I'd only been working for a few weeks but had already discovered that this job wasn't what I'd been expecting or hoping for; I'd just finished university so it was my first job too. My degree had not been all that I'd hoped for either, though given the amount of time I'd spent playing rugby and partying instead of studying during the last three years, that was perhaps was no worse than I should have expected.
I'd discovered (perhaps unsurprisingly) that my lower-second class degree in Surveying was not going to open any doors to the offices of the more prestigious companies for me. So with a mountain of student debt and a preference for eating at least occasionally, I took this job with Swift-Fibre; hopefully it's just a short-term gig and a stepping-stone to something better.
Swift-Fibre install internet cables and my task is to survey and advise on the most cost effective routes. In urban areas these are usually routed through existing underground ductwork; the fun begins when we're working in suburban and most especially, rural areas as there often isn't that comprehensive network of existing pipes for us to utilise.
When there is likely to be a large concentration of customers and therefore sufficient revenue being generated to pay for them, Swift occasionally install their own ducts. However, if there isn't, we instead take the cheaper option of erecting poles and installing cables above-ground. In these areas, it's my task to calculate which way to route those cables and whereabouts to site the support poles.
While the majority of people are willing to accept the overhead cables in exchange for a high-speed internet connection, it's the pole locations which generate the objections. Nobody wants one sited outside their house and some homeowners have even taken legal action to prevent us and similar companies from erecting these poles.
In its enthusiasm to fulfil an election pledge of making high-speed internet available to everyone, the Government recently introduced legislation to obviate the delays such objections caused: We still need to obtain a way-leave to erect any poles in privately owned fields or gardens, but not if one's sited on public property; nor do we need formal 'Planning Permission'.
Provided that a pole is not going to cause an obstruction or hazard, we can site it wherever we damned well please. So once I've decided that we're locating a thirty-foot wooden pole in the public footpath outside your house, then that's where it's going. This makes things easier, faster and cheaper for Swift-Fibre, but I'm the one who has to face the wrath of the disgruntled householders.
The theory is that should someone contest my decision, I simply provide them with a colourful little booklet which spends eight pages, explaining to people: 'Tough shit, if that's what the Surveyor decides, then that's where it's going and you've got no right of appeal'. Even with all the pretty colours and flowery prose, used in that explanation, those booklets are rarely accepted with good grace.
There is some science behind what I do and I don't -- OK, I rarely! - go out of my way just to piss someone off, but I still seem to spend more of my day fending off irate residents, than I do in actually setting-out the schemes. Today was typical; I'd barely begun pacing out distances and applying marker spray crosses on the pavement, when the 'advice' began to arrive.
It's not an exact science and the routes need piecing together like a jigsaw; even after pre-planning things on a map and checking that against Google Earth, I can only finally confirm things on the ground. To that end, I begin marking out with a water-based spray (it washes away on the next rainy day) and only apply the final indelible paint marks once I know that everything links together.
Even when I've applied those there's occasionally someone who tries to remove or more-often relocate the positions that I've set. Fortunately some distance dimensions from fixed objects, a couple of record photographs and both a GPS and a what3words reference puts paid to those. Today was better than usual and I'd finished my setting-out by mid-afternoon, despite being berated by the disgruntled locals.
The most vociferous and the last to leave, was a Mr Kennedy who eventually stormed off to telephone his friends in high places; apparently he knew everyone from the Local MP, to the Mayor and my own boss personally. The twat! There wasn't even going to be a pole directly in front of his property, but how I wished that I could've sited one there.
I'd checked and confirmed everything in the sanctuary of my car and was enjoying a restorative cigarette and the lukewarm dregs of coffee from my vacuum flask, before heading back out to place the indelible markings. As I heard the tapping on the side window, my first thought was 'Damn, why did I not drive five minutes down the road to take my break?' I rolled down the window as I turned to face my latest visitor.
I was met by the smiling face of a very attractive woman; a shapely redhead whom I guessed to be in her mid to late thirties. "Don't look so worried, I'm not here to shout at you. I saw you pouring your coffee and noticed that you didn't have much left; I'll bet it's fairly stewed by now too, could I perhaps tempt you in with a fresh one?"
By then I'd reappraised the woman, forget the 'attractive', she was drop-dead gorgeous and could've tempted me with a mug of cold piss. As an added bonus, the house which she'd gestured towards wasn't one which I'd identified for a post location. "Thank you very much indeed, I'd love one. I'm Simon, a Surveyor from Swift-Fibre."
"Melanie... Lock-up your car and follow me across; I'll go and set the kettle to boil; it's only instant I'm afraid, do you take milk and sugar?"
"Instant's fine... Neither thanks, just make mine strong and black."
Melanie was already on her way and gave me a wave of acknowledgement as she went. "I like mine the same way... My men too for that matter." While Melanie had called out with laughter in her voice it was still something of a disappointment; I don't consider myself to be especially strong and even with a summer suntan, I'm not much beyond beige in colour.
C'est la vie, at least I could enjoy a cup of hot coffee and take in a very pleasant view while I drank it; even from behind as she walked away, Melanie provided a VERY pleasant view. I sorted things out in the car and was barely thirty feet behind Melanie as she disappeared through her front door; she left that ajar, which I took as her invitation to follow.
Five minutes later I was comfortably ensconced in a palatial adjustable leather chair in Melanie's lounge, coffee in hand and listening to her chatter. The conversation was fairly bland; no mention of the project I'd been working on today. Instead I answered a few generic questions about my work and listened to a potted history of her life:
