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“That works. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Hey, don’t touch my real Dr. Pepper if you know what’s good for you.”
“I do know what’s good for me. Good night.”
Strange. I stared at my phone after he hung up. I thought he would laugh and remind me he didn’t drink his calories.
Why did I feel like things were changing for us? I had a feeling, like most of the change in my life lately, it wasn’t the good kind.Chapter SixteenWas it weird how giddy I was to visit Ducor’s steel plant? It’s not like I didn’t work at one. I guess I had been missing the sights and sounds of three-thousand-degree molten steel being tapped out of an electric arc furnace all week. There was something about seeing those amazing oranges and reds light up the mill while a stream of liquid steel poured into a giant ladle. It was raw, and in that stream were a hundred different possibilities. It could be turned into car or appliance parts, tools, even toys. I didn’t know why it brought me satisfaction to know that I played a part in that. I could make sure all those things were made out of quality steel. Not only that, I held the key to profit margins. I made sure we were running as efficiently as possible and that every roll of steel that came off our line was quality.
“Impressive, right?” Dustin yelled over the sound of the EAF tap.
I hadn’t realized he joined the tour. Or maybe I hadn’t noticed him. We were all in hard hats, protective goggles, and sexy orange Nomex jackets, so it was hard to tell who was who on the tour.
“It is!” I yelled hoping he could hear me. We were all wearing ear plugs. “But the furnace at my plant is bigger,” I joked.
He leaned closer. “Do you work in a melt shop?”
I nodded. “I’m a melt cast metallurgist.”
“Really?”
“You’re surprised.”
“There aren’t a lot of women in our field.”
“What’s your position here?”
“I’m the melt shop manager.” He held the same title as Wallace, my boss.
The tour guide had us start moving down the strand so we could follow the journey of the steel as it was cast.
“Do you want to see the caster pulpit?” Dustin yelled.
Ooh. That wasn’t part of the tour. Even though I spent an inordinate amount of time in a caster pulpit—or what we called the observation deck where I worked— I was excited and curious to see how they ran things at this plant. Maybe they were doing something better than we were that I could bring back to my plant.
I nodded my reply, so I didn’t have to yell.
I realized as the two of us left the group that it might look like we were sneaking off together. Not like there was anywhere in a melt shop to have romantic pursuits. It would be too dangerous. Besides, there was nothing sexy about 140 degrees with 90 percent humidity.
Dustin helped carefully guide me to the observation deck that was perched back behind the strand where the steel was being cast and molded. It was nice to be in the pulpit where I could take out my earplugs. After all these years I wasn’t fond of them, even though they were a necessity. My metallurgist heart felt right at home among the large computer monitors. It almost looked like a control tower for an airport. The monitors in the semi dark room constantly fed the engineers and techs information about the equipment below to make sure everything was functioning as it should. The system was advanced enough to detect impurities in the steel.
Funny how even the men on this crew reminded me of the guys back home. They were all a little rough around the edges with varying stages of beer bellies. The older they were, the bigger the bellies seemed to be.
Dustin introduced me to the engineers and techs on this shift. A plant like this—and ours—ran 24-7. “Emma is visiting from Colorado. She’s a melt cast metallurgist.”
All the men nodded. One asked what company I worked for. Another asked what we produced. The last one asked, “Where did you go to school?”
“Colorado School of Mines,” I replied.
Dustin whistled. “Impressive. We’ve had a few summer interns from there.”
“I hope you have had better luck with your interns than we do.”
Apparently not, by the way all the men laughed.
“We had some fool up here in the pu-u-u-lpi-i-i-t,” one of the techs overexaggerated his Southern accent, “clipping his toenails last year.”
I shared my crying in the bathroom over an Instagram post story. It got a lot of laughs.
Dustin put his hand on the small of my back and pushed me forward. “Don’t be shy. Feel free to have a look or make suggestions,” he offered.
I felt like a kid at Christmas. One of the engineers even offered me his seat. I readily took it. I didn’t expect to see anything out of the ordinary, but I did. I was a little nervous to say anything so as not to step on any toes, but I’d want somebody to say something if they’d noticed. “Hey, it looks like some of your thermocouples are running hot. Do you have a breakout warning system?”
