What did I lack? Computer skills (video games are no substitute for AutoCAD and Excel). I also lacked political tact, something entirely unnecessary in the pragmatic world of field work.
My probationary period began. I shadowed the Ground Control EIT (engineer in training), Ray Stratton, for a while until I received my Toyota license. This was a good thing; it gave me a little time to absorb new skills. Ray had a passion for mining, but less knowledge and experience than he believed he had at the time. I’m not saying he didn’t know what he was talking about; he did, after a fashion; but he approached Ground Control with certain presupposed opinions, not all of which I shared. I learned a lot from Ray before he moved on, just not as much as he might think I did. I did have a few years under my belt, after all. And there was a Standards document to absorb, one written by my boss. Go to the source, as they say. I also paid close attention to what was written on Rehab Prints and Driving Layouts. And what was actually done in the field.
I learned more from Mine Captains than you might imagine. Did you gasp? Some of you might have, but Mine Captains know more than they let on. They were drift miners and drillers once. They were Shift Bosses once, too. They know their own procedures, backwards and forwards, even if they don’t always follow them to the letter. And they know how to get the job done. They also express their opinions on what they think they’re looking at. After a day of travelling around with one, I’d compare what they said to what my boss, Dave Counter, said after browsing through the pictures I took. After a while, I could tell which were more diligent and which were talking though their asses.
And in time, I began to learn a little about AutoCAD. Heather Bartlett taught me a little during her short tenure, my partner nothing at all (everything he said was fraught with mistakes and inaccuracies, if not outright bullshit). When I asked him for help, he said, “I got no time for this shit.” Yes, he was a great help.
Because of that, I began sourcing out short tutorials from the designers, asking each in turn, “How do I do this? How do I do that?” Their answers were sometimes helpful, sometimes too rushed or just performed by them, too quickly for me to absorb. Then one day I asked Kathleen, a Dutch EIT, a question about how to do something.
“Oh my god,” she said, “hasn’t anyone taught you how to work on AutoCAD?”
I shrugged. She suggested we repair to my work station where she could teach me the basics and over the next two hours taught me more than anyone else ever had. She was a good teacher. And she was patient. I’d have floundered for months longer than I had were it not for her having sat with me. I owe my foundation to her more than anyone else.
But what no one could teach me was politics. Ground Control is not just about support and fill; it’s far more than rock type and structure and faults. It’s all those things and more. It has far more to do with people and negotiation and compromise than you can imagine. And it has a great deal to do with cost management and exposure time.
Tact takes more time.
I had no clue how I could be blamed for my boss’s decisions, but I’d realize in
time that I’d have to stand toe to toe with Superintendents and weather their
wrath whether however the source. I was the face they saw in the field. And I
was not on equal footing with them. They couldn’t spit and fume at the head of
ground Control, could they? He could talk circles around them and he had the
law on his side.
Let me elucidate. Part of my job was to inspect worksites, development headings
and such. When I did, I had to audit them and sent the score card by email to a
list of people my boss had created. It’s a legal thing; you know, the right to
know. I thought the list rather extensive, myself, probably far too extensive,
but who was I to argue with my boss about his department and how to run it.
Personally, I’d have created a far more exclusive one, just the specifically
interested parties, but it wasn’t up to me; it was up to him and if he thought
anyone who might have need to visit those areas had a right to know the state
of those headings, it was his say so. So, every Tom, Dick and Harry was on that
list: engineering personnel, mechanic bosses, electrical bosses, whomever, not
just the operations management and development crews. Most of the recipients
probably deleted the email without much thought, never having read them. I
wouldn’t blame them if they did; most people get more emails than they want or
need, with little time to read them.
So, it came as no surprise that the Superintendent of Development was furious with me when I gave a particular development heading a particularly scathing, failing grade. In my mind, and my boss’, it deserved it. In the Superintendent’s mind, it did not, and everyone had read it, even though they probably hadn’t. He vented his anger on me the next time I was face to face with him.
Sadly, I was introducing a ground support representative from another company to him at the time, one who was in town to test a new sort of seismic support. The time and place of that test had been negotiated well in advance and this was that day. The rep was left with his offered hand hanging out in empty space.
“That test,” the Superintendent said, “it’s not going to happen today.” His
arms were crossed. He hadn’t even looked at the rep. I could tell he was angry
and that anger was directed at me. Any fool could.
“Have you spoken to Dave?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “but that test isn’t going to happen. Not today.”
“Did we get the date wrong?” I asked.
“No,” he said. It was rather obvious that he was pissed and looking for a
fight. I had no intention at the time of giving him one.
“I think you need to call Dave and have this discussion with him.” That seemed
the best solution in my view; after all, I didn’t have a vested interest in
whether the test went off or not. Let Dave deal with it.
“Why did you send that email?” the Superintendent asked, somewhat out of the
blue.
“What email?” I was pretty sure I knew which email.
“The audit email.”
“Because I always send out audit reports when they’re completed,” I said. That
sounded diplomatic, if a little snarky. He knew why I sent it, of course, so I
didn’t understand why he was so livid about that particular one. I’d given less
than favourable scores to headings before, after all.
“Why didn’t you come see me, beforehand?” he asked.
“Why would I?” I asked. I never had before and was not obligated to do so. And
what would he have done? Asked me not to send it? Order me not to send it? That
wasn’t his call.
“I could have explained.”
“Explained what? We both know it fell apart because of structure and stress. I
said so in the report.”
His face was getting red. He was in my face. His voice was rising, honing to an
edge.
“Then why did you give it a One?” (Audits were rated on a scale of one to
five.)
This is where my lack of tact kicked into overdrive. In case you weren’t paying
attention, I was angry now too. And I was never in the habit of taking shit
from anyone who wasn’t my boss.
“Because I couldn’t give it a zero.”
“You shouldn’t have sent that to the entire Mine,” he said, his voice rising.
“First off,” I said, “You’re not my boss. Dave Counter is and he made up that
distribution list. If you have issue with it, you need to have this discussion
with him.”
I left just then. There was no point sticking around. Besides, this was not a
conversation to have in front of an outsider.
Actually, it wasn’t a conversation I should be having at all.
It was Dave’s. And I wasn’t going to fight his battles for him.
I was learning.
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