When I was eighteen years of age I walked onto my first construction site. I didn't know shit from shinola.
I'd had an interview with my new boss the Friday before. He told me that there were certain things that were required for this job. He would provide me with a cloth apron that was provided to him by the local lumber company. I had to buy a hammer and loop, a keel ( a yellow carpenter's crayon), a carpenter's pencil (didn't know that they were passed out by the same lumber yards that proffered the apron), a chalk line, a large and small nail set, a 25' tape measure, a scriber, a flat bar ( Wonder Bar), a cat's paw, and a combo square.
That was quite an investment for an impecunious eighteen year old.
The promise was that I would be indoctrinated into the secrets and mysteries of the trade.
Well, that was bullshit. I learned how to carry brick and block and how to dig a good straight trench. Wait a minute, maybe that was part of the indoctrination.
Anyways, I carried tools and dug ditches for a bit of time and then the lead carpenter got fired for being drunk too often and I got to use the tools that Mario made me buy.
I don't mean that I got to be the lead carpenter. I mean that I got to carry tools for the (provisional) lead carpenter. And, because he was a lazy f*ck, I got to do more of the carpentry than I would have under a more sober teacher.
With his somewhat bilious encouragement, I progressed from a newb to a more or less decent apprentice.
I got a good chuckle out of that post. Another good one, Tom.
I think we must have started on adjoining sites. I worked construction in the summers in high school. At 16, I had never heard farts so loud that smelled so foul (I thought the old man was bad...) in my life. I remember that standing out. I was unfamiliar at the time with the term "beer fart".
I had a hammer, a cloth bag, a 25' Stanley tape, and for the most part could have left all of it in the truck. I carried more plywood, 2X4s and build up material than I thought would be needed for a small city.
When they thought I was dogging it, they made me sweep. Then they decided they didn't have to talk to me or have me in the way if I was sweeping, so that became part of my day as well. Since they decided I was too stupid to train, I swept so much I they bought me my own broom.
When I got out of high school, I went full time in construction. Sonovabitch if they didn't put me right back on the broom and mule work.
I had never seen full grown men drink until they quit speaking English. Everyone smoked like chimneys. Everyone was broke at the end of the week. Women got a good cussin' pretty often for causing a lot of grief, but the boys were pretty docile around their wives. My first boss would knock the living crap out of you if you "sassed" him.
If you wanted to go further, that old country boy would be glad to go behind the building with your anytime. Not advisable. Never saw him lose a fight.
Wow... how things have changed. About six months ago one of my guys - about 30 years old- came to me and told me I upset him because I called him some names in anger. I thought I was remarkably controlled. He was hurt. I cannot ever in my life imagine telling one of my fellow construction workers that he hurt my feelings because of something I called him.
Besides reaching the point of what was termed "trainable", I think what I learned that stayed with me was to take pride in my work. I worked with a couple of older fellas that were tremendously talented, and absolutely ingenious at their solutions in getting the job done with material on hand. I was glad to be their helpers when I was assigned to them.
Probably the most important thing I learned from them though had nothing to do with carpentry work. As much as my boss drank and as capricious as he was with his temper, he ALWAYS got the job finished, on budget and on time. He never, ever, made excuses. Not for him or for anyone that worked for him.
On the other hand, he was highly intolerant of them, too.
Not too much "fine wood working" for me in those days. It was a real treat when I got to go out on a really neat finish out project. My goals were simpler then, but hard to attain. Pay the rent and light, keep a little back for emergencies.
Boy were things simple, then. I didn't have much and didn't care. I remember that women were still fun (some say this is a trick that is played on the mind in middle age). I could still drink and then go to work the next day. I was in great shape as they worked me to death.
I didn't like those days much then, but they look pretty good now. Another middle aged mind game, maybe?
I knew things had changed when I wasn't looking and I noticed some of my employees referring to me and my similar vintage contracting associates as "the old dudes".
