What is British about Petroleum? What is Petroleum? The last thing I heard about the British was about the actor who played the latest Heathcliff in Wheathering Heights the next best romance since Gone with the Wind in that Era. And the last thing I heard about Petroleum was something with jelly. Thats jusst me though. Hearing about such a combo of words can make no sense to the blind eye of course or deaf ear for that matter. I was blown away a little by the hundred of BP references, articles, and website just type it in your search engine www.BP.org this blog is clearly not going to summarize BP.
British Petroleum
By Kati Reyna
There is a harmony in the two subjects when you put your time and effort into the history and BP's current news and such. Who could know more than single soul about such a name as British Petroluem. I guess I can go google it and give you a few definitions or tell you about my personal life with BP which do you prefer if you had the choise? Who cares about outlining, taking notes, thinking, what about the top of your head kinda material that grabs the readers by the knees and pulls them in to a nonsense measure of writing such as this. (Read on at your own leisure)
Another Sunday has swooped by with snow. There is no poetry about it. Living in NW Indiana is a hell of a ride on a rusty roller coaster with too much cotton candy and theater for a Hoosier gal without a brain some say. A little heater and a lot of light coming in from outsides early afternoon winter sky spells out Why God Why? How badly I would love to write this as an essay or a documentary style blog yet this is no such thing.
four or five days until a 35th birthday and this is a bad grammared up blog and nothing else on a thoughtless scheme of the heart on a refinery in Whiting Indiana called British Petroleum once known as Amoco. There is no real report here on facts or logic so here goes nothing. For years (I don't do math) the sun would rise and go down over four seasons and a little Volvo playing a La Cucaracha car alarm would go on whenever the keys were in the ignition to drive back and forth from BP.
There was an inground pool (NOT!) There was a five feet above gorund pool and a trampoline in the back yard and a basketball hoop wfith breakfast every morning while the house was fixed up for decades until just recently sold. Roller blades and name brand fancied two young women growing up with a education and a finess for mechanically inclined careers never taken. Art and entertainment swept you off your feet rather than nurses and managers.
After several travelling experiences and vehicles my side of what I understand of BP began to take on a new life. I could have laid in bed for years or worked. I did both in a dream world of accomplishments and goals I worked and slept through my twenties as I saved for a life of my own which I figured would be in the city. Two girls went to live in the city and only one returned.
It was the year of a BP retirement party during a very brisk summer of wedding plans, and selling a house.
Chapter 2
a piece of toast sat in hand with peanut butter and a fly came swooning down for a landing only to be stuck in the buttery sticky substance. The wind on Southmoor Ave. had a smell that gave direction and meaning to its invisable existance. The blue sky and white Cumulus clouds were that of a painting along the houses while sitting on the front porch in awe of the silence as a painting normally sounds. The sounds of showers running, floors sweeping, and voices treading the mornings of the 1990's were infinitely discombobulating. There wasn't a trace of noise only a mesmerized dreamer for could trace the lines of the four seasons rituals and voices in Highland, IN.
Video games, computers, tools, cars, and the balance of fun road a long highway for success in a household of four with teenagers gathering their resources for a quick speedily exit into adulthood. Who could break down the details as well as a detective during the changes of teachers, classes, and after school activities. No one could woof down a bag of corn chips or sit through a handful of movies in one sitting. There was big slices of pizza, watermelon, and traditional cooking of Chinese, Mexican, and American cultural foods sometimes at the table.
Mondays rolled into Tuesdays and so forth. Where did he go? Where was he coming from? Monday through Sunday long hours at BP? What was BP? This plant? This refinery of worldwide impacts....wait this is not about BP. This is not a blog about pipes, and oil. This blog is not a research paper. This is a short fiction story with just enough to give BP a hook into the readers mind.
When will the story begin? Where will it end? Who is it seriously about this short story.
Lets get back to BP. There were big white tanks with spiral stairs swirling along the side of the tanks for miles down Route 41 where to the west a golf course lay dorment half the year and to the west a labryinth of pipes disconfigured around and around as the anatomy of a human bodys veins. The loud foot steps today ring a new end for an old and ancient start of the day where nothing is accomplished and nothing gets rewarded anymore. The longing for the dreadful call of a whistle to start you up in the morning dripped heavily in the ear drums down into the chambers of the heart.
There was a once a train that road down the track that no longer goes anywhere. Once in a while a rumbling comes from the back of the mind of the midnight train and horn. Feet move and breath along the dirt grounds of NW IND onto floors imagined for the take of the morning news and a piece of toast with one egg. Selective hearing, and picky eaters climb their way to the top just to bring you down. Retirement? What is retirement for a BP foreman dolled up and changing careers which means just spending more time in another line of work already going on with tools, wood, and thirty something year old shoes.
BLue collar, blue pants and helmets were BP attire. There is no fancying that. Buckets of fried chicken for the crew and cole slaw. Lockers for shoes. BP's whting plant in this blogs view stands with a take it as it comes perspective of a very bright star shining over Whiting, IN cool night skies and beachfrint casinos. There wasn't a smell more odarless than BP. There wasn't a bell more silent that BP. A quiet confidence of a clear oil never to be seen. Only heard.
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