Christine Rhein
In the Dynamometer Lab
Torque. Speed. Temperature.
I watched red dots
climb control-panel screens
while the crew,
all around me, talked sports—
teams and wagers.
They asked about my father’s
line of work,
about my husband’s, and why
a sweet girl like me
was working as an engineer.
The constant roar
and rumble: engines, running
full throttle, bolted
to their stands, inside metal cages
and grease-smudged
safety glass. The guys sat there
chuckling on that day
one accused me of stealing
my job from a man.
Validation & Durability—
months of testing
were equal to years on the road,
and every afternoon
they piled data for me to gather
as they waited for
failure—a sheared timing belt,
a blown gasket,
or that deeper damage—
a broken piston—
the booming pummels,
screeching shrapnel.