Reports and Paperwork Jokes

Inspection: two hours. Report: two days. Turns out time-of-flight is only fast for the sound.

My report has three signatures, two initials, and one squiggle. It's less a document than a group project.

My sketch was drawn to scale. Just not this scale.

The data file is like the spare battery: you only realize you needed one when you're a hundred miles from the truck.

I fill out my timesheet the way a Level III writes a procedure: carefully, completely, and for an audience that will never read it.

The report had a lot of attachments. Mostly emotional.

My signature on the report means I stand behind the results. My initials mean I stand somewhere nearby.

Proofreading a report is like Radiographic Testing: you can't see the problem until you hold it up to the light and squint.

A report without a signature is like a Penetrant Testing job without developer: everything was done, but nothing shows.

Why did the inspector's report take so long?

What's the difference between an inspection and a report?

Why did the data file go missing after the inspection?

Why did the inspector sign the report in blue ink?

Why is a deadline like a calibration check?

Why did the technician write the report in the truck?

The inspection took four hours, the report took six, and the email asking why it took six took eight.

A sketch is a picture of where you were standing, redrawn from memory with great confidence.

I don't mind the paperwork. I mind doing the same paperwork twice because someone changed the margins on the form.

Reports are like welds: the pretty ones aren't always the best, but the ugly ones always get noticed.

Every report ends with 'Let me know if you have questions.' Nobody has ever had a question they didn't ask three days later.

The report is due in 24 hours. The inspection starts in 24 hours. The data arrives in 24 days.

You might be a technician if you've ever written a report on a clipboard on a scaffold in the rain.

You might be an inspector if your signature looks different at 3 a.m. than at 3 p.m.

You might be an NDT tech if you've ever found a lost data file a week later in a folder named 'Final FINAL.'

You might be an inspector if you've ever said 'The report's in the truck,' and the truck is in another state.

The inspector spent six hours inspecting and five minutes on the report. 'That was quick,' said the client. 'I'm not done,' said the inspector. 'That was the first sentence.'

The technician sent the report back with every correction made. The Level III returned it. 'You forgot the date.' The technician added the day's date and sent it again. 'Now the signature is missing.' 'Yes,' said the technician. 'I wanted to leave you something to find.'

The inspector forgot to take a photo of the weld, so he drew a sketch. It looked like a crooked snake. The client asked, 'Is that the weld?' 'Yes. And this is the crack.' 'That's the pipe,' said the client. 'Oh,' said the inspector. 'Then it's a very straight weld.'

'I need the report ASAP,' said the client. 'It'll be ready tomorrow,' said the inspector. 'That's not ASAP.' 'It is. Tomorrow is as soon as possible. The possible part is doing a lot of work.'

Report (n.): A document that proves the inspection happened, written long after the details have faded.

Deadline (n.): A line you can cross at any time before you remember it's due.

Data File (n.): Evidence that you did the inspection, stored somewhere you'll never remember, under a name nobody understands.

Sign-Off (n.): The moment a report becomes someone else's problem.

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Sketch.
Sketch who?

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Report.
Report who?

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Initial.
Initial who?

A technician whose report was late
Swore, 'It's coming, I promise, by eight.'
But eight came and went,
And her time was all spent
On a file called 'FINAL-final-8.'

Data on the drive.
Drive is somewhere in the truck.
Truck is in Boise.

I wrote the report and I sent it by two.
The client said, 'Great! Can you change it to blue?'
I changed it to blue, and I sent it by four.
He said, 'Could we go back to how it was before?'

Are you a data file? Because I've searched every folder for you, and you were in 'Downloads' the whole time.

Are you a Level III's signature? Because without you, nothing here is official.

Is your name Final_v7? Because I thought we were done, and here you are again.

Nobody warns you that the actual inspection is about a third of the job. The rest is typing.

Ever notice that the report always takes exactly as long as you have, plus one hour?

Ever notice that the day you finally organize your folders is the day you discover everything is named 'Scan'?

You might be a refinery inspector if one pressure vessel's inspection file is thicker than its shell.

You might work in nuclear if you've signed in, signed out, and signed for the same pencil.

You might be an aerospace inspector if you've written 'no findings' and then been asked if you really looked.

Ever notice that the inspector's stamp is the smallest tool in the hangar and carries the most weight?

Every aircraft part has a paper trail, and sometimes the paper weighs more than the part.

A ship's hull is mostly steel, with a little water on one side and a lot of paperwork on the other.

Ever notice that tank inspection reports are written in feet and inches by people who spent the day crouched in a tank?

Bridge inspection report: 300 photos, 40 pages of notes, and one sentence the owner actually reads: 'No action required.'

On a wind farm, 'Tower 47' is a location, a work order and a state of mind.

The first-article report has twelve pages, forty dimensions, and one signature that took three weeks.

Ever notice the pen always runs dry on the one line that needs a signature, and the spare pen is always the one that doesn't write?

Ever notice the track chart has every milepost, every switch, and every siding, except the one you're standing at?

What do you get when you cross a New Year's resolution with a calibration due date?

Our records are completely traceable.