Boy. . . this brings back memories ! As a teenager in the late 40s in Indiana, there weren't many jobs to be found, especially for those without skills. A buddy was working in the *big city* (South Bend) as a hod carrier making around 4 bucks an hr. which to me was a fortune. I asked him what he does & he said just wheelbarrow bricks to a mason. I thought I can do that so I went to the union hall, signed up & waited . Next day I heard a yell for a hod carrier. I jumped up & the man behind the desk gave me an address. I showed up at a site where an old house was being renovated & some plaster work being done. The foreman asked if I was the hod carrier. Yeah, I said. Good, he said. . . grab that hod, they need mud on the second floor. For those who don't know, a hod is a *V* on a pole, with one end closed & other end open. The hod was on an upright 2X4 rack. I took it off & started to scoop it full of mud. The foreman screamed, WHAT IN HELL YOU DOIN' ? I said, OK I never did this before, but I can do it if you show me. He mumbled to the mixer guy to show me. & he put the hod in a rack & filled it with a shovel. I was a skinny kid with not much meat on my shoulders, & that hod filled was HEAVY . . . I had to struggle toting it up a ladder to the second floor & dumped it on a board. A plasterer scooped it up with a swipe & said, MORE MUD ! I made a few more trips till lunch time then when I returned, they had a check waiting. *We won't need you anymore*
I got fired a lot in those days, thinking back. But each time, I learned a little more. Once I was working with some carpenters & one of them asked You call yourself a carpenter ? I said, I said I was a carpenter, I didn't say a GOOD one ! He didn't enjoy the humor !
First job in Canada (part time) was as a gas jockey. I was one of 2 kids hired. The other kid got a bit lippy with one of the mechanics, and had his pants filled with several pounds of grease from an airpowered grease gun as a reward. The kid went home crying, just to come back with his older brother and his dad. They proceeded to to go through the garage and office with floor-jack handles and crowbars doing countless of thousands of dollars worth of damage, smashing everything that could be smashed. They then piled a whole bunch of rags on the shop floor and doused them in (I think) gasoline. Alcohol may have been involved. A couple of customers got involved at that time and prevented the place from getting burned down. Cops, fire engines, ambulances etc.
Quite a change from my job in Holland at a sleepy marina.
You are in the middle of some kind of project around the house: mowing the lawn, putting a new fence in, painting the living room, or whatever.
You are hot, sweaty, and covered in dirt or paint.
You have your old work clothes on.
You know: "the outfit" - shorts with the hole in crotch, old T-shirt with a stain from who knows what, and an old pair of tennis shoes.
Right in the middle of this great home improvement project you realize you need to run to Wal-Mart to get something to help complete the job.
Depending on your age you might do the following:
In your 20's:
Stop what you are doing, shave, take a shower, blow dry your hair, brush your teeth, floss, and put on clean clothes.
Then, you check yourself in the mirror and flex.
You add a dab of your favorite cologne because you never know, you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout lane.
You went to school with the pretty girl running the register.
In your 30's:
Stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts, shirt, and change shoes.
You married the hot chick, so no need for much else.
Then, you wash your hands, comb your hair, and check yourself in the mirror (still got it!).
You add a shot of your favorite cologne to cover the smell.
The cute girl running the register is the kid sister to someone you went to school with.
In your 40's:
Stop what you are doing, put a sweatshirt on that is long enough to cover the hole in the crotch of your shorts, put on different shoes, and put on a hat.
Then, you wash your hands.
Your bottle of Brute Cologne is almost empty, so you don't want to waste any of it on a trip to Wal-Mart.
You check yourself in the mirror and do more sucking in than flexing.
The spicy young thing running the register is your daughter's age and you feel weird thinking she is spicy.
In your 50's:
Stop what you are doing, put a hat on, and wipe the dirt off your hands onto your shirt.
Then, you change shoes because you don't want to get dirt in your new sports car.
