Work

Letters To Friends: 2003 Chapter 1. Work
I came across some old things in my computer and thought "What the hell"


I've been spending a little too much time introspectively lately. Fortunately I have been able to get some of my thoughts on paper for others to understand some of what I deal with on a daily basis.
I was in a store the other day buying duct-work for a range-hood that we were installing at one of my jobs. There I am, having a great day, waiting calmly for my order to be filled (I'm getting paid so they could have taken all day for all that I care) and there is this guy standing next to me waiting for his order as well. He is sort of standing there looking at me as though deciding to impart the meaning of life on my my poor unworthy soul. Then he speaks.
First of all let me describe the situation in a little greater detail. We are standing in this dingy warehouse in South-Boston where there are mountains of metal surrounding us. There isn't a person in sight or any reference at all that could have prompted this train of thought. He is a native Bostonian, barely an "R" to be found in his alphabet (I heard him place his "ordah"). I turn to him and give him the head nod ( the universal greeting of blue-collar workers), which apparently means that is his cue to spew forth his thought-provoking inquiries on the more refined, deeply philosophical points of our existence.
"Dude", he begins. " How come dey don make hookahs legal in bostun".
I was blown away. Here I am minding my own business, prepared only to perhaps exