12/26/2024
The life Of A Service Tech On Call
’Twas the night before Christmas, and out in the shop,
The compressors were silent, not a hiss, not a pop.
The tanks were all charged to their max PSI,
While filters stood clean, and the oil ran dry.
The wrenches were hung on the workbench with care,
In hopes that no breakdowns would soon appear there.
I’d finished my shift, my truck parked at last,
And dreamed of no calls as the night hours passed.
But just as I dozed, my phone gave a scream,
A plant had gone down—it shattered my dream.
The main compressor had failed on the line,
No pressure for tools, and no overtime.
I leapt to my truck, my gear all in tow,
Through snow-covered streets, I drove with a glow.
When I reached the site, the alarms filled the air—
A hiss and a clunk meant a problem was there.
The pistons were stuck, the motor was fried,
The pressure relief valve had blown open wide.
A gasket had failed, the intake had clogged,
And the lubricant levels were terribly bogged.
“Now rotary screw! Now piston, now tank!
On couplers, on fittings, no time to be blank!
From the dryer to filters, and all through the line,
We’ll restore this compressor and make it run fine!”
With gauges in hand, I traced every path,
The belts had gone slack—time to do some quick math.
I swapped out the seals and tightened each bolt,
Replaced the worn filters and cleared the exhaust.
The motor hummed softly, the gauges climbed high,
The system was working, the air pressure nigh.
The workers returned, their tools powered once more,
The plant roared to life with its usual uproar.
I wiped off my hands and packed up my tools,
Checked all the fittings and safety rules.
Then I turned with a grin as I drove out of sight:
“Merry Christmas to all, and may your airflow stay tight!”
