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Today's Featured Biography

 
Jeff Rogers

“Gist” Blues
Jeffrey A. Rogers
Copy Right Ester Republic

     I think it’s wonderful how life leaves us so unprepared. For instance in my youth I was asked at least a thousand times what I wanted to be when I grew up. No matter what the answer, the typical response was “That’s nice”. Eventually I became a geologist. The only problem with my career choice is that nobody ever warned me of the inherent dangers. For example, every geologist risks being sent far into the field for extended periods of time with little to no contact with their everyday lives. In fact, any profession ending in “gist” suffers the same phenomena. I’ve seen marriages dissolve, vast amounts of money disappear and every kind of inconvenience imaginable. I even witnessed a colleague, through telephone conversations alone, forced to purchase a house his wife picked out. She didn’t want her life put on hold either, just because he left for the field. Basically, as far as relationships are concerned, leaving for the field sucks.
    My first experience with “Gist-Blues” was in 1989 while working near McGrath for a junior exploration company called Caithness. I just met my wife Margaret and we fell deeply-madly in love. My boss, a twisted little freak-of-a-man, told me that the project needed my help for a couple of weeks. I packed my bags and explained to Margaret that this is what geologists have to do sometimes. It will only be for two weeks, right? Well that fart-face-boss of mine had no intentions of ever letting me come home. I ended up being shanghaied until he finally ran out of money four months later. My budding relationship with Margaret instantly changed from one filled with wild passion to just long-distance phone calls filled with loneliness.
    I tried to call her every single day. This wasn’t very easy since there was only one phone being shared by about ten people. Margaret always asked when I was coming back and I kept telling her I had no idea. We spent a lot of time talking about our relationship, feelings and the day to day events of our separate lives.
    One day, I called Margaret and as usual we spent about on hour on the phone. Afterwards I joined everyone else staying at the roadhouse for dinner. While seated at the table, the guy next to me starts telling everyone about this new radio station he found on the AM dial. This was exciting news since McGrath had very little in the form of entertainment. He said that he couldn’t always tune it in and suspected that perhaps unusual atmospheric conditions were allowing his radio to pick up an alternative station from down south somewhere. The show consisted of a man and woman discussing their love for each other and their problems due to being separated. The show was so well scripted that it actually seemed as if two real people were having a conversation. He suggested everyone should listen next time since most of us were having the exact same problem.
    Others at the table began asking questions about the show and the guy next to me started to describe in detail the very conversation I had just finished with Margaret. I interrupted by shouting “How the hell are you listening to my telephone conversations?” My mind was racing, I felt betrayed and deeply embarrassed. How could this man, presumably a friend, tap into my telephone conversation and then, in my face, tell it all in public?
    It was at that moment that the owner of the roadhouse announced for the very first time, that the telephone was in fact a radiophone and that anyone with an AM radio could listen to our telephone conversations.
    Everyone at the table was silent. Terrible social blunders had been committed. First by the owner of the roadhouse who didn’t warn anyone about the phone and then by the poor slob next to me who had unwittingly become an audio voyeur. At least his sin was innocent. He was a victim just like the rest of us. He offered his apology. I accepted it. What else could I do? Nobody else was doing anything. They were all coming to the same conclusion I was. We’re all trapped like rats by our chosen occupations. There was no privacy anywhere, not even on the phone where we needed it the most, to maintain what little relationships with had left with the people we loved. It really couldn’t get any worse.
    The next day I told Margaret what had happened and that we better start being more careful about what we talking about. I believe she then sadly asked if it was going to be like this every time I left for the field. I told her and I keep telling her “I don’t know”. I also tell her that one thing is for certain. No matter where I am, I will always love her very much.

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