The auditor said our quality manual was a heavy-duty document. He's right. I carried it in.

What is an auditor's favorite question?

On audit day, every binder gets a fresh dusting, every label gets straightened, and every pen gets a nervous pat from its owner.

The auditor doesn't ask about the hundred records you have. He asks about the one from March.

You might be audit-ready if you can find a calibration certificate in under ninety seconds, and a legend if it's current.

Auditor arrives.
Binders appear, dusted off.
Labels all face front.

Observation (n.): An audit finding that isn't a nonconformance yet, but has the energy of one.

Audit season is the only time the filing cabinet is the most popular person in the building.

Ever notice the week before an audit is the only week the label maker runs out of tape?

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Audit.
Audit who?

The crew was finishing a report on New Year's Eve. At 11:58 p.m., Sam asked, 'Should we sign it now or in the new year?' 'Now,' said the Level III. 'I'm not explaining a signature that crossed midnight.' They signed at 11:59. It was the most punctual report of the year.

What is the heaviest part of a heavy check?

Task Card (n.): A single sheet of paper that begins with the word 'Inspect' and ends with three more sheets of paper.

The pipeline moves a mile a day. The paperwork moves at the speed of the last signature.

Why is the inspection bench the busiest place on the dock in December?

The holiday shutdown begins when the last accepted part leaves the dock and the last inspection report arrives in the inbox.

Last day of the year.
The lot needs one signature.
The pen is missing.

Why do managers love the C-scan?

An A-scan looks perfect right up until the client leans over to look at it.

The auditor asked how we know the thickness gauge is accurate. I showed him the step wedge. He asked how we know the step wedge is accurate. I showed him the certificate. He asked who checks the lab. I said the Level III. 'And who checks the Level III?' 'That,' I said, 'is what you're for.'

Ever notice that the formulas in the training manual use nice round numbers, and nothing in the field ever does?

Ever notice that the velocity of sound in steel is the one number every technician remembers and the one number nobody writes on the report?

The only thing worse than a rejected radiograph is an accepted radiograph of the wrong weld.

A radiograph never lies. It just needs a good viewing light and an interpreter who has had coffee.

The inspector found a long, bright indication on a shaft. She marked it, photographed it, and was drafting the report when a coworker leaned in and pulled a paper clip off the part. 'Nice crack,' he said. She rewrote the report. The paper clip has been on her checklist ever since.

Every morning the inspector ran a settling test on the wet bath before the first part. The new hire asked why. 'Because the bath can't tell me it's tired,' she said. 'The tube can.'

Particle Concentration (n.): The one number in the bath that is always discovered to be wrong right before the audit.

In Penetrant Testing, one thin white coat is all it takes to get a crack talking.

What's an inspector's favorite kind of lighting?

The auditor held up the reference block. "When was this last verified?" The technician found the certificate in a binder, in a drawer, in a box labeled "misc." "Last month," he said. "It's been resting ever since."

The only thing worse than finding a crack is finding it the day after the report was signed.

The inspector measured the remaining wall under the pump house floor. 'Remaining thickness is 0.210 inch,' he said. 'Required is 0.250.' 'How far off is that?' asked the apprentice. 'Forty thousandths,' said the inspector. 'About ten sheets of paper, all of them missing.'

Ever notice that the discontinuity the client worries about is never the one that matters, and the one nobody mentions ends up as item twelve in the report?

The written practice is the one document everyone follows and nobody has ever read for fun.

Why does every logbook have such tidy handwriting in December?

The most dangerous sentence in certification: 'I'll remember what I did on Tuesday.'

You might be a Level III if your idea of a thrilling evening is rewriting a scope statement.

You might be a trainee if your logbook has more entries about waiting than about testing.

Experience Hours (n.): The only measurement in NDT that has no calibration block and is still expected to be accurate to the quarter hour.

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Level.
Level who?

Logbook, blank again.
Tonight I'll copy my notes
from the field notebook.

Are you my experience hours? Because I'd log every minute with you, even the ones spent waiting.

Nobody warns you that the hardest part of certification isn't the exam. It's the signed letter from your employer saying you're allowed to take it.

A new inspector asked which code applies. 'Whatever the contract cites,' said the mentor. 'And the contract?' 'Cites the purchase order.' 'And the purchase order?' 'Cites the contract.' The new inspector nodded. 'So we're welding to a loop.'

The weld symbol said fillet, one-quarter inch, both sides, all around. The welder said, 'So basically, a hug.'

The weld map says weld seventeen is on the north side. The vessel says north is a matter of opinion.

Weld symbol literacy is the ability to read a drawing and discover you've welded the wrong side.

The apprentice read the weld symbol and welded the arrow side. The symbol was above the line. 'Above the line means the other side,' said the supervisor. 'So the arrow side is the side the arrow isn't on?' 'No.' 'Then which...' 'Let's get you a drawing and a coffee.'

That site orientation video is the only document in the plant that has never had a revision.

Why did the inspector's report get a standing ovation?

Ever notice every client wants 'the full report' until they see the page count?

