Life of a FIFO worker
Today I caught the red eye home. Home to my babies, who had long been asleep
by the time I wheeled my carry-on case across the threshold. Home to a bleary-eyed husband who was waiting for me despite an urgent need to collapse into bed after 48 hours of being everyone and everywhere. Home to my dog, who was snoozing on the couch with half an eye trained on the door.
Today I learned the true meaning of the red eye; 12 hours sleep in 48, 12 hours of travel, and 20 of work. Dinner with a dear friend was a welcome reprieve from the solitude of an uncomfortably quiet hotel room.
This is by no means a permanent situation, but rather a small stint working away, toward the end of a large bid, with an impressive team of professionals who have been on this ride for months on end. This post is for them.
It is for my friends who have done the fly-in fly-out (FIFO) merry-go-round for years on end to provide for their families. The Navy personnel, commercial divers, communications technicians, sales directors and editors, in my friendship group alone.
Today I boarded a plane home with miners and business people. They stepped off the plane for the last leg home, some in suits and others in high vis vests and hard-worn boots. All of us wanting nothing more than to get home to our loved ones.
So here's to the FIFOs, may your shifts be short and your time off meaningful. There's no place like home.
