Always prepared. Mostly.

This week, all week long, my boss is away at a Face to Face conference for Industrial Hygienists. It's this big company wide conference where all the IH gurus get together and compare notes and answer long complicated questions all to try to figure out better ways to do things in the IH world. In his absence, my boss left me with lots of clerical work to do. We have an audit coming up, so I've been working diligently on making sure we have all the technical things documented and filed just so, and I've been walking through the units keeping a tally of what equipment needs new hazard signs hung. Along with that I've also been cleaning up the lab and fixing broken personal gas detectors.

Pretty regular stuff.
Pretty easy, and 'do it with my eyes closed' kind of stuff.
Pretty 'ho hum.'

So I'm 'ho humming' through my day this morning, a little filing here, a little email checking there, when my phone rings.

My phone! Rings!

The little caller ID screen reads: BOILERS.

I answer and have a discussion with none other than my very favorite refinery operator. He's my favorite because he's smart, grand-fatherly, loves crossword puzzles and tells the most amazingly embellished stories of The Old Refinery Days. This time though, we're discussing an odor complaint and possible leak of some sort. We talk about some possibilities and locations. I go over a few observations and testing methods, and quiz him on the specifics of the odor. A big part of IH is simply using your nose, and understanding what certain smells mean. I have a big nose, so I'm pretty good at this.

I'm feeling pretty competent all of a sudden, in the absence of my boss, and my ability to possibly, single handedly, save the refinery from imminent danger. I am suddenly, Super Industrial Hygiene Technician Girl. With my flame resistant super girl cape and acid resistant steel toe boots. Take that evil doing refinery stenches.

This happens rather frequently to me. I get a call to go investigate something, or make sure something is safe, and people are relying on me to give them the A-OK, or help them fix a problem. I know a few things now about occupational health and am actually able to help. And even with my boss gone (the master of all things hygienic) I think I can tackle most anything, and get it done right. So, I'm hanging up the phone, with a plan in mind, feeling rather important, and capable, and well... maybe a little smug.

(What is that saying, something about pride cometh before a fall?).

I carefully gather my things and get ready to go out to the Boiler unit. I put my coveralls on, and my jacket. I adjust my hard hat and make sure my personal gas detector is tested, working and clipped to the right place in my breathing zone. I double knot my boots, and put my Atlas gloves in my back pocket, ready for wearing to climb the towers. I grab a five gas meter, which I don't really need, but is good to have on hand, just in case. And lastly, I grab the meter I need specifically, for this job. A meter which looks like it came from the dark ages of technology. A meter which is huge and heavy and has not one but TWO shoulder straps to help you carry it. A meter that even with two shoulder straps, I decide to walk with it to the Boilers instead of ride my bike, as it is too heavy to try and balance and pedal simultaneously.

I get to the Boiler unit and have a good number of guys take me to the troublesome area. To get there we climb up an old structure. This is probably the part that I should remind you that I am not a person who enjoys heights. We climb and climb and climb and all the while I am hoisting up this enormous archaic meter. I cling so tightly to the rails of the ladders that my hands are starting to ache. Being in the boiler unit also means that there is lots of steam. Warm wet gusts of air billow into my face giving me moments of panic where I struggle to breathe, all while reaching up for the next rung. I don't know if you've ever tried to climb tall ladders in a steam room, but I don't recommend it.

Finally, exhausted, we reach the top, and I pretend that I am not winded or exhausted, but am Fully Capable Super Industrial Hygiene Technician Girl. I pull out the giant meter and everyone gathers around. I flip switches and dial knobs, waiting for the meter to kick on and start giving readings. I flip more switches and dial more knobs. And wait some more. Everyone gathers in closer, trying to read the tiny screen on the enormous meter. They are poised and ready for my declaration of safety or recommendations of caution. But it is futile, hundreds of feet above ground, I realize my error. The batteries, which take hours to charge, are dead.

The climb down was just as slow, but a hundred times as humbling.