Love on the Line (The Women at Work Series Book) Women's Fiction by Kirsten Fullmer ➱ Promotional Tour with Giveaway
Andrea
couldn’t ignore her boots. Not only were they stiff and chafing her ankles,
they were clean. Practically spotless. Then again, she reasoned,
the men weren’t staring at her feet.
Hunching
her shoulders, she clutched at the ends of her shirtsleeves, gripping them over
her fingers like a cocoon. It was too warm for her heavy coat, but down right
chilly without it. Much like this whole idea had been, she scoffed to herself:
too good to pass up, and too outrageous to accept. But here she was.
“You take
them papers on over to the man behind the desk,” Grandpa Buck instructed,
pointing toward the office manager.
She peered
up at the tall thin man who’d brought her to the mountains of West Virginia,
and her mother’s words rang in her mind for the umpteenth time. “He’s no good
Andrea, you can’t depend on him.” But then her mother had many opinions, and
the woman made sure everyone within earshot knew exactly what she thought.
Buck
nudged her with his elbow and pointed again at the desk.
With
a silent nod, Andy put her thoughts aside, collected the stack of papers from
the table, and headed across the room. Careful to avoid eye contact, she
shouldered past the men gathered around the heater, wishing she had the
confidence to join them and soak up some warmth.
At
the front of the office trailer, she turned the employment forms on end and
bumped the bottom of the stack on the counter to even them up. The thump of the
papers sounded like a gunshot in the hushed room and she stifled the reflex to
flinch.
The
man behind the counter didn’t turn from his computer, so Andy placed the
paperwork on the dusty worktop and waited, trying not to fidget.
Moments
stretched out, long and quiet but for the humming buzz of the heater. Someone
cleared his throat. The stares of the men bored into her back, making the
silence surpass the discomfort of the cold. She scoffed at her situation,
struggling to conquer the near hysteria rising in the pit of her stomach. For
the first time in her life she had everyone’s attention, and she flat out
wished she were invisible. Buck had warned her that there wouldn’t be many
women on the pipeline, but in her mind, not many meant she’d be one of a few,
not the only one.
“Don’t
mind em starin’,” Buck had advised in his typical brusque manner. “They’ll get
used to ya soon enough.” The bigger question was, would she get used to them?
“For
heaven sakes,” she huffed under her breath. Considering her oversized clothes
and heavy insulated coveralls, she probably looked more like the Pillsbury
doughboy than a woman anyway. She tossed a self-conscious glance downward.
Admittedly, she’d had to extend the straps of her coveralls all the way out in
order to stretch across her more than ample chest, but it wasn’t like she was
wearing a bikini.
The
heater clicked and whirred, and the smell of burnt coffee wafted across the
room. Boots shuffled on the dirty floor behind her. Unable to stand still, Andy
turned to glance at the clock on the wall. The men behind her jumped, feet
scuffing, all eyes averted to the ceiling or their hands, anywhere but on her.
Pretending
not to notice, she turned back toward the counter. Her aunt June once said
“Large bosomed women will rule the world!” but Andy couldn’t see how that could
happen when most folks just stared at the straining buttons on the front of her
shirt and--
“You
got this paperwork finished?” the office manager asked, pulling the stack of
papers toward him.
Jumping
in her skin, she glanced up to make eye contact with the man. “I... yes.” She’d
have to pay better attention. She knew when she was nervous her thoughts tended
to jump around like a lunatic monkey. She had to keep a handle on that.
The man behind the counter regarded her momentarily over his
reading glasses, reminding Andy of her father. The thought was followed
directly by a sharp pang of homesickness. But the man leafed through the sheaf
of papers, oblivious of her pained expression, so she sucked in a deep breath,
resolved to stay on task.
With
a sniff he affixed a paperclip to the stack, then turned to toss them on the
growing pile of forms on his desk. He puffed out a sigh and met her eye with
one brow raised in speculation. “I take it you’ll need PPE?”
Andy’s
thoughts spun through the million bits of pipeline information she’d managed to
extract from Buck over the last twenty-four hours. Several snickers bounced
through the group behind her as she floundered.
