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Dummies
and Diggers
Unbelievable but true. Last week I was driving from
Wexford in Ireland towards the Capital City of Dublin and I came to the
infamous Glen of the Downs roadworks. The main two-lane road sweeps between
the tall cliffs on either side of the Glen for about a mile and the roadmakers
have been slowly widening the road to a four-lane over the past few years
- or longer! The traffic was already slow, but what do we see; or should
I say who do we see at the side of the road, waving a red flag to slow
down the traffic further but a yellow-jacketed, yellow hard-hatted road
worker.
He was moving the grubby red flag on a stick in a peculiarly rigid way.
Was he asking me to slow down or stop? Apparently not, as all the cars
in front of me kept moving past him, so I did too.
A fine tall broth of a man and, I swear, looking accusingly right at ME,
the most careful of drivers. Yes, I always keep my hands on the steering
wheel at the correct 'ten-to-two' position. He reminded me of the picture
of the Sacred Heart in the Irish country kitchen, in that no matter how
you moved around the room the eyes always followed you.
As I drew nearer I noticed his glassey eyed look, very odd indeed. Had
the poor man slipped over to the pub for a few jars at lunchtime so his
foreman consigned him to this boring task, well away from heavy machinery?
Had he just got paid and seen his tax deductions?
Or worse still, had he seen the Road Engineer's forward planning estimate
on the Glen of the Downs re-alignment. That job would not take another
two years to complete, but TEN more years! He was banking on the usual
over-run to twelve years. And over-runs means overtime payments at double
time!
What would he do in ten or twelve year's time aside from being an old
man? Even now he could barely remember the time long ago when the last
of the protesting Eco Warriors came down from the trees and he broke the
first lump of old roadway concrete with his pickaxe. He was only an Apprentice
Labourer back then, indentured to the Yellow Roadbuilder Company who had
only just traded in their steam rollers for the new fanged diesel type.
He couldn't believe his luck when he was promised 'a job for life in the
Glen'. Was there a simple but dignified ceremony as he was handed his
hard-hat and reflective jacket by The Boss? Did he remember the ripple
of laughter, the giggles and the hoots of derision as the Signwriter finished
off the warning sign: "Expect delays until 2003". He knew it would take
that time alone just to put up the plastic walls and cones narrowing the
road.
If they judged it right, the cars and lorries would be so busy weaving
through the obstacle course that they wouldn't see the lack of progress
on either side. In any case the long rows of yellow JCBs and tipper trucks,
which sometimes actually moved, provided excellent cover.
No, my daydreaming came to an abrupt halt, as did the traffic in front
of me. I was stopped right beside the man who I now realised was a perfect
Mechanical Man dummy, an automaton, with an electric motor making him
wave the red flag! The curious thing was that I noticed a few of the other
real life workers looking sideways, enviously it seemed, from time to
time at the Animatronic.
There was very little difference between the motion pattern of the real
men and the creature, but I could tell them apart because of the eye movements.
Did the human workers realise now that the Dream Plan could be over? Perhaps
they had just heard that very morning that The Bosses had put in a big
order for two hundred more Creatures. They would be strategically placed
around the site holding shovels, sitting in JCBs, leaning against Land
Rovers but mostly in small groups looking intently down into holes in
the ground.
There would be an elite squad of Automatons also, distinguished by their
red hard hats and red jackets. They would be strategically placed around
the site, peering into theodolites and consulting maps. Very little movement
required there. One or two would be seen stirring their mugs of coffee
with a battered spoon but the real workers, the yellowmen, looked down
on this effete bunch. The yellowmen use a reversed pencil for the job.
And there's another thing - would the mechanical men be eligible to join
the Union? Who would pay their dues? If it rained would they get the lucrative
'wet money'? What would happen if...My reveries were brought to an abrupt
end as the car behind me beeped and I casually waved goodbye to my yellow
friend.
by
Tim Costello
7th July 2002
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