ODDS’N’SODS — First chew a lasting memory

Steve, my boss, kidded me on my first day at the drill rig: “If you want to be a driller, you have to chew snoose.”

I declined a can of Wintergreen Skoal but decided that someday I’d try it. I loved the minty smell of the stuff. The time came one night at shift’s end. “Don’t puke in my truck on the way down,” Steve said, smiling at me as I tucked in a flaky wad.

Why would I puke? I pooh-poohed Steve’s warning and hiked up to the pickup with some boxes of core.

Ten minutes later I was back at the drill, waiting to “feel” whatever it is you feel from snoose. It sure didn’t taste like it smelled.

A short while later I spit out the brown gob. It hadn’t affected me . . . yet. The first symptom of snoose poisoning was a clammy feeling in my neck and back. Next, my stomach churned. The final symptom: BM shock. Gotta go NOW! Steve hit the drill’s controls, signalling: “Put on rod time.” In agony, I helped him. Then I bent over the rod skid holding my stomach. When he started to pull the tube full of core, I yanked on his pant leg and made a few hand motions and facial expressions which meant, “I gotta go now or I’m gonna have an accident.” He smiled.

I sprinted a hundred feet from the drill and dug a hole like a cat on a laxative.

Next day, everyone offered me a chew. The smell nauseated me. Guess I’ll never be a driller.

— Steven Engelhardt works for Sunrise Exploration out of Northport, Wash.