Crazy Uber stories: Why they call him Sparky

Driving Uber one night, I picked up a passenger getting off his third shift at a smelting plant. We started talking about nicknames and he related this story of co-worker he had at a metal works factory a few years before:

The first day I stepped into Sullivan’s Metalworks, the rhythm of hammers and the symphony of grinding metal filled the air. As I tried to find my footing in this new environment, I noticed a tall man at the far end of the workshop, surrounded by an almost magical display of sparks.

Leaning over to Carl, the guy who had been showing me the ropes, I whispered, “Why do they call that guy ‘Sparky’?”

Carl grinned, a twinkle in his eye. “Ah, you’re curious about Mark’s nickname? Well, let me tell you a story.”

A decade earlier, before I’d even thought of becoming a metalworker, Mark had been an apprentice right here. The workshop had been consumed by a grand project—a phoenix for the city square. Mark, young and passionate, often worked late, and one evening his dedication almost became his undoing. A frayed wire, a pool of water, and a distracted Mark culminated in a brilliant flash of electricity. The workshop lit up in an eerie blue and white. When the crew found him, Mark was dazed on the floor, his workstation in chaos.

Miraculously, he was unscathed. But after that day, something had changed. Sparks seemed to gravitate towards him, more than any other worker in the workshop. It was as if they danced around him, playing and jesting.

“That electric jolt?” Carl mused, “Some say it infused him with some magnetic aura. Metal shavings, tools, and especially those sparks, they seem drawn to him.”

Each time Mark worked, especially during intricate welds, the workshop would echo with laughter and the phrase, “Sparky’s putting on a show again.” It didn’t matter if people believed he had a special connection with the metal or if it was just static buildup; the legend grew and the name stuck.