The Oracle @ Delphi #3 3/6/06 - Trials of the Acolyte. (The power of Grease)
In the beginning, The Great Engineer looked down upon his blank piece of paper and thought to himself, I shall design the perfect aircraft. This aircraft will be swift in thought, light as a feather and beautiful to all who lay eyes upon her. The Great Engineer took his pen and scribed a solution that was perfect. When he was done from his toil the clouds lifted, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and the Great Engineer thought to himself it was good.
Then in the course of time Writers descended upon the plans that Great Engineer and wrote many tombs detailing every part to be used and a method to complete every task. In time these tombs weighed even more that the craft it self. But I digress.
Of course then came the Lawyers, the Executives and Builders. And in the end the great craft was delivered to the Owner. The Owner took the craft and defied event the laws of gravity if only for a short time. The Owner said it was good. Only this was not the end...
One thousand years past. Day after day the Craft sat in the scorching sun and the freezing rain. The wind blew grit upon the unprotected Craft and the Owner disregarded the sacred manual committing sins so terrible that they cannot be recounted here. Despite these sins the Craft leapt into the skies again and again.
The "Ceremony of the Annual" is a magical ceremony of rebirth, where the Oil is made fresh, the filters replaces and the Craft is reborn almost as if it came from the factory, if only for one more year.
It is during this years' ceremony that my story takes place. The Head Priest said that control rod arms are worn, they must be replaced. The Owner moved the ailerons up and he moved them down and with a sigh, agreed.
As the acolyte it is my role (of course) to actually do the work. With wrench in hand and the good book tucked under my arm, I began to remove the tainted part. The Head Priest telling the Owner, this will be quick.
As you might imagine it was not quick. They sacred Tomb called for actions which on parchment seams so simple. Unbolt this and remove that, and redemption will be granted. It almost seams that the Writers have never unbolted this or even removed that. The access panels left by the Great Engineer were too small for the Acolyte to place both of this hands into the Craft. And with only one hand he was required to place the correct bolt, with washer through bell crank, through the control rod arm, spacer, and then washer through the Bell Crank, lastly washer and nut. I know this sounds easy, however, the Great Engineer wanted to insure that only the faithful would work on the Craft therefore none were allowed to directly gaze up the sacred parts and all work must be performed only with the sense of touch. Lastly the group of wise men from the FAA had mandated that all bolts must be placed pointing down so that in the event that the sacred nut would fall from the sacred bolt the sacred bolt would not fall from the craft, perhaps hitting someone from the innocent public on the head, or perhaps leaving the Owner with a Craft that he could not control.
In any event (and I know that you have held out for a long time to see where I'm going with this) There I was with my hand in the Craft, bolt, washer, bell crank, control arm, spacer, washer bell crank..., Trying to get the bloody washer to stay on the bolt long enough to attached the sacred bolt. Of course every time I place the washer on the bolt and reached for the nut the washer would fall off. Truth be told it did indulge in a bit of blasphemy directed at the Great Engineer, the Writers, and even the Head Priest, but to no avail. With tail between my legs, and a heavy heart, I went to the Head Priest to confess my sins and ask for absolution.
Grease! He said to place some Holy Grease upon the washer and it will stick itself in any position. Perhaps he had finally gone insane. Perhaps the pressure if his high office has forced him to crack one final time. There is no way that a lubricant will hold a washer against the mighty force of gravity. There was not chance at all. And then I saw with my sacred mirror as if my magic the washer floating on the end of the bolt. And then I was a true believer, never to question again.