A work permit is valid for one shift, and the job needs a shift and a half.

Every refinery has a corrosion circuit map, and every inspector owns a favorite highlighter.

The outage manager asked how long the weld inspection would take. 'Two hours,' said the inspector. The manager wrote two hours, then added the walk to the weld, the permit and the scaffold. 'Four hours,' he said. 'Now it's accurate.'

At the pre-job briefing, the inspector asked for the dose estimate. 'Five minutes in the area,' said the planner. 'The inspection takes forty.' 'I planned for the ideal inspector.' 'Meet the real one,' said the inspector, 'who needs forty minutes and a revised radiation work permit.'

Nobody warns you that the outage badge office has a longer line than the plant has pipes.

How do you know an audit has started?

Audit Findings (n.): The only things an inspector hopes not to find.

Ever notice that every airplane has a perfect maintenance record until you open the panel behind the panel behind the panel?

Mud is the only thing on a pipeline job that arrives early, stays late, and ends up in every report.

The Navy inspector reviewed the weld map with the shipyard supervisor. 'All of these are required?' asked the supervisor. 'Every one,' she said. 'Even this one in the forward void?' 'Especially that one.' The supervisor sighed, picked up a flashlight, and handed her the other one.

An inspector found a crack at the end of a cover plate and marked it with a paint pen. Fifteen years later, the next inspector found the faded paint stripe and a crack that had not grown an inch. 'So it's stable,' said the owner. 'That's what the last report said,' said the inspector. 'That's why I'm measuring it again.'

Nobody warns you that the one page the wind takes off the bridge is always the signed one.

Nobody warns you that a tiny pit on the leading edge looks like nothing from the rope and like a novel in the report.

What is a production manager's definition of a quick check?

Ever notice every process has a procedure, every procedure has a revision, and every revision has a different font?

Rework (n.): The only word in manufacturing that means doing it a second time and charging it to a different department.

The track is the same width it was a century ago, and the paperwork about it is a different revision every month.

A rail inspector drove forty miles on hi-rail to check one reported crack. She found it, measured it, wrote it up, and drove forty miles back. Her supervisor asked how it went. 'Smallest crack, longest drive,' she said. 'It all comes out evenly on the report: one line.'

The new edition of the code book is a real page turner. Every page number changed.

Why does every inspector's New Year's resolution start with 'find my certification card'?

My eye exam is renewed, my hours are logged, and the year is eleven days old. I have peaked.

You might be an NDT tech if your New Year's resolution is to find your certification card, and you have made it every year since you got it.

Dana resolved to renew her certification early this year. On January 2nd she opened the folder and found her eye exam record, her hours log, and a sticky note in her own handwriting: 'Do this in January.' She stared at it for a minute, then picked up the phone and booked the exam. The sticky note, for the first time in its life, went in the trash.

The new edition
arrived with moved page numbers.
My notes are wrong now.

Resolution (n.): A January promise to read the whole new edition, renewed every year without opening it.

Ever notice that the recertification deadline is a year away until it's three weeks away, and then it's the only thing anyone talks about?

Lena spent Monday visiting booths, and every one scanned her badge and promised a follow-up. By Friday she had forty-one emails, one pen that worked, and a calendar invite from a company she could not remember visiting. She accepted it anyway. It turned out to be the best demo of the year.

Why was the Level III the calmest person on audit day?

Why did the calibration certificate arrive at the audit nervous?

'Where is the written practice?' asked the auditor. The new Level II pointed at the shelf. 'And the current revision?' He pointed at the binder. 'And the evidence that everyone has read it?' He opened the training record: eighty signatures, each dated the day that person read the current revision.

What is the most important tool at a turnaround?

At a turnaround the schedule is a plan, a prediction, and a work of fiction, usually all on page one.

How many hours are in an outage day?

Why do outage workers read the radiation work permit so carefully?

The outage schedule is the one document every department reads and every department disagrees with.

Ever notice that the most precise thing in a plant outage is the clock, and the least precise is the estimate?

What is a December schedule?

Holiday Schedule (n.): A calendar that lists every day off and every deadline that moved into the day before.

The return-to-service date is the only part of the aircraft nobody ever opens up for inspection.

Return to Service (n.): The date that was chosen before the aircraft was opened.

You might be a ship inspector if...

Undocking Date (n.): The one measurement on the project that was never taken with a gauge.

The inspector found a tiny crack at the end of a weld on the girder. She marked it, photographed it, and radioed the lead. 'How big?' he asked. 'About a quarter inch.' 'Anything to worry about?' She looked at the traffic, the sky, and the schedule. 'Not today,' she said. 'But I'll be writing about it for a month.'

Ever notice that the wind on a bridge deck is always twice the forecast and aimed directly at your paperwork?

A turbine is never down for maintenance. It is resting before the next availability report.

At year-end the production schedule has two settings: 'busy' and 'busier, with doughnuts.'

You might be a manufacturing inspector if...

Quota (n.): A number set in the fall that becomes very serious in December.

Ever notice that the part that fails first-article inspection is always the one the customer is waiting on?

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Quota.
Quota who?