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Description
Writing Exercise 160 - The Language of Work

     The goal of this exercise was to use work-related lingo in a short scene, to get a feel for the literary purpose of...well, of insider jargon.  I know some.

     Michael Trader looked the old construction worker in the eye.  He was unsure what else to look at; the man's face seemed baked into a fixed, stony expression.  It was hard not to be surprised when his mouth moved, but there it was, talking in a soft, mumbly voice.
     "You wanned t'ask me sumthin' 'bout Danny, yuh?  How's he doin'?"  If the old man actually felt any concern, Michael couldn't see it.
     "He was in cardiac and pulmonary arrest when we arrived.  We successfully resuscitated him and he's on the way to our ICU now."  The old man looked at him with uncomprehending eyes, but his face was so unhelpful that Michael didn't feel inclined to explain any of it.  He continued the script.  "Can you describe the incident to me, please, so I can file it in my report?"  Michael had to remind himself that he was speaking the same language as the old man.  It was easy to forget, and the difficulty was making him self-conscious.
     "Well," the workman began, "we's a runnin' a home run to the panel,"
     "I'm sorry," Michael cut in, "What's a 'home run'?"  He glanced up from his clipboard at the old man's face again.
     The electrician stopped for a moment and blinked twice.  He looked down at his chest and then back up at Michael.  "'T's the line from the panel that pow'rs the leg."  He pronounced power the same as pour.  "We kin't put the panel up 'ntil the pow'r comp'ny sets up the feed.  So the busboard's hot."
     Michael nodded as he pretended to make notes.  He though he was following enough to get the idea, and he didn't care to risk irritating the old man.  If he became uncooperative, the job would be hopeless at this rate.  He would figure out what to write later.  "I see.  And Danny was working on the panel when you heard him cry out?"
     "No, no, he didn't make no noise.  I's a puttin' up the garage leg when I heard a noise.  So I looked back over ther'," the old man said, pointing to the switchbox, "and I saw 'im swing 'is arm aginst the stud."  He moved his hand half an inch to the left, presumably indicating the exposed structural support next to the box.  "I run up and grabbed 'is shirt 'n pulled 'im away.  He fell down, an' I guess that's when his arm broke."
     Michael nodded.  The contact burns on the patient's right hand, the avulsion on his left wrist, and the fracture of his right ulna all fitted this description.
     "Alright, Mr., uh, Dougherty," he muttered, flipping back a couple pages on his clipboard, "I think that will do for now.  If you can just sign here for me and put your phone number here so we can reach you in case we need more, I'll be on my way."  He handed the clipboard and his pen to the old man, who scribbled and passed them back.  Then, as Michael was fitting his board back into his bag, the workman turned and began loping toward the other end of the garage.
     Moved by an unaccountable impulse, Michal asked "Where are you going?"
     The old man turned his head back without slowing down.  "Boy, I got work to do!" he bellowed, just a little louder than necessary.  Michael stared awkwardly for a moment, then turned away and walked back to his van.

Description
Writing Exercise 160 - The Language of Work

     The goal of this exercise was to use work-related lingo in a short scene, to get a feel for the literary purpose of...well, of insider jargon.  I know some.

     Michael Trader looked the old construction worker in the eye.  He was unsure what else to look at; the man's face seemed baked into a fixed, stony expression.  It was hard not to be surprised when his mouth moved, but there it was, talking in a soft, mumbly voice.
     "You wanned t'ask me sumthin' 'bout Danny, yuh?  How's he doin'?"  If the old man actually felt any concern, Michael couldn't see it.
     "He was in cardiac and pulmonary arrest when we arrived.  We successfully resuscitated him and he's on the way to our ICU now."  The old man looked at him with uncomprehending eyes, but his face was so unhelpful that Michael didn't feel inclined to explain any of it.  He continued the script.  "Can you describe the incident to me, please, so I can file it in my report?"  Michael had to remind himself that he was speaking the same language as the old man.  It was easy to forget, and the difficulty was making him self-conscious.
     "Well," the workman began, "we's a runnin' a home run to the panel,"
     "I'm sorry," Michael cut in, "What's a 'home run'?"  He glanced up from his clipboard at the old man's face again.
     The electrician stopped for a moment and blinked twice.  He looked down at his chest and then back up at Michael.  "'T's the line from the panel that pow'rs the leg."  He pronounced power the same as pour.  "We kin't put the panel up 'ntil the pow'r comp'ny sets up the feed.  So the busboard's hot."
     Michael nodded as he pretended to make notes.  He though he was following enough to get the idea, and he didn't care to risk irritating the old man.  If he became uncooperative, the job would be hopeless at this rate.  He would figure out what to write later.  "I see.  And Danny was working on the panel when you heard him cry out?"
     "No, no, he didn't make no noise.  I's a puttin' up the garage leg when I heard a noise.  So I looked back over ther'," the old man said, pointing to the switchbox, "and I saw 'im swing 'is arm aginst the stud."  He moved his hand half an inch to the left, presumably indicating the exposed structural support next to the box.  "I run up and grabbed 'is shirt 'n pulled 'im away.  He fell down, an' I guess that's when his arm broke."
     Michael nodded.  The contact burns on the patient's right hand, the avulsion on his left wrist, and the fracture of his right ulna all fitted this description.
     "Alright, Mr., uh, Dougherty," he muttered, flipping back a couple pages on his clipboard, "I think that will do for now.  If you can just sign here for me and put your phone number here so we can reach you in case we need more, I'll be on my way."  He handed the clipboard and his pen to the old man, who scribbled and passed them back.  Then, as Michael was fitting his board back into his bag, the workman turned and began loping toward the other end of the garage.
     Moved by an unaccountable impulse, Michal asked "Where are you going?"
     The old man turned his head back without slowing down.  "Boy, I got work to do!" he bellowed, just a little louder than necessary.  Michael stared awkwardly for a moment, then turned away and walked back to his van.