The greatest percentage of us, went only under duress and because of the threat of unemployment.

This group included some personnel that were exposed to an even higher level of danger. This being the Royal Ordnance groups out of the UK, Egypt, Saudi and other places. Their jobs were absolutely terrifying to me. They searched out mines, boobytraps, unexploded bombs and munitions (of both allied and Iraqi origin). Once found they secured and disarmed or detonated what ever they came up with. They crawled into bunkers, reaching up, over their heads and behind their necks.Or into the door lintels for grenades that the Iraqis had left wedged into the opening with the pins pulled. Or maybe into an ammunitions dump that had been booby-trapped, to disarm an explosive device so the area could be cleared.

They moved hundreds of tonnes of very, very dangerous stuff, so we could do our work. This was their life 24/7’s. They were an unassuming bunch, went about their work, quietly and didn’t bother anyone. In a place with 1000 construction types thrust together, without booze and under extreme stress. Voices were often raised and tempers sometimes flared. Having said that, I do not recall, even one incident, of someone raising their voice to the “bomb” squad. Just looking at the wild look in their eyes. You knew that these were guys you didn’t want to screw with! “Sir” was a very common salutation when addressing any of these guys.

Then come the firefighters, who were proceeded by their reputations for courage and toughness. And they were, for the most part. This was a group so in love with itself that signs of inbreeding were starting to show. They were contracted by our company to come in and do the most dangerous work surrounding the extinguishing of a “wild well”. Their reputations were built in the movies and from the hype developed by each wild well, no matter where it was worldwide. They were an arrogant, loud and insulting group of people and (I believe) roundly disliked by everyone else on the site.

These people demanded whatever they wanted, never asked for it. The word bully comes to mind. They attempted to push around anyone that they encountered, although I don’t remember one instance where one of these guys raised his or her voice to one of the “Royal Ordnance dudes”. They had to eat in their own special section of the kitchen. The rest of us from VP to the lowest ranks ate together at tables where you sat down wherever there was an opening, with whomever was sitting there, ate quietly and went about your business.

While eating the firefighters had their boots cleaned and polished by a group of Filipino labourers, who also did their laundry daily. Often when leaving the kitchen I would see the boots of the firefighters scattered in the desert, where they had been kicked by people leaving the kitchen. I had many encounters with these people during the course of business, their bosses were in and out of our offices, daily, demanding something or some piece of equipment that they deemed urgent at the time.

Now all of this I could easily handle. I “got it”, they were in an extremely dangerous situation, the press had made it seem like the world depended on them to save mankind and they were avidly reading their own press clippings. Swelled heads. You think? So I cut them some slack. That is until my first trip home for R&R. That is when I finally lost it. I boarded a plane from Dubai to London on my first leg home, sat back and tried to let the stress ease away.

Then looking around the plane, I notice these little groups of colourfully dressed passengers engaged in loud conversation and laughter. It hit me, Geezus, these were firefighters dressed in their “newly issued” work coveralls, brightly coloured and adorned with all sorts of silly looking badges. Each of these people had also brought their hardhats into the plane and firmly perched them on their heads. There were cloisters of red or orange or yellow or blue coverall clothed enclaves all over the plane. They looked like clowns. Lord please help me keep my big mouth shut.

I shrunk down in my seat and tried to ignore the prima-donnas whose coveralls screamed “hey look at me I’m a firefighter”. To me it was embarrassing and made me angry. It was a tough job and made tougher by those that cried out for attention. This rant is not quite over. In London I transfer to a Canadian flight destined for Vancouver and sure enough there are Canadians from three of the firefighting companies, on the plane. They were still recognizable by their brightly coloured and new coveralls and hardhats (I guess the hardhats were required in case an oil well fire broke out on the plane). I fumed all of the way home.

On landing in Vancouver these guys were scattered, in small groups, in the immigration lineup, surely expecting that the Canadian PM would be there to welcome them. I approached the counter and was asked by the agent where I was coming from and why. I explained. He looked past me and inquired if I was part of that group with hardhats. I guess he could read my disgust on my face. He quickly said “sorry” and welcomed me back. What these guys behind me forgot was that these border agents had uniforms, even better, than brightly coloured coveralls, AND were possibly even more arrogant than oil well firefighters. I’m thinking “go gettum” as I pass into the transfer area. Lord save me from oilfield firefighters and thank you for releasing me of this rant!