It's everywhere

Things have quieted down a little. Friday is most unproductive day of the week in Aruba…at least in the refinery. Everyone is acting like nothing is going on and gallows humor prevails. Believe it or not, the most common phrase I'm hearing here on “Mahogany Row” (the nickname for the executive wing where we all are) is, well,… “We’re f_ _ _ ed!” That’s the mantra that men and women are both using when anyone speculates about the immediate future…followed by a big laugh by everyone in hearing range. But I ain't laughin’. They’ve changed their minds about “business as usual” for projects. Everything will have to be re-justified at a series of meetings that start Monday morning. (Glad the boss is going to be here to fade that heat).

I do know that the intensity to work, work, work has been blunted a little while my project is crumbling while I watch. This is probably the end. When I leave next Saturday, I probably won’t come back…unless PetroBraz buys the place and they jump start our projects. The worst part is that we have a big project coming up in Saudi Arabia. Worst case would be that one landing in my lap. Traveling back and forth and spending weeks in Saudi could even be a deal breaker for me. (My, I get pessimistic quickly, don’t I).

The political situation is quietly tense. Drove by the cruise ship harbor this morning and there are naval frigates docked right behind the giant cruise ships. Can’t tell where they are from because they aren’t flying any flags (is that normal?). When they bring them around to the refinery docks, I'm going to get a little antsy. Meanwhile, one of my best friends told me it’s time to get a “bug-out bag” going. That idea, plus the fact that we were told by the refinery to be ready to leave at any time, made me take it seriously. I'll live out of my suitcase for the rest of my stay, and keep my passport and itinerary in my pocket. I also exchanged all my florin into dollars. But I do have a small bag with absolute essentials with me all the time in the trunk of my car (laptop, passport, change of clothes, flash drives, paper files, a snack or two, two bottles of water, a couple hundred bucks, etc.). I think I'll start sleeping on the roof of the house with a big signal light handy so I can zero the choppers in when they show up from the aircraft carrier. There really isn't one out there, but I keep looking.

I made my normal grocery store trip today and a guy asked me if I was nervous about being here. I asked him how he knew I was an American contractor to the refinery and he said, “You all look alike. It’s the starched long-sleeved shirt tucked into blue jeans. The shoes give it away, too.” Come to find out, this guy is a Euro who has lived here for about 10 years. He didn’t look Aruban. Obviously, there are as many Aruban variations as there are with Americans except the Arubans that go back many generations. The multi-generational Aruban women are short, big-breasted, and round-bellied. The men are darker, short, and very stocky…almost swarthy.

Oh, and Chavez down in Venezuela is having a blast (no pun) with this. He’s talking about all the Aruban government has to do is kick the American capitalists out and he’ll take the refinery off their hands. I don’t think socialism or communism will go over too well here. You know what they say the difference is…with socialism, the government takes both of your cows and gives the milk away to your neighbors. Communists don’t really take the cows but they make you sell the milk to the government at a fixed break even cost (low enough for the government to re-sell it at a profit) and require a daily quota from you. If you don’t make quota, they take the cows and feed the to your neigbors and double your quota.

I can’t wait for next week. No one could write this is in a script…but I might after I get home.

OUT