Squaring
her shoulders, she pushed forward. “More than likely...”
“Come
on,” the office manager replied, motioning for her to follow.
At
the end of the narrow counter stood a haphazard stack of cardboard boxes
filled with hard hats and safety vests. He pointed at the gear.
“Take one of each and sign the form on the clipboard.”
“Personal
Protective Equipment,” She mumbled, irritated that the acronym had slipped her
mind. “Thanks.”
The
office manager returned to his computer and Andy bent to select a white hard
hat with its accompanying bag of parts, and a cellophane wrapped pair of dark
tinted safety glasses. One glance at the box containing bright yellow vests and
she sighed. Not that she minded the color, safety yellow made her look tan, it
was the lack of gear anywhere near her size that gave her pause. Outdoor work
clothes for small busty women were in short supply, evidently. Even the cursed
steel-toed boots had been hard to find in her size.
Balancing
her new hardhat on the counter, she placed her safety glasses inside the hat
and bent with a grunt to kneel in the cramped space by the boxes. Cussing the
layers of clothing hampering her movement, she searched in vain for a vest that
was any size other than a man’s extra large. Finally she gave up and snatched
up a vest, scribbled her signature on the pad, then collected her hat and
glasses and turned back toward the crowded room. It was impossible not to
notice that the other men’s vests were dingy from multiple washes, as well as
smudged with mud smears and splatters. Hers practically glowed in the dark by
comparison. I’ll stand out like scarecrow, she thought in disgust. One thing
was certain though; the vest would fit around her chest without any problem.
About
the time she shrugged into the huge vest, trying it on for size and finding
that it hung well past her hips, the door of the office opened, pushing in a
blast of frigid air that sucked Andy’s breath away. She jumped at the shock,
knocking her safety glasses to the floor. With a shudder she bent to pick them
up.
“Rooster!”
the workers cheered, hands raised in greeting.
A
man leaned into the wind to close the door, then nodded a hello to the group.
Andy peered around the base of the counter at the new arrival, her fingers
frozen in mid air as they reached for her forgotten glasses.
At
first, the man referred to as Rooster looked much like the others in the group,
but when he turned from the door Andy was shocked to find him
younger and far more attractive than the typical middle-aged, paunchy, laborer.
He wore a heavy-duty work coat over a flannel shirt, and his tinted safety
glasses were perched on the brim of his ball cap.
Like
most men in the room, the skin around his eyes was two shades lighter than the
rest of his face, resembling a reversed raccoon. Unlike the others, his dark
beard was neatly trimmed. He carried a hard hat covered in stickers tucked
under one arm.
“How’s
your mom-an-‘em?” a giant, red-faced worker standing near the door bellowed as
he thumped the younger man on the shoulder.
“Tiny,”
Rooster grinned, extending his hand. “They’re well, thanks, and your family?”
The
big man beamed as he pumped Rooster’s hand up and down. “Ornery as ever, I’d
expect.”
Rooster
nodded and turned away to scan the crowd, taking in the crew with nods of
recognition. Andy couldn’t help but note that his gaze lurched to a halt on her
Grandpa Buck.
She stood,
partially hidden by the end of the counter and shrugged out of the vest. She
wasn’t necessarily great at reading people, but she noticed something change in
the younger man’s expression when he spotted Buck. What was it, wariness maybe?
At
least the arrival of Rooster seemed to have shifted the men’s attention away
from her.
With
purposeful strides, Rooster headed across the crowded room, calling out
greetings along the way. A relaxed mood filtered through the group as he
passed, and the men now talked amongst themselves, raising the noise level in
the small trailer to a dull roar.
Rooster
met Buck with a handshake. Andy couldn’t hear what was said, but it didn’t
appear to be much more than an introduction, then Buck turned to the crew.
“Men,” he hollered over the din, “Let’s head on into training.”
Laughter
and joking subsided as the group shifted their hats and cold weather gear, feet
shuffling, to plod toward the little room at the back of the trailer. Andy
collected her hat and glasses and brought up the rear, thinking perhaps she
could slip into a seat in the back without drawing much attention.
