Typical Day
Wally Weldron wakes at 5:45AM. Visions of sparks and pipe beams are replaced by the white walls of his one bedroom apartment. Two more years and he might have two bedrooms. Dare to dream. His dogs Tig and Mig wander in, hungry.
As he shakes out kibble his mind wanders back to high school. As far back as Wally can remember he wanted to work with his hands. The day in auto shop that he fired up a welding torch for the first time, he knew he'd found his calling. Now, several years into his career, he knows what it means to work with his hands. He pops his morning Excedrin and heads out the door.
He arrives at the weld site, a shipyard, at 6:30AM. Wally's worked at six firms in the past six years, which is pretty typical for a welder. As he walks onto the site, he's greeted by a cacophony of squealing metal, cascading sparks, and poorly phrased insults from co-workers.
Wally realizes he's running late for a meeting with his supervisor, Hurley. He's a big guy with an aversion to deadlines and decent jokes. He hands Wally a blueprint. "Hope you like tight spaces. You can thank Mr. President."
The blueprint calls for a lot of complex welds...and a lot of grinding and cutting. Wally sighs. He sees he'll be doing the same thing over and over and over again.
Time to get started.
7:15AM. The first thing to do is strap on the safety gear. Putting on welding gear is like suiting up to fight the Predator. A respirator snaps snugly over his face, moist and plasticky. He pulls on boots so thick they feel like Santa's boots inside another pair of Santa's boots. He yanks on heavy gloves, thick glasses, and a visor.
It takes another half hour to set up his welding equipment. It's mostly TIG (tungsten inert gas) welding today, so the setup is limited shorter than usual. Next he crawls, deep, deep into the dark bowels of the ship hull. And then he welds.
Welding is highly technical, but it's often the same thing over, and over, and over again. His welder lights up. Sparks fly. Metal solders to metal. He inspects the weld. It's hot.
Time passes. Distantly, he hears a sharp yell as someone burns themselves with sparks. He looks into the darkness in the direction of the noise. Ow! Now it's Wally making the noise as the sparks fly a little too close. He has to keep from being distracted.
Time stretches and hours pass as his back cramps. He works by himself, building a ship one metal plate at a time. It's almost an existential experience—like a Chekhov play but with fewer cherry trees.
And his mind wanders. His girlfriend Tiarra wants him to make more money. He's explained that he'll continue to earn more cash as he accumulates years of experience. But Tiarra wants a bigger paycheck now. She's been reading about undersea welding and keeps prodding Wally to do that instead. Wally's thought about underwater welding. He can swim, he has the welding skills, and he knows two colleagues who went that route. One owns a boat now. The other's dead.
Finally, after three hours in the hull that felt more like three years, it's time for lunch. Wally crawls out of his hole to enjoy a bologna sandwich and a couple "that's what she said" jokes with two fellow welders.
In the afternoon Wally's assignment involves climbing high up on a girder. At first it's a welcome change of pace, but it turns out he's pretty much just exchanged his morning ennui with the constant dread that he could fall forty feet and break his legs. Or worse.
The day continues, and Wally welds. And welds. And welds.
At the end of the day, he clambers off the girder, packs up his equipment, and de-gears.
He waves goodbye to his supervisor, who reminds him again that the president is killing America. He grunts goodbye to his co-workers, who offer their own grunts in return.
And he drives home and thinks about the future. Maybe he will switch to underwater welding. Maybe he will buy that boat.
Or...maybe he'll just keep doing what he's doing. At least it's predictable.