“Mom,” I explained for the hundredth
time, “I’m a field troubleshooter.”
“So. Norman, how much do they pay
you? It’s a good living?”
“I do okay.”
“Mrs. Silverman’s son, Bernie. He’s
a big lawyer in New York. He charges by the hour. One hour is $200!”
“Yeah mom. I do okay. I charge
$2,400 a day.”
“And who would pay so much? Only
crazy people! If only you had become a doctor – like your cousin Samuel. He has
a big practice in Miami.”
“Mostly I work for Exxon, Chevron,
BP, and Mobil. They have lots of problems and lots of money. As long as I can
solve their problems, I can charge anything. The people who hire me aren’t
spending their own money. They don’t care.”
And then for the hundredth time, the
same inevitable question.
“Norman. Don’t these companies have
their own engineers? They should hire engineers themselves. Mrs. Howotiz’s son,
Nathan. He’s an engineer like you. Maybe you could tell Exxon. They could hire
him. He’s been looking for a job since summer. He’s such a nice boy.”
“Look mom. I’ve explained all this
to you before. Exxon and Chevron have thousands of engineers already. But
they’re office engineers; they’re telephone engineers; they’re computer
engineers. They spend their days attending meetings and talking on their cell
phones and sending emails. They’re professionals.”
“So, professional is good. Mrs.
Goldberg next door always says, ‘If only my daughter Sarah could marry a
professional like your son Norman, I would die happy.’”
“Mom. I’ve told you before. I’m not
a professional. I’m a worker with a trade. My trade is applying Chemical
Engineering principles in the field to solve refinery process problems.
“So Mr. Worker, you want some lunch?
Look at you. You’re all skin and bones. I’ll heat a nice bowl of chicken soup
for you.”
“You see mom. Those engineers who
work for the big oil companies – they’re all pretty smart. They’re good
engineers.”
“But not as smart as my son. Even
Mrs. Silverman in 4-C says your son Norman is really smart, but too skinny. You
like noodles in your soup?”
“It’s not a matter of being smart.
Or having an engineering degree, or having lots of experience. Those things
don’t help solve problems all that much. It’s something else.”
But mom was no longer listening,
“Where’s your father? He must have fallen asleep in the park again.”
“You see mom. It’s a matter of
determination. When I have a refinery process problem to solve, it’s a matter
of life and death. Just last week, I risked my life climbing a rickety scaffold
to get a skin temperature on a jet fuel draw-off line. If I need a sample, and
it’s against the plant’s safety practices to get such a sample, I’ll wait until
nobody is watching, and get the sample myself. If I’m working on a problem, and
I’m tired, hungry, and cold, I still keep going. I’ll never give up. Better death
than defeat. The Shell and Conoco engineers don’t look at their jobs my way.
They’re bound by safety practices and company rules as to what engineers and
operators are allowed to do. But rules never apply to me. I can do anything.”
“But why is that?” mom asked.
“Because I’m determined.”
“Norman. Go and look for your
father. He’s probably playing cards with the Mexicans in the park again. Did
you know that your father speaks Spanish?”
“Yeah mom. I know. I’ll go and look
for him. Save the soup. Don’t give it to the kids.”