Work
Ah, work.
There was a two-part plan for our time in Jacksonville, for me. This job was a surprising shortcut toward Part One. Three months into my new life as an, um, apprentice aircraft parts repair guy, and i find myself studiously avoiding the term "mechanic." Maybe someday i'll be one, but so far, most days i've gone to sleep feeling dumber than when i woke up.
Still, they seem pleased with my progress. Now, i can report with a fair amount of certainty that this line of work is perhaps not as eventful as the new careers of certain of our friends. (I am not a neuroaudiological medical assistant and therefore do not have to clean up after a Seeing Eye Horse. Unlike some people, who shall remain nameless.) And yet, the job does have its moments. For one, the Twin Otter, whose parts i meddle with, is probably the studliest airplane in the world. (link.) I mean, you can land the thing in a gravel pit if you want to, and turn right back around and take off. I helped take apart a nose gear from Costa Rica yesterday and there were actual chunks of turf falling out. Historically, the two largest Twin Otter fleets were in the Norwegian tundra and the Indonesian jungle, which should tell you something. Today it's a bushliner workhorse for countries all over the world, and they send their broken parts to us.
I have a kind of weakness for mechanical things that are ridiculously tough beyond any reasonable expectation, and the Twin Otter would have to fall into that category. Which is probably good. One of the technical terms i learned today was the Calibrated Whack. As in: "Next, we give the axle a light tap with a small hammer." WHANG! WHANG! WHANG! So, yes, there are indeed seveal similarities between this and the Caribbean Mercy deck department. (Percussive maintenance, anyone?) Although i have to say i never used a micrometer while working in Deck. So that's new. On the ship we measured the holes, i mean the hull, just in inches, give or take. Thank God for the FAA. After all, when you need a plane ride in Outer Mongolia, you generally really need one. I mean, let's face it. Yaks are less trouble, but they smell.
There was a two-part plan for our time in Jacksonville, for me. This job was a surprising shortcut toward Part One. Three months into my new life as an, um, apprentice aircraft parts repair guy, and i find myself studiously avoiding the term "mechanic." Maybe someday i'll be one, but so far, most days i've gone to sleep feeling dumber than when i woke up.
Still, they seem pleased with my progress. Now, i can report with a fair amount of certainty that this line of work is perhaps not as eventful as the new careers of certain of our friends. (I am not a neuroaudiological medical assistant and therefore do not have to clean up after a Seeing Eye Horse. Unlike some people, who shall remain nameless.) And yet, the job does have its moments. For one, the Twin Otter, whose parts i meddle with, is probably the studliest airplane in the world. (link.) I mean, you can land the thing in a gravel pit if you want to, and turn right back around and take off. I helped take apart a nose gear from Costa Rica yesterday and there were actual chunks of turf falling out. Historically, the two largest Twin Otter fleets were in the Norwegian tundra and the Indonesian jungle, which should tell you something. Today it's a bushliner workhorse for countries all over the world, and they send their broken parts to us.
I have a kind of weakness for mechanical things that are ridiculously tough beyond any reasonable expectation, and the Twin Otter would have to fall into that category. Which is probably good. One of the technical terms i learned today was the Calibrated Whack. As in: "Next, we give the axle a light tap with a small hammer." WHANG! WHANG! WHANG! So, yes, there are indeed seveal similarities between this and the Caribbean Mercy deck department. (Percussive maintenance, anyone?) Although i have to say i never used a micrometer while working in Deck. So that's new. On the ship we measured the holes, i mean the hull, just in inches, give or take. Thank God for the FAA. After all, when you need a plane ride in Outer Mongolia, you generally really need one. I mean, let's face it. Yaks are less trouble, but they smell.
<< Home