You check yourself in the mirror, and you swear not to wear that shirt anymore because it makes you look fat.
The cutie running the register smiles when she sees you coming, and you think you still have it.
Then you remember the hat you have on is from Buddy's Bait & Beer Bar and it says, "I Got Worms."
In your 60's:
Stop what you are doing and hose the dog poop off your shoes.
There is no need for a hat anymore.
The mirror was shattered when you were in your 50's.
You hope you have underwear on so nothing hangs out the hole in your pants.
The girl running the register may be cute, but you don't have your glasses on so you are not sure.
In your 70's:
Stop what you are doing. You wait to go to Wal-Mart until they have your prescriptions ready too.
You don't even notice the dog poop on your shoes.
The young thing at the register smiles at you because you remind her of her grandfather.
In your 80's:
Stop what you are doing; start again; stop again.
Now you remember you needed to go to Wal-Mart.
Go to Wal-Mart and wander around trying to think what it is you are looking for.
You fart out loud, and you think someone called out your name.
You went to school with the old lady who greeted you at the front door
On Tuesday, I went over to a pub just outside the town I used to work in (about 25 miles away) and met with about a dozen of my old workmates, who are also now retired, and guess what we were doing :-)
My shop is right next door to a pub/restaurant like that... same old bunch there for coffee in the morning... going over the paper together and bitching the morning away... it's election time. Oct 14 we go again...and the same old guys will greet me warmest greetings... stuff like: "hey! Fuckface!" or they yell at the waitress: "get that sorry shit some coffee before he falls over...".. they're all 20+ years older than I, but we're becoming friends...*S*.. and we all roll our eyes when one of the local pig/chicken farmers walks by... ahhhmoniaaaaah....
Naaaa, I often walk out without paying, but I always tip btw, that's my shop..all the way to the right of the photo..in the back ground..*S* As you can see, not far to roll, I mean walk, after of few brewskis.
Yeah, but what they're *really* thinking is. "There's that dumb *S* Robatoy again. I'd toss him out on his ass, except that he calculates wrong once in awhile and I get a decent tip.
I left your area 4 years before this eatery was established.
When I returned, on my way to PH, I used to stop at a late night = watering hole on the 402 (before it became the 402) that we beer-chasers = called Mother's. =20
It's gone now too.
P D Q
Naaaa, I often walk out without paying, but I always tip btw, that's my shop..all the way to the right of the photo..in the back ground..*S* As you can see, not far to roll, I mean walk, after of few brewskis.
London Road was replaced by Highway 402...errrmmm which was The Queen's Highway # 7. Then when the 911 Emergency allocations were introduced, they did the switch to London Line as it runs West to East as 'Lines' do. That's what I was told...and whathehellwhynot? Locally, the stretch I'm on is always referred to as The Golden Mile.... for real...*G*
Seems to me that when that stretch of road gained its goldenness there = was a plethora of new/used car lots on it. Is this still so??
P D Q
brewskis.http://www.famousbacon.com/default.asp?q=3Dabout>> > That's the shop..that tiny box with that tractor/trailer parked in > > front...
London Road was replaced by Highway 402...errrmmm which was The Queen's Highway # 7. Then when the 911 Emergency allocations were introduced, they did the switch to London Line as it runs West to East as 'Lines' do. That's what I was told...and whathehellwhynot? Locally, the stretch I'm on is always referred to as The Golden Mile.... for real...*G*
s a plethora of new/used car lots on it. =A0Is this still so??
Nope. They're all over now. Mostly along the 'south side'... There are no new or used car dealers anywhere near me. There is a classy speed shop, Bimmers and AMG Benzes and a few Porsches.. It's always fun to wander through the bays with a coffee in my hand and looking for a sorry soul who wants to have a go at an Audi...
The 'Goldeness' was a bunch of new and high-end 'Motels'.
These days, they are enjoying a resurgence of updating and modernisation. The neglected ones have been bulldozed.
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