Crude: A Western North Dakota Oilfield Story (part 4)

In a booming North Dakota, there is no need to find a job. The job will find you.

When I had my fairly cush job in Williston working in construction, I was eventually extorted by a superintendent who was working for the same company.

He attempted to force me to "pay to stay" , we had a very brief talk which involved me offering him to have a talk off the premises, an offer he very wisely declined. I took my tools and walked off the job, he chased me in his pick up and even attempted to run me over after pleading me to get in the truck with him and talk it over.

Later, as I continued to walk away I was offered a ride by some of my fellow co-workers, but as I got in the vehicle someone near it flipped the child lock before it closed I was trapped as these men made threats to my safety. I eventually bailed out the window at a red light before my inexperienced kidnappers locked that too. I discovered the reason when I arrived at my company owned apartment, with the office staff making attempts to gain entry to it.

It was a very tense situation.

I moved in with a girl I was dating, a completely different story, worth at least a whole chapter worth of writing I just can't bring myself to do. But suffice it to say, it involved pulling my own teeth in a cheap motel bathroom with pliers, yet another North Dakota suicide next door, and work as a union laborer, that brought me some extremely close calls, on and off the job. Fortunately for me, I had the company of a great woman, one of the toughest people I have ever met, and one of the sweetest too. But, the confines of living in a homemade camper in the back of a little Toyota Tacoma will no doubt shrivel the best of relationships and intentions. We eventually parted ways that summer.

I wound up back in Williston as soon as things took off again, it was a constant ebb and flow of work at least for me. The market ups and downs, and the fickle nature of bosses and payment made it tough to stay at any job. I worked as a roustabout for several drilling companies, one "company man" I ran into was something of a mix between a redneck, a frat boy, comedian, and sadist. I would often stop by his "shack" after my shift before going to town to see if he needed anything. One night I found a note on the counter that listed the following:

1. One head of cabbage.

2. One bag of carrots.

3. One bag of sesame seeds.

4. One package of condoms, in the flavor of my preference.

Roughnecking is a different type of job, you are equally as likely to get a promotion over a fist fight as you are to be fired. It all depends on the politics. Of course, I could have stayed, but I decided roughnecking wasn't for me, especially not as a "worm" as the new guys are called.

I was good enough to do the job, and in fact, the majority of the work I did in the oilfield was harder and dirtier than the job a roughneck tended to do on these new automated drilling rigs, but really, I just hate rough necks. $480 dollars per day simply wasn't enough to deal with men that stupid directly.

I went back to roustabouting for a different company, which resulted in the theft of my vehicle and quite a few of my personal belongings from my boss, and the business end of a steam line being shoved in my ear as a "thank you" for my service of 20 hour days for two full weeks.

Every thing about the oilfield is crude, the people, the living conditions, the work, and even the humor.