Unfortunately, those seats had been filled first and the only remaining chair
was in the front of the room.
As
she stood in the doorway watching the men settle onto the folding chairs, she
contemplated the best route to the few empty seats at the far end of the front
row. Through the mutters and scuffles of the chairs on the floor, Andy became
aware that the stares of the men fell on her once again. In every eye was a
question, a taunt, or a glimmer that left her feeling... inadequate. Most of
their eyes eventually landed directly on her chest, as if they expected the
extended straps of her coveralls to give out at any moment.
This
was not what she’d envisioned at all. She’d come here to work, and work she
would. But a niggling sensation in her stomach reminded her otherwise. This job
was far more than a way to earn money. It was the chance to escape. Her
gaze lit on Buck and held there. The opportunity to spend time with her
grandfather had been part of it too. The man was a mystery to her.
Granted,
she didn’t have any idea what building a pipeline would be like, but standing
out in a crowd had never been comfortable for her. She figured she would just
be another worker, not a spectacle.
The
silence in the room grew uncomfortable prompting Andy to once again contemplate
how to get past the men to the chair in the corner. Squaring her shoulders, she
swallowed hard and gathered all the courage she could muster.
Momentarily she contemplated turning to run, but her father’s
earnest goodbye advice came to mind. “You’ll do fine, Honey, just keep your
chin up.”
Resolute,
she stepped forward, but when she reached the front row her heart fell further.
As the men settled into their seats, most had crossed one muddy boot over the
other knee, making it impossible for her to pass. How had four years of college
and reading hundreds of books about people in life threatening situations, left
her unprepared her for this? Was it so hard to get to a chair? None of the women
in her novels had struggled with such trivial problems.
The
worker she recognized as Tiny sat at the end of the row. His bearded chin
lifted and he peered up at her in question, as if he had no clue what on earth
she could possibly want from him. Then his face flushed even redder than before
as he realized she needed him to move. He jolted to his feet, causing the hard
hat in his lap to clatter on the floor and roll in a circle.
“Sorry
ma’am,” he muttered as he maneuvered to let her pass.
The
men in the room snorted and chuckled.
One
at a time, the workers stood to let her move past. Making a quick choice, she
decided to face the men chest to chest, as she passed. She
couldn’t imagine trying to pass each one with her hinny toward them, but she
immediately doubted her decision. Some of the guys stared her hard in the eye
as she shuffled by, others nodded solemnly then looked away. In the close
quarters, her chest barely cleared theirs, and she leaned back in an effort to
avoid contact. One worker jeered at her openly, disrespect obvious on his
scruffy face as he glanced from her face to her chest and back. Mumbles rumbled
through the room, and as she turned to sit, Andy’s gaze snagged on Rooster
scowling at her from the third row.
Once
again her mother’s voice rang in the back of her mind. “Stay home where you
belong. You’ll love grad school, just be patient. No need to go running off
half- cocked.”
Setting
her jaw, she turned to the front. Half-cocked indeed, she thought. What have I
done? Besides break my mother’s heart, that is. Back home, at least I knew
where I stood. Well, most of the time anyway...
A fifty-ish woman entered and bustled to the front of the class.
“Good morning,” she called out, brushing her greying bangs out of her eyes.
Although she wore jeans and a t-shirt like the other men, hers were too tight,
outlining every ample curve, panty line, and bulge. Her attire was also far too
clean to have seen much action outdoors. Her clothing somehow resembled a
costume, an effort to dress up like a pipeliner rather than actually be one.
Like
she had room to talk, Andy admonished herself.
The
woman readjusted her paperwork, all the while her eyes scanning the group of
men. When her gaze lit on Andy she froze in shock, causing the men to snicker.
The woman recovered, did one more double take in Andy’s direction, then perched
reading glasses on the end of her nose and cleared her throat. “Let’s
begin...I’m Molly, the safety coordinator. ”
Glancing
from man to man, Andy remembered what Buck had told her that morning. “All the
workers are required to take a safety class at the start of a job.”
The
gruff old man hadn’t offered an opinion about Molly one way or the other, but
Andy got the distinct impression that the men in the room had little respect
for the safety lady or the information she shared. It was obvious to her
that the men didn’t care for Molly. The way one man adjusted his hat lower over
his eyes, and another picked at dirt on his jeans, told her they were neither
interested nor engaged. Saddened, Andy wondered if it was because Molly was a
woman, or if they felt demeaned by being required to attend the training over
and over. Or both.
As
Molly droned on and on about procedure, Andy struggled to pay attention. She
expected the information Molly shared to help her prepare for the work ahead,
but even with her limited knowledge of the job, the safety topics covered
seemed ridiculously basic: drug-testing policy, no weapons on the job site, no
fighting. In an attempt to stay awake, Andy turned to glance over her
shoulder at Buck. He sat in the back row, slumped down in his chair, arms
crossed over his chest, with his safety glasses on and his hat brim pulled low.
The old man was catching a nap, she realized. They had certainly got up far too
early that morning. After yesterday’s tearful airport goodbyes, and hours of
travel, she was exhausted as well as stuck in the wrong time zone. And even
though her bed had been comfortable enough, she’d been so nervous she hadn’t
slept.
She always
had trouble sleeping when she started something new, like the first day of grad
school. Then again she more than likely hadn’t slept then because she dreaded
it rather than--
Molly
thumped her binder closed, signaling the end of class, and Andy’s head whipped
up to attention. The older woman passed a stack of palm size papers to Tiny. He
took one and passed the stack along. When they came to Andy she took one, then
handed the rest to the man behind her. Curious, she turned the paper over and
realized it was a safety sticker for attending the class. Unsure what to do
with it, she stood to survey the noisy crowd, dreading the journey back to the
door. The man behind her peeled the back off his sticker
and pressed it onto his grimy hard hat.
“So
that’s where the stickers come from...” she muttered holding up her yet-to-
be-assembled hat, wondering if there was a specific location for the sticker.
Molly
pressed her way past the crowd of men to Andy’s side, her eyes bright with
excitement. “Oh my!” she said loudly as she pursued Andy from head to foot.
“Don’t you look cute!”
Andy
stiffened. She didn’t need any help appearing different in front of the men.
She cocked her head to one side, her sharp gaze taking in every aspect of the
safety woman, but it was difficult to assess much past Molly’s floral perfume.
The fumes were overpowering to the point of making Andy’s eyes water.
“I
didn’t know they made Carhart coveralls so small,” Molly gushed, “Where ever
did you find those?”
“At
the store.” Andy replied, taking a step back to disengage the woman. “Well,
they’re absolutely adorable...”
Adorable?
Insulated coveralls? With an irritated shrug, Andy tried to sidestep
around Molly and follow the other workers, but the older woman
grabbed her arm.
“I’m
glad to see you here,” Molly continued, her expression serious. “Us girls need
to stick together.”
Buck
had offered Andy only one bit of advice that morning, and it had been short
and simple. “Don’t let nobody push you around out there.” Molly
may be the only other woman on the job so far, but Andy had no intention of
being cowed on day one, so she offered a grimace of a smile and tugged her arm
from the older woman’s grasp. She may need to gain allies, but something told
her that this woman wasn’t the place to start.
Back
in the front office, Andy spotted Buck near the heater, surrounded by men. She
wandered to the edge of the group, picking up scraps of the conversation. From
the corner of her eye she spotted Buck’s hardhat on the table alongside his
stack of site plans and clipboard filled with paperwork. She could see small
safety stickers randomly stuck on his hat, so she stuffed her safety glasses
into her overall pocket, then tucked her hard hat shell under one arm and
cautiously peeled the sticker off it’s backing.
Careful
not to wrinkle the thing, she retrieved her hat, turning it this way and that
as she looked for a good spot. As she assessed the hat, the plastic bag
containing the inner workings fell on the floor.
