Yikes. I've never screamed louder than when I saw a new guy pull the gpu out of the nacelle on a C90 and almost forgot about the whirly bit 2 feet from his head.They don't even have to be drunk. And you don't even have to be in motion. I may have told this one before, hard to remember with the Halfheimer's and all, but I had a dude get within a genital-hair's width of walking in to the prop of a Mitsi, once upon a time. I'm looking at him, he's looking at me. He's walking back to chalk the mains and I'm rapidly going from "ah, upon which couch shall I pick my nose today?" to "Hey, dude, wtf, stop walking, NO SERIOUSLY". It turns out that there's no obvious and universally recognized hand-signal for "STOP MOVING YOU MUPPET". Some presumably more experienced ramp rat buttonholed him at the last second but I swear it was inches. I'd already killed the fuel, but he would have been deader than disco if he'd gone a step or two further. I actually had nightmares featuring various scenarios of what person-bits would be flung where.
It's Siberia. Like any other cold and nasty place, "cooperation ups the chances of survival" works there. Iced up taxiways, pax pushed the 134 in position, loaded up and left.