Where I work we call the people with the skill for making repairs and building stuff ‘craftsmen.’ We call them this because they are both crafty and manly. There is a good reason people like me are called engineers, not engineermen. Engineers are way less manly then craftsmen. We spend our days clicking away at our computers. When we are not playing fantasy basketball, blogging, or Googling, we are doing CAD drawings. We print and fold these drawings into neat, unmanly packets, which we hand off to craftsmen. The craftsmen look at these drawings while they scratch their manly, stubbled chins, wondering why in the world the engineer would draw a pipe going through a ten foot thick concrete wall. When the craftsman asks the engineer about this, the engineer insists that the concrete wall does not exist. After all, the computer does not show a concrete wall to be at that location. The craftsman shrugs, and then demolishes the wall with a large sludge hammer. As engineers we occasionally start to wish we were manlier. Sometimes we venture out to dusty construction sites with clipboards on inspections. We look inside walls and ceilings at the craftsmen’s work, pausing to take notes like “must remember to try and be manlier.” It’s unfortunate that I have been spending so much time around craftsmen, because I have constantly been faced with this same desire to be manlier. I began trying to take on some of the repairs around the house. Actually, I have learned a lot by trying to do repairs around the house. Unfortunately, the main thing I have learned (or apparently not learned) is that I should never try to do repairs around the house. About a year ago I replaced the bathtub faucet in our second bathroom. The new faucet worked great for about a year until my wife decided to use it. Now the faucet has started leaking again. I was very exited to hear about this, not only because my first repair was success for so long, but also because I get to fix it again. Tonight I’ll take out all my tools and then proceed to pull the guts out of the faucet. When I can’t see any problems, I’ll reassemble the intricate parts. Then I’ll do exactly what I did last time. I’ll spend about four hours fiddling back and forth with the faucet until I find that one elusive, perfect position where it doesn’t leak. I’ll then back away slowly, without breathing on or near the handle. I’ll strut out into the living room, wipe my sweaty brow, and tell my wife in a deep voice that it’s all fixed. She’ll ask why it took so long, and I’ll shrug off her comment by saying that she just doesn’t understand man’s work. This time it may stay fixed for two years. That is, unless my wife tries using it again. By: Michael Oakes source: http://quittingmyjobtoblog.blogspot.com/2009/05/engineerman-at-heart.htm…
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An Engineerman at Heart