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July 29, 2008
Sober painting
One of the best parts of doing sweaty, dirty construction work is the delicious taste of an ice cold beer at the end of the day. They just go together, like nacho chips and good salsa.
This is not to be confused with alcohol DURING the day, which is why I still resent my father for putting me in the painting bucket controlled by the drunk crane operator when I was a kid. Crashing into the side of the plant was a terrifying moment for me. I should point out that it is vaguely miraculous that I wasn't killed while working for my dad when I was a kid. Dad thought OSHA stood for Occupational Safety Hazard Area. He had this crazed foreman who regularly tried to kill me while he was raging. One time our PTO mower attachment had become bound up in some barbed wire, and this crazy man made me climb under it to remove the wire while he sat on the tractor. When he began to get angry, he engaged the PTO while I was under there. I only had a clip to the head, but again, terrifying. The same guy shoved my head into a fermenting tank filled with CO2 when I didn't believe that it wasn't breathable. Zods, I miss Walter.
There was also the forklift with no brakes, which I crashed on a fairly regular basis. There was the punch press from 1920 that mulched a guy's hand, with me replacing him at the exact same position, plus I had to take him to the hospital, and he bled on my Baja Bug's new interior. There was the idiot welder who had me stand in water when he closed the contact with a Lincoln 440 Welder. It was just like how they show it on tv, but more painful. It didn't help that my dad's gay son was rather clueless and would rather have been reading a book than working cattle or welding. I was pretty careless and would break rather expensive things, or accidentally burn things down. I sure did enjoy the job of burning tumbleweeds in the ditches. I don't see how families in NYC don't have electric cattle prodders or propane burners. They have tons of uses.
So now, after all that, I enjoy construction. I like working with my hands. Unfortunately, I can still be careless, which is why I mulched the left side of my thumb and let it get infected. It was getting rather gross, so I went to the doctor, who put me on antibiotics.
And now I can't have that cold beer waiting for me in the fridge. It's taunting me.
Posted by G at July 29, 2008 09:58 PM
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Comments
this is a great example of what separates gen-x from gen-y. gen-y'ers, with their over-protective parents and the new warning-label society, just aren't going to have these kind of stories. and sorry about the beer.
Posted by: kel at July 30, 2008 01:43 AM
MMM, cold beer, ( said Homer Simpson like) I'll have one for you....but you owe me.
Posted by: allen tosh at July 30, 2008 03:36 PM
Um, just, sorta, EEWH! In general. (Boys! *giggle*)
Posted by: goblinbox at July 30, 2008 03:54 PM
Wow, we must have been separated at birth. My brother and I have compared notes on working for my father and the numerous ways he tried to kill or maim us while we were working with heavy equipment.
Like you, against all good sense, I enjoy doing construction and repair projects. Though, I don't think anyone, not even the old man could ever get me to mow a 45 degree embankment on a tractor ever again.
Sorry about the thumb and the beer.
Posted by: Tony at July 31, 2008 04:41 PM
I certainly have wanted to have an electric cattle prod in my hand when encountering a crowd of tourists blocking a sidewalk or some couple walking along slower than a turtle! :)
BTW, don't worry about the beer. Beer tastes terrible! What? You don't think so? Well, fine, then go ahead and miss the beer! I suppose we couldn't have offered you a mixed drink anyhow. Probably just the general EtOH issue, eh?
Posted by: Jess at August 2, 2008 01:21 PM
it's amazing you're alive. damn man. lol. enjoy the beer. (fruedian slip, i originally typed bear, instead of beer - either way, enjoy!)
Posted by: kyle at August 3, 2008 11:01 AM