Embarrassed,
she attached the sticker on what she hoped was the front, then tipped the hat
over to look inside. Having never held a hardhat, she had no way to know it
would be just a blank plastic bowl. She bent to collect the bag of parts
consisting of a crisscross assembly with a nob on one side. Obviously the items
in the bag fit on the inside of the shell to keep the thing on her head.
The
workers paid her no attention as they stood talking and joking amongst
themselves, so Andy sidled closer to the table and lifted her grandfather’s hat
for a peek inside. Sure enough, the crisscross part fit into slots on the
inside of the shell.
She’d
never been much good at working puzzles under pressure. Left to her own devices
she could figure things out, but she hated looking like a fool. And
unfortunately, this job was prime territory to look clueless. Which she
definitely was. The last time she’d felt this insecure was back in her Human physiology
class and the professor had--
The
door slammed, bringing her back to reality with a jolt. Quickly she replaced
Buck’s hat on the table and side stepped, attempting to appear nonchalant as
she inserted the assembly into her hat. How difficult could it be to put
together a hard hat after all? As luck would have it, more difficult than she
thought. The tabs didn’t line up with the slots.
“You
have it backwards.”
Andy
glanced up to find Rooster at her shoulder, and did a double take in surprise.
He was even more handsome and imposing up close. She’d always been small for
her age, even full grown she was only five foot two. Next to Rooster’s six foot
three, she felt at a disadvantage. She hated feeling this way and it was sadly
becoming the norm.
His sky blue eyes assessed her in a penetrating manner.
She
turned the hat in her hands. Sure enough, the slots matched up, but with
Rooster glaring over her shoulder, her hands trembled. The tabs on the
headpiece should have slid into the notches, but for whatever reason they
didn’t fit.
She glanced up at Rooster in question and he nodded, confirming
that she had it right, so she tried again. Using both thumbs she pressed harder
on the plastic. Nothing happened. She gritted her teeth and braced the hardhat
against her stomach. Still no luck, damn it all!
“Give
it here,” Rooster huffed as he snatched the hat away. With little effort he
snapped the plastic lining into the hat and pushed it back at Andy. He didn’t
say anything as he walked away, but his opinion of her was clear. Pure disgust.
Andy watched his retreating back as he made his way through the
crowd to the door. For the hundredth time that morning she wondered what on
earth she’d been thinking to come here.
“You
ready?” Buck asked at her elbow, bringing her back to the present. Then without
waiting for a reply, he turned away.
One
of the workers tossed a curious glance her way and she offered a limp grin. The
man turned away to mutter something about her to his coworker. Two more men
turned to stare at her over their shoulder. That familiar sick feeling she’d
first experienced on the plane crept back into her stomach. Her shoulders
slumped.
“Get
your coat, I’ll meet you at the truck.” Buck tossed over his shoulder.
That’s
how the old man operated, she supposed. He’d issue a command then walk
away. Maybe her mother was right about him. With a resigned
glance toward the door, she collected her coat from the back of a chair, and
hurried to follow her grandfather.
The
men trudged out of the office, leaving the door wide open to bang in the wind
against the side of the trailer. Frigid air poured in, motivating Andy to shrug
into the heavy coat. Zipping the bulky thing, however, was no easy task as she
juggled her hardhat and vest and wove through the crowd of men.
On
the wooden steps of the trailer she squinted across the yard into the sunrise.
With the freezing wind pulling at her hair and burning her cheeks, she plopped
the hard hat on her head and hunched down into the collar of her coat. The
glare of sun off the snow-covered ground was blinding, so with icy fingers she
pulled the safety glasses from her pocket and fumbled with the plastic wrapper.
When
they’d arrived at the yard at just after five that morning, it had still been
dark, but she’d been aware of a few men loading trucks. Now, with her tinted
safety glasses on, she paused in shock at the hubbub spread before her.
The
yard consisted of a huge, four-acres wide dirt patch, with trailers spread
along one side and pieces and parts of long three-foot diameter pipe organized
in several rows at the other end. Two inches of fresh snow had fallen the night
before, but was now churned into a muddy path of tire tracks made by a
multitude of large trucks and assorted vehicles, most still parked, back-end
first, against the fence line.
