From oil rig to office life: A journey into iGaming

Jillian Dingwall January 31, 2025
From oil rig to office life: A journey into iGaming

After 10 years working as a geologist on oil rigs, I decided that I didn’t want to risk death by exposure to freezing temperatures anymore; I wanted a clean toilet and superficial office beanbags. At 34 years old, my Jungian crisis was beginning to raise its stubborn head, and it was refusing to let my desperate childhood dream of becoming a writer go unfulfilled.

But who would hire a maturing geologist as a writer?

Get to ze choppa!

Almost a decade ago, as the worn-out blades of the vintage helicopter spun with concerning lethargy, I watched my last North Sea rig disappear into the fog. I immediately stepped onto an EasyJet flight bound for Malta, the charming little island where I had grown up as a teenager.

In the mid-nineties, Malta had left an indelible mark on my identity, and after spending 17 years back in my native, distinctly un-Mediterranean Scotland, the pull to return was becoming impossible to withstand. This island had a habit of gifting me with opportunities, so if anywhere could help me fulfil my dreams, it would be the land of sun, sea, and Sliema traffic.

A few weeks after arriving, I noticed a junior copywriter vacancy for an iGaming company on LinkedIn. I applied, assuming they would tell me the same as every other creative company in the UK had when I’d tried to change my career in the past: “You’re a petroleum geologist. About 700 media graduates applied for this job; why would we hire someone who licks rocks?”

This was when I discovered an unexpected virtue of the iGaming industry; they had actually read the blog I had been writing for the last 5 years and asked me to come for an interview. For the first time in this aspiring writer’s life, it wasn’t an immediate no.

Shock and awe

I was completely clueless about the gambling industry at this stage, so when I turned up at the company address, I expected to find a dilapidated speakeasy with a heavily scarred doorman glaring at me through a sliding eye-hatch. A smoky gambling den full of barely functioning outcasts was essentially what the tearoom of an oil rig looked like; it was my comfort zone. But, to my horror, the taxi pulled up in front of a vast, sparkling, glass-fronted office building with a conspicuous, brightly coloured company logo fixed above the entrance.

As I entered the building, things became progressively more shocking. Wall-to-wall big screens flashed glam company ads; there were in-house baristas, reading nooks, themed meeting rooms, an unhealthy number of beanbags, and posters advertising ‘Friday beers on the terrace’.

I stepped into the lift, instantly struck by how amazing everyone smelled; a novelty after a decade caked in mud and sweat. Everyone looked so lovely with their quirky tote bags and freshly exfoliated skin. I was used to wearing a thermal, fireproof onesie to work, and it was slowly dawning on me that I may have to start brushing my hair every morning.

Sh*t. I was definitely not going to get this job.

A rare sunny day on the rig with my wonderful colleague, the only other female within a 50 mile radius.

But here’s where things got interesting. The interviewer asked me to *gasp* write something. Now, it may sound like common sense to ask someone applying for a writing job to write something, but you’d be surprised. Generally, the media degree is more important than your ability to spell. But not here, it would seem.

They asked me to show them what I could do, almost as if they were more interested in my talent than my ability to tick boxes, and when I submitted my content, they said it was the best of the bunch.

Sh*t. I got the job.

Keith Richards for President

The first few weeks were a tough adjustment; I wasn’t remotely familiar with office etiquette, so I was initially quite insular and nervous. But the job itself was a dream come true. Yes, I was only a junior copywriter. Yes, most people thought I was an intern who’d got lost on the way to the water cooler. But, after 30 years of dreaming, I was finally getting paid to write; you could not get me down from the ceiling, even if there were more than enough beanbags to break my fall.

A few weeks later, just as I thought I would get outed as a complete fraud (my imposter syndrome was off the scale), my new boss started at the company. He showed up in a dubiously stained ‘Keith Richards for President’ t-shirt, his hair looking like it hadn’t seen a brush since the Clinton era, unapologetically dropping f-bombs because the lift was broken and he’d had to use the stairs. It was then that I knew that everything was going to be okay.

