Life in Camp

My second year in an oilfield camp is going much better than last year. It had been quite the adjustment the first time around.
Between the stares, leers, and the constant chitchat and whispers that erupted when you walked into a room, it was enough to internally drive you nuts.
And it nearly made one self-conscious to the high school degree.
Nowadays it’s not so bad.
A helpful skill you earn over time is the ability to look like you are all about buisness. Make your strut purposeful, your expression neutral, and your posture erect and straight. Look like you have respect for yourself, and do not even bat an eyelash in the direction at any one of the four hundred men at dinner. And never EVER appear to be lost, and always act as if you must be somewhere.
A very pretty female cartographer once told me she just puts on her “bitch look”. Same thing.

Nearly every man will talk to you, given the chance, save maybe an 18-19 year old. Guarantee that walking down the boardwalk at 530am passing twenty men going to the dining hall, every one of them will become somewhat shy but squeak out a ‘good mornin’ to you.
They act all tough between each other but when in the presence of women, these men (a decent chunk of them anyways) have no bold words, no impressive pickup lines. In fact they almost seem relieved you even said it back.

Men are such funny creatures sometimes. Sometime I laugh to myself…that God made man first…and had the wisdom to give him good backup.


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