Andy
moved to one side of the steps and tugged her gloves from her coat pocket.
Continuing to gawk, she pulled them on.
A
strange configuration of semi truck trailers near the office caught her
attention. One trailer was pulled in endwise with the hinged back doors open
and a deck built across them for access. Inside the trailer she could see what
looked like a well lit and heated office, but one entire inside wall of the
trailer also contained three roll up doors, with more trailers pulled up to the
openings endwise, like a giant letter E. The configuration was a brilliant way
to bring in a warehouse full of supplies, she supposed in fascination.
A
large tank of some kind was situated at the other side of the yard, with trucks
lined up near it. In shock, she realized the men pumped gas from the tank.
Weren’t there regulations against pumping gas outside of a gas station? Men she
recognized from the class hustled in all directions, loading supplies into
pickups, and onto flat bed trucks. Some of the gear she didn’t recognize, but
amid the materials she saw ladders, chains, ropes, hoses, shovels, and cases of
bottled water. Two men jostled what appeared to be a heavy roll of black
plastic onto one truck. Workers stood in groups of two or three, smoking,
laughing and talking as they hunched into their coats in the wind.
She
noticed several of the men turn to stare at her, and the ripple effect spread across
the yard, all eyes on her, as their conversation died. One man smirked and
elbowed another and a worker whistled a sexy call.
A lump formed in Andy’s throat, and her cheeks burned with heat,
even through the cold. The men ranged in age and body type, all wearing jeans
and heavy coats, ball caps or hard hats, tinted safety glasses, and most had a
beard or goatee. And every last one of them stared at her.
***
“You’ll
need these...” Travis’ voice drifted off when he realized Nick paid him
no attention. Following the foreman’s line of sight, Travis saw
that new girl on the office trailer steps.
“What
do ya make a her?” Nick asked, his expression one of awe.
The
worker to Travis’ left sneered and spit a wad of chew into the mud at his feet.
“All women on a pipeline are whor—”
“She’s
dangerous,” Travis interrupted. “She’s too small.” Casting a glance in Andy’s
direction, he scowled. “She’ll likely get someone distracted and killed.”
“Come on, Rooster,” Nick scoffed, shoving Travis with his elbow.
“You’re just smitten, that’s all.”
“Hardly,” Travis assured his friend. “I’ve got work to do...”
With a frown he turned and headed back into the warehouse trailer. He had no
idea why the girl was here and he didn’t really care, other than to be wary
about the problems she’d cause. He had too much riding on this job to waste
time over a silly woman. The work wasn’t going to do it’s self while the men
stood staring.
Nick,
however, took all the time he wanted.
***
An elbow
in her side caused Andy to jolt forward and she stumbled her way down the rest
of the wooden trailer steps. Several men glanced her way as they passed, then
quickly looked away as if she were fascinating yet horrifying, like kryptonite.
Trying
to remember where Buck had parked his work truck that morning, she headed
across the yard. As she picked her way through the snow and frozen mud, she
noticed a group of nine or ten men who looked different than the others,
standing near flat bed trucks with dual tires and machines of some sort on the
back. They stared at her silently as she passed. Unlike the other workers,
these men were in no hurry. They didn’t wear hardhats or safety glasses,
instead they wore soft cloth caps with long bills, some of which were turned
sideways, with the bill flipped up against their heads. Their jeans were clean,
new dark blue, and ironed crisp with a crease. Arrogance radiated off the
group.
There
had been a group of boys like that back in high school. She remembered their
eyes boring into her as she passed in the hall, their eyes glued to her chest.
Invariably one would shove another, causing them to fall directly into her. How
could she report being groped when--
A
horn honk startled Andy, causing her to trip on a clump of frozen mud. With her
cheeks flaming, she tore her gaze from the haughty men to find Buck’s truck
pulled up by her side. Glad to have a get-away, she tugged open the door and
stretched hard against layers of clothing to get her foot up into the truck.
Pulling herself up into the cab, she settled into the seat, out of the wind and
away from the glares of strangers. With a grunt she tugged the door closed
behind her.
