
In a previous entry I wrote about K, an industrial cleaner who was poisoned by ingesting lime. In the meantime a senior operator retired, leaving space for an assistant to step up, and a vacancy on the assistantâs team. K interviewed for the assistantâs job and (finally) got it. This left room for A, a new recruit, on the cleaning team.
A is loud, cheerful, hard-working, and has autism and ADHD. He takes to hoovering the plant and doing sandwich runs energetically. The problem, as well as the sighs and the stupid comments from some, is that his Dad works in the control room. This is a source of resentment.
The other sons-of-operators (there are three) feel they have to treat their Dads strictly as colleagues and work twice as hard to prove theyâve earned their jobs. A and his Dad arenât bothered by these worries; A doesnât filter out his comments to or about his Dad, and maintains a jovial and joking attitude through thick and thin.
I learn that K and A have nearly come to blows one afternoon in the cabin over an insult A threw at K: âStupid old manâ or something along those lines. K, whoâd been trying to talk seriously, snaps âDonât talk to me like that or youâre gonna get it!â âAll right then!â A laughs. There are comments that A is being given special treatment because of his Dad; âI understand why itâs important for these people to have jobs â but there has to be a limit...â My colleague and apprentice, J, whose autism manifests in the opposite way to Aâs, sits in a corner of the fittersâ office not making eye-contact, listening to these comments that the fitters assume just wash over him.
âThe way they talk about A gets to me,â he tells me one morning âbecause obviously we both have the same condition, and they donât seem to realise theyâre insulting me while Iâm in the room.â
A lot of the workers â including the maintenance manager, and the apprenticeâs mentor â have made up their minds that J is âmentalâ and weak. His monotone voice, dark humour, and lack of eye-contact is interpreted as lack of enthusiasm. He comes off his motorbike, is off sick for a while and comes back with a knee-brace and a doctorâs note, but his fear of riding on ice and slow limp is considered pathetic and âput-onâ. I speculate that unlike most of the other men â especially the young ones â J feels no compulsion to act tough.
L is a young man finishing his apprenticeship a year ahead of us, and is the polar opposite of J. He prides himself on his physical strength and his ability to do âthe things he knowsâ well. Heâs relentlessly critical of weakness or perceived injustice towards himself, from management or from apprentices. âWhy would I work harder at this â I donât need it to pass! Only people who want to kiss ass would do more than that.â An older fitter describes him as âalways angry, furious. Iâve been trying to tell him to grab the opportunity, but youâve got to be careful...â
L and a fitter are talking about race one day, and J sits in his corner uncomfortably.
âThey were calling people âwogsâ,â he tells me later. âI donât like that kind of thing, it makes me feel uncomfortable, so I was just sitting trying not to get involved. And then [the fitter] asks me âJ â do you like black people, or not?â and I say well itâs personality that matters, not colour, that doesnât matter to me, and he says with L âWhy canât you just admit it? Why canât you just say you like black people? At least Iâve got the balls to say that I donât!ââ After the chat with J, I spend a lot of that week raging inwardly, wondering what the hell to do.
The following day I come in early to help fit a motor. I slowly and clumsily wheel a pallet truck into position, and the same fitter that was giving J grief smiles to me âWomen drivers eh?â
âAre you serious?â I frown at him, he laughs.
âItâs only a joke, donât worry about it.â
âItâs not funny though, is it?â
I feel like Iâm in a Harry Enfield sketch, or an educational video about workplace âbanterâ. A few weeks ago heâd joked that my bag was âjust big enough to fit a small iron inâ and before that âwould I make him lunch?â (his kitchenâs out of action.) Between these âjokesâ heâs taught me basic crane maintenance, worked relentlessly on the conveyor belts and welded chute flaps back into place â heâs another very knowledgeable engineer who thinks heâs âstupidâ because his literacy isnât strong. We finish with the motor, go back to the office and for a few minutes are alone. He looks at his paper.
âDâyou understand what I mean, about the sexist jokes?â I ask him gently, leaning forward and trying to make eye contact. âDâyou get it?â
His rolls up his paper and looks unhappy.
âThe thing is â I donât understand why youâre pulling me up on this, when there are so many people on this plant who swear in front of women â who talk about sex. Filthy stuff â to me thatâs sexist, thatâs really offensive, but you donât say anything about that.â
âIâm not bothered by that. Iâm not offended by swearing or sex.â
âTo me thatâs what you should be offended by, not these little comments -â
I realise that Iâm gripping my mug of tea hard and my hand is trembling slightly, so I put it down.
âWell, you and I have a difference of opinion on that -â
âItâs not just me â itâs most people -â
âBut what Iâm asking you is, can you not make the comments? Because it makes me feel like shit. I donât like it.â
I can see L, whoâs come in, in the corner smiling at his colleague, silently agreeing with him and probably wondering if heâll say more of what he really feels.
âIf I took it up with this lot every time they said something, weâd be rolling around outside every five minutes!â he laughs, slightly aiming the comment at L, away from me âYouâve got to be able to take a bit of banter.â
He doesnât apologise of course, but he doesnât make any more directly sexist comments. In later weeks, we get to know each other a bit better â details to follow in later columns.
âą Emma Rickman is an apprentice engineer in a Sheffield Combined Heat and Power plant.