This absolute liability of a content manager quickly became my mentor; he was insanely good at his job, and I soaked up everything he taught me like a thirsty little sponge. We laughed and swore, smashed pints after work, and grafted really, really hard to consistently create content gold. It wasn’t long before my nerves dissipated, and I found my place in the company.

A friendship incubator

In a conscious attempt to integrate, and in no way related to my deep love for amber ale, I attended every single Friday Beers event on that terrace. It was when I started talking to my colleagues that I realised how incredibly easy it would be to make friends at work.

Malta, and the iGaming industry in particular, is a very transient place. Some come here for an adventure for a few years, some hang around for longer, but most come from all over the world. As a result, there are no childhood friends or family for us to rely on for social interaction outside of working hours.

Desperation breeds congeniality, and as cynical as that sounds, it’s hugely life-affirming to witness a bunch of strangers create a close bond that, in ‘normal’ circumstances, wouldn’t have even gotten off the ground.

There were planned events, spontaneous after-work drinks, casual dinners, parties, conferences, product launches, team-building activities, live music nights, pub quizzes; you name it, someone was going to something somewhere on the island, and I was invited.

I have built so many incredible friendships since I started in the industry, something that doesn’t often happen back home, where you clock in and clock out before spending the weekend with the people you’ve known since kindergarten. It added a whole new level of fulfilment to the job. It really feels like you’re part of a community, all of us creating memories and experiencing this Mediterranean madness together.

Not all sunshine and rainbows

As much as I enjoyed my new career, the journey did not come without its challenges. I realised very quickly that in corporate culture, a surprising number of individuals tend to care more about getting credit for good ideas than the brand’s success as a whole, to the point that they will block someone else’s good idea purely because it wasn’t theirs.

This gladiatorial arena of self-serving was extremely difficult for me to navigate at times. On an oil rig, if you don’t work together, people die. Getting credit for something is so far down the list of incentives it wasn’t something I was used to dealing with at all. I can’t help but mourn all the great ideas and talented individuals that have never come to fruition in the iGaming industry and beyond as a result of this frustrating approach.

igaming
A junior marketing exec. preparing to pitch their bold campaign idea in the team meeting.
© Paramount Pictures / Courtesy Everett Collection

A gamble worth taking

Despite the frequent exasperation, I knew from the minute I completed my first task as a junior copywriter that I had done the right thing in chasing my dream. I knew this would take me somewhere good, and within a year, I was promoted to content manager for another internal brand. I was handled with care and patience until I found my feet in a senior role that they knew I could handle but that I secretly worried I wasn’t ready for.

Looking back, they had recognised something in me that I hadn’t yet, and like the junior copywriter role, I adjusted very quickly to content management with their continued support. Eventually, I outgrew that role and moved to a different iGaming company as Head of Content.

The whole journey from oil rig to HOC took a little over two years of intense dedication. Something I would never have imagined when I stepped off that plane from Scotland, but proof that if something is meant for you, you will fly when you’re given the chance.

Untapped talent

Looking back on that time, I realise how important employer support is to nurturing talent in this industry, that just putting bums on seats will ultimately harm your business in the long run. You can have as many foosball tables in your “fun lounge” as you want, but if you choose to focus on those who shout the loudest instead of nurturing valuable employees’ potential, your company culture will always be missing a bit of magic.

Consider the possibility that the reason your top performers are performing better than everyone else is because they won’t let anyone out-perform them. You could be sitting on a reservoir of quiet creativity destined to remain underground until the pressure moves it along to be tapped by someone else.

The mothership has landed

I left the iGaming industry around 5 years ago when I had my son; sadly, the flexibility for working mothers still leaves much to be desired, and I chose to prioritise my son over my career (even though it’s possible to do both, but don’t get me started on that, we’ll be here all day).

However, with my son recently starting school and after a long and lonely freelancing stint, I’m happy to announce that I’m back and now dropping headlines at SiGMA for your iGaming news pleasure. Hit me up on LinkedIn or catch me at the upcoming SiGMA events. I’ve missed the buzz and can’t wait to see old and new faces on the circuit!

Discover the world of iGaming at SiGMA Eurasia Summit. February 23-25, 2025. Connect with industry leaders and explore opportunities with the biggest iGaming community in the world.

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