As
they drove through the yard, Buck was silent, but offered a nod and the lift of
two fingers from the steering wheel in greeting as he passed workers. Heat
pumped from under the dash as the truck growled and bumped over the frozen
ruts, jarring and rattling the paperwork and gear scattered throughout the
double cab.
“Who were those guys?” Andy asked, leaning forward to see the
group of haughty men in the side mirror.
Buck
pulled the truck to a stop at the gate of the yard. “Who?” He bent forward to
peer up then down the road, waiting for a break in the traffic streaming past
on the highway.
“The
ones wearing the funny hats.”
He
glanced in the mirror. “Them’s welders,” he snorted.
Unsure
why a welder would be different than any of the other workers, she shrugged.
Time
clicked past as they drove. Brilliant bursts of morning sunlight flashed
through the towering hardwood forest as it slid past Andy’s window. Never
before had she seen such dense growth. Even the ground cover was thick and
deep. This place was very different that the open rolling green fields of
Kansas. Bushes, briars, and plants of every kind made her wonder how anyone
could navigate between the trees. She turned from the scenery and back to Buck.
“Where are we going?” She asked. It was a simple enough question, but having no
idea what lay ahead, she braced herself for the unexpected.
My
latest book, Love on the Line, is the story of Andy, a woman who chooses to
work building a pipeline in the rugged mountains of West Virginia. Why did I
write about this? I wrote it partly because I was inspired by the experiences
of my own daughter who entertained me with many of her personal experiences as
a pipeliner. But I also wrote it because I too chose to work in a male
dominated field back in the day. Some of the struggles of women in these fields
are upsetting, but many are inspiring and funny, thus perfect material for the
kind of books I love to write. Just because not many women choose to do it,
doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done, right?
More than any time in recorded history, women are choosing to
work in male dominated fields. Every day you come across a woman truck driver,
firefighter, or pharmacist. And even though it’s become commonplace, many
fields stick with their traditional titles such as policeman, draftsman, and
even garbage man. Given this plus the infamous glass ceiling, why would a woman
choose to spend their entire career fighting an uphill battle? There are a
million reasons, but overwhelmingly, the answer I find is “because I want to”
or “because the job appealed to me,” or “My dad and grandpa did it, why
shouldn’t I?”
When was the idea planted for women to take the jobs they
wanted, even if they were traditionally considered only suitable for men?
Some would say with Eve, but both folklore and history are filled with women
who not only worked at the jobs they pleased, they ruled societies: Joan of Ark
and Cleopatra, to name a few. In Victorian times, women who wrote were forced
to use a male pen name or work without recognition. But the women of my
grandmother’s generation were forced to work at jobs considered appropriate
only for men during world war II. They worked everywhere from factories
to the fields. Sadly, after a taste of the liberation a paycheck affords a
person, these women were expected to quietly step back into the kitchen once
the men came home.
My mother’s generation, were blessed with not only their
mother’s experiences, but all manner of modern conveniences which allowed them
to clean and cook and generally care for their families in a fraction of the
time it took their mothers. Many of these women took it upon themselves to
“have it all” and step out into the working world, and not just as nurses and
schoolteachers. Their bravery gave the women of my generation the
encouragement and conviction that we too could plan a career. However, we
quickly learned that we couldn’t be super mom and have a demanding and time
consuming career without a shift in attitude, and this shift had to come from
the men. The change had to happen not just because of the aforesaid glass
ceiling on the job, but because we needed help at home.
Do I think only women who work have value, and somehow women who
don’t work away from home are lesser somehow? Of course not! In my lifetime I
have been a stay at home mom, a sick in bed mom, a full time student mom, an
employed full time mom, and a retired mom. All of those words we put on women
are pointless when you realize that we are in this together, and we should be
supportive and understanding, no matter what roll you chose.
So, take a moment this summer
to grab a copy of Love on the Line. Then curl up in a corner with a cup of
coffee and prepare yourself for a heartwarming story filled with feminine
strength, challenge, bravery, friendship, and romance.
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