A work-in-progress

Sculpture by Josh Welton.
Image courtesy of Josh Welton, Brown Dog Welding.

Long hours are often the norm for those of us who have made machine shops, fab shops, factories, and other blue-collar worksites home. 7/12s are pretty routine for those who work in the trades. We literally spend more waking time with our co-workers than we do with our families. It’s not for nothing, as the pay should make it worthwhile, but it takes a toll. It can strain friendships and test family ties. Physically, it wears you down. Mentally, there’s a drain. If you get caught in a downward spiral, it takes time to level out. That’s if you can level out.

A conversation I had a few years ago with one of our old neighbors stayed with me. I was caught up with my Brown Dog commissions, and our hours were scaled back to six 10-hour days at Chrysler. When mentioning my excitement at a 60-hour workweek, the neighbor’s first reaction was, “Dude, that’s a lot of time!” I kind of looked at him funny before he realized that it wasn’t a joke, I was seriously stoked to have my evenings free and Sundays off. He then replied with something to the effect that the most he’d worked in a week was 50 hours, and he thought that was a lot. Later, as I mulled it over, I came to the realization that a 40-hour workweek is actually kind of normal to most folks. What we do is not.

Darla and I both come from hard-working Michigan families; we were conditioned from a young age that our dads were pretty much gonna make hay while the sun shined and then make more hay when the sun went down.

My dad was a sheet metal shear operator at Steelcase and also had about a decade-long log house build in full swing during my childhood.

Darla’s dad was a UAW millwright and/or millwright instructor at Chrysler for more than three decades and worked plenty of 4,000-hour years, much like her older brother is doing now.

Our mothers knew the sacrifices we all had to make, and they were—and are—the glue that kept both of our families together for a combined eight-plus decades. Many of the guys I’ve worked with over the years have similar middle-class backgrounds, coming from a long line of tradespeople and factory workers. We work to live, but also live to work. It’s in our blood.

The blue-collar culture I’ve grown to love is full of big personalities, crude language, and hot tempers. There’s a certain pride in being outside of the 9-to-5 society. Long hours and dirty hands are a badge of honor. Occasionally I forget that what passes for an excited exclamation or angry outburst at work probably is a bit out of bounds at home. Last week I uttered a particularly creative obscene phrase and didn’t think twice about it until I caught Darla’s incredulous stare, at which point I played back in my mind what I’d said. Let’s just say it’s a string of words that won’t be posted in this column anytime soon.

While I’m sure human resources officially would like us to toe the line, the reality is that when you walk through that factory door, you are entering a different world. If you can’t take a practical joke or verbal jab or some off-color language, then you should probably find a desk to jockey.

Occasionally tempers flare. I’ve witnessed several occasions when it’s gotten physical, but nine times out of 10, it’s just one guy venting. I’ve been that guy more than once. Sometimes it’s an argument between two or more gentlemen. But whether it ends in a childlike temper tantrum where the parties stomp off or some sort of more civilized resolution, the ill will rarely lasts. It’s just sort of a given that when you pour your heart and soul into your work, when you physically give so much, emotions will run high. Sooner or later cooler heads prevail. It might take a day, a week, or a month. No apologies are needed, life moves on. It’s part of the gig.

And part of that is you just don’t always know what the next guy is dealing with. I’m pretty open about the ups and downs of my life, but even so, there are events affecting me right now that are known only by my wife. I don’t always handle these circumstances as well as I should. My wife is a saint for living with me, and my good friends, both inside and outside of work, know my day-to-day is crazy. They probably put up with more from me than they should. It is what it is.

I learned a while ago that a guy or girl having a bad moment at work is probably handling a life situation beyond the confines of our shop walls. Missing your kid’s ballgame because you were forced to work second shift might piss you off for a night. I get that. The hours we keep and the travel that sometimes is required can easily strain, or destroy, a relationship. Even when you’re home, you’re tired.

You could be thinking about your marriage. Your significant other might get used to the money but not the time you’re not home. The divorce rate of skilled trades workers is high. Maybe your mom is sick. Maybe a friend passed away. Maybe you just don’t feel great because you’ve worked three months straight without a day off.

Life isn’t easy. I guess I should just speak for myself, but I think most would agree with that premise. We all deal with trials and tribulations in different ways, and when you’re at a job seven days a week, it’s just not possible to completely compartmentalize work from play, or to separate making a living from living. I’ve been trying to challenge myself to be less of a jerk, more understanding of my co-workers,and more cognizant of how I deal with my family, whether I’m tired or not. They might tell you I’m not always successful. Two decades in and I’m most definitely still a work-in-progress.