The Men of the Nuclear Power Plant
There is a strange phenomenon in my life. All the men seem to work at the nuclear power plant. Talk about your symbolism: never mind the obvious Homer references, how about the dangerous work environment? The radioactivity as a depletion of virility? Or, preferably, how about the fusion chain reaction as a metaphor for sexual potency? That one, I’d approve of. It just hasn’t quite worked out to be the case… yet.
It was about June when I met K____ at a party. He was a slightly geeky engineering type. (Right up my alley, I must admit. I have a track record.) We bantered a bit. He seemed more into me than I him, but a friend of mine bolstered my courage when she leaned over and whispered in my ear “he’s cute, go for the phone number.” I did. We had one date. It went well. We made plans to see each other again. He never showed. I proceeded to spoil his name as best I could in the dating pool. Silly boy – don’t you know girls talk? If you are currently dating a moderately geeky engineer who works at the Nuclear Power Plant and you suspect he might be this deadbeat, please ask and I will let you know!
In August, I met J___ at a nightclub in Toronto. He was hot – as Sa___ would say, he was hot in a “Diet Coke construction worker commercial guy kind of way.” And he happened to be a construction foreman for a contracting company, working at the NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. The barbarians had just passed the no-smoking bi-law in Toronto and we were all either enjoying the feeling of going home at night not stanking of smoke, or trying to sneak in a butt in a huddle on the patio. Except for J___, he was lighting up in the middle of the club. I, bolstered by false courage yet again (do I give off the wrong impression of myself? Really, do I?) stomped right up to him and with a simple “I’m sorry, you can’t do that in here. You’ll have to follow me sir,” he was mine for the evening. Major points in the ‘fest on that one! (Although there was the unfortunate nickname he was given. And no, I’m not going to tell you.) We called back and forth for quite a few weeks, but he proved a little unreliable and eventually it fizzled out. I lost his phone number when my phone crapped out. I keep meaning to go through my old phone bill to ferret it out again. But I figure if he hasn’t called me…
I suppose I met Sc___ in March, but he was only a student then. He has since graduated and moved on to the real world. (At least that’s what my responsible brother calls it.) And where does he work? That’s right, the NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. Again, for a subcontractor. Perhaps the same one as J___. Wouldn’t that be weird? Anyway, Sc___ is possibly too good-looking for his own good, or his own worth. He’s one of those player guys who come dangerously close to coming off as creepy. But just when you think he’s going to turn the corner and go off down that dark, creepy path, he flashes you a little boy’s smile and you can’t help but forgive him. Now there’s a talent that can only be used for evil, I tell ya! I met him through a mutual friend on a random Friday night of no note, other than the fact that he was there and he was HOT. And flirting relentlessly with both my friend and I – possibly hoping for some double conquest, which was never in the cards! Turns out he mostly just annoyed me in the weeks to come, after the effects of his dazzling smile wore a little thin. Sc___ is not to be taken seriously. You just take him for a spin around the block and graciously pass him onto the next one in line. I have not actually taken him on that spin around the block, but not for lack of imagining it.
Of course, their paths have probably never once intersected. The plant is large and thousands of people are employed permanently, not to mention the numbers of contracters that mill in and out working on various projects. But in my head these three sit around the lunch table at work, munching on sandwiches side-by-side. They have a fictional Friday night poker league where J___ and Sc___ routinely take K____ for all he’s worth (which is not much.) And in times of trauma, these three, I imagine, save the world from NUCLEAR DISASTER. All without knowing how small the world game of Kevin Bacon actually is.
It was about June when I met K____ at a party. He was a slightly geeky engineering type. (Right up my alley, I must admit. I have a track record.) We bantered a bit. He seemed more into me than I him, but a friend of mine bolstered my courage when she leaned over and whispered in my ear “he’s cute, go for the phone number.” I did. We had one date. It went well. We made plans to see each other again. He never showed. I proceeded to spoil his name as best I could in the dating pool. Silly boy – don’t you know girls talk? If you are currently dating a moderately geeky engineer who works at the Nuclear Power Plant and you suspect he might be this deadbeat, please ask and I will let you know!
In August, I met J___ at a nightclub in Toronto. He was hot – as Sa___ would say, he was hot in a “Diet Coke construction worker commercial guy kind of way.” And he happened to be a construction foreman for a contracting company, working at the NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. The barbarians had just passed the no-smoking bi-law in Toronto and we were all either enjoying the feeling of going home at night not stanking of smoke, or trying to sneak in a butt in a huddle on the patio. Except for J___, he was lighting up in the middle of the club. I, bolstered by false courage yet again (do I give off the wrong impression of myself? Really, do I?) stomped right up to him and with a simple “I’m sorry, you can’t do that in here. You’ll have to follow me sir,” he was mine for the evening. Major points in the ‘fest on that one! (Although there was the unfortunate nickname he was given. And no, I’m not going to tell you.) We called back and forth for quite a few weeks, but he proved a little unreliable and eventually it fizzled out. I lost his phone number when my phone crapped out. I keep meaning to go through my old phone bill to ferret it out again. But I figure if he hasn’t called me…
I suppose I met Sc___ in March, but he was only a student then. He has since graduated and moved on to the real world. (At least that’s what my responsible brother calls it.) And where does he work? That’s right, the NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. Again, for a subcontractor. Perhaps the same one as J___. Wouldn’t that be weird? Anyway, Sc___ is possibly too good-looking for his own good, or his own worth. He’s one of those player guys who come dangerously close to coming off as creepy. But just when you think he’s going to turn the corner and go off down that dark, creepy path, he flashes you a little boy’s smile and you can’t help but forgive him. Now there’s a talent that can only be used for evil, I tell ya! I met him through a mutual friend on a random Friday night of no note, other than the fact that he was there and he was HOT. And flirting relentlessly with both my friend and I – possibly hoping for some double conquest, which was never in the cards! Turns out he mostly just annoyed me in the weeks to come, after the effects of his dazzling smile wore a little thin. Sc___ is not to be taken seriously. You just take him for a spin around the block and graciously pass him onto the next one in line. I have not actually taken him on that spin around the block, but not for lack of imagining it.
Of course, their paths have probably never once intersected. The plant is large and thousands of people are employed permanently, not to mention the numbers of contracters that mill in and out working on various projects. But in my head these three sit around the lunch table at work, munching on sandwiches side-by-side. They have a fictional Friday night poker league where J___ and Sc___ routinely take K____ for all he’s worth (which is not much.) And in times of trauma, these three, I imagine, save the world from NUCLEAR DISASTER. All without knowing how small the world game of Kevin Bacon actually is.
posted by nerdifer at 10:14 a.m.
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