You Go To College for That?

One time the guy I was working for took me along to look at a job.  The job was located on a radar site.  There were a large number of steel poles set up.  They must have been 60 feet tall.  The poles were used to send signals into space and receive other signals back and transfer them into the building.

There must have been 10 to 15 poles all in a cluster on the grounds of the site.  We were walking among the poles, looking over the job.  The boss said to the man in charge of the whole project; “When these leaf out it should be nice and cool down here.”

Being warm in the winter and cool in the summer is a major concern in North Dakota and Montana.

The boss had a good sense of humor.  His wife related a story to me of one of the stunts he pulled.

The two of them had gone down to visit their son in college.  As they approached the front entrance to the main office building of the college, they could see some workmen on the roof working on something behind one of the parapets.

Of a sudden the boss broke into a run towards the building, waving his arms frantically and yelling; “Don’t jump!  Don’t jump!”  His wife was thoroughly embarrassed, as there was no one attempting to jump.  There was only the work going on behind the parapet.

Apparently, it didn’t get back to anyone in authority to come and see who needed to be rescued.

The company was located in a small town with a local college.  A motel had decided to turn some of their rooms into apartments to rent to the students.  As we entered a room to assess the job, the kids inhabiting the room were in various stages of undress.

It was a room full of boys and girls, lying about on the beds and couch.  There was no way to misunderstand what was going on in the room.  Additionally, the room’s occupants did not seem the least bit concerned that they were under observation by complete strangers.  They practically ignored us.

As we were leaving, walking the one block back to the shop I noted; “I didn’t know you had to go to college to learn how to do that.”

The reaction was not what I expected.  His neck stiffened.  His walk altered.  I could tell that he didn’t like my comment.

It was only later that I learned that his only son was in college at the time.

The Forty Foot Ladder

Sometimes I can’t remember if I came up with the joke first, or if I got the idea from someone else.  Whenever I would come home from work, my wife would ask about me day; “How was your day?  Did you have any trouble?  Did you get hurt?”  (Why would she ask that?)

One day I planned to reply; “It was O.K.  I just fell off of a forty foot ladder.”

After an appropriate amount of screaming and concern I planned to say; “It’s O.K.  I was standing on the bottom rung.”

However that day one of my wife’s old friends was visiting.  When she visits with an old friend everything else is forgotten.  I knew that she wouldn’t be concentrating on what I said, thus she wouldn’t say the words in the right way and the joke would probably fall flat.  But I am persistent.  So I walked in and just blurted out; “I just fell off a forty foot ladder today.”

My wife’s friend said in a very dry way; “Did you bounce?”

I never tried pulling her leg again.

Another person I would never mess with was an old painter.  He was very particular about his work.  He wouldn’t stand for anyone messing it up.  When he finished a hardwood floor he would holler; “Take off your shoes.”

My boss at the time wasn’t as particular.  He wore those rubber overshoes with the buckles, and he would leave the buckles unfastened.  He would walk through mud, snow, rain, heat, whatever, and charge right into a building without a second thought.

One time as he was about to enter a room with a floor the old painter had finished, the painter called out to him; “Are your feet clean?”

The boss retorted; “They should be, I washed them this morning.”

I was headed out the back door to get something out of my pick up and heard a sound up front.  I went to investigate and saw my boss rapidly exiting the building, … with the old painter holding/directing him by the scruff of the neck.

I quickly snuck around the back of the building so that no one would know I had observed the whole event.

When I got back to the shop I told the boss; “I didn’t think to tell you that the painter is rather touchy about his floors.”

The boss said; “He is kind of fussy isn’t he.”

I Wonder What Ever Happened to What’s His Name

You may have noticed that I do not use some given names of people I write about in these blogs.  In some cases it may be because I’ve forgotten the name.  In other cases, I don’t wish to precipitate a desire for anyone to take legal umbrage at my recollections.  It would be pretty difficult to say that more than one person with the same name had the same experience on the job when they were working with me.

You probably remember High Pockets; his story isn’t too far back.  I saw High Pockets one more time.  We were working on raising the roof of a malt shop.  At that time not every place had air-conditioning.  The roof was being raised to allow room for additional insulation and also for extra venting in the attic.  The flow of air would cool off the building below.

Wouldn’t you know it, High Pockets was running the job.  A ladder was set up in the center of the room so we could get in and out of the attic space.  I only had a little wiring to do and I believe that I got it all done in one trip.  When I entered the attic, there were High Pockets and his carpenters.

In an enclosed space, and with three carpenters and one electrician, each supplied with a hammer, the pounding was nearly non-stop.  I say “nearly” non-stop because every once in a while, for some reason or other, all of us would stop at the same time.  The cessation of pounding would cause the owner of the malt shop to walk across the floor, ascend the ladder, and try to ascertain why everyone had stopped working.

That would make High Pockets mad.  He was on his knees with his hammer in his hand like he was going to pop him one.  Each time that happened I worried about the continued life expectancy of the owner.  However, before the owner’s head showed up through the access hatch we would once again resume pounding.

I’m sure the carpenters pounded on a piece of wood just to make a sound, whether it was construction or not.  I know I did.  I thought of it as preserving the owner’s life.  I have no idea what happened to High Pockets.  I never saw him again.

One day my boss and I stopped in at the malt shop for a cup of coffee.  The proprietor/owner hurried over pointing to the tools in the bosses back pocket.  (The boss always carried a few tools in his back pocket.  He never used a tool pouch or a small tool kit.  That’s where I learned the habit, good or bad.)

The malt shop proprietor was concerned lest the tools cause damage to his seating.  The boss reached back and handed the tools to the proprietor handles first; “See, they won’t scratch anything.”

The proprietor said he had just recovered all the seats with leather.

To tell you the truth, I‘m sure some of the bosses tools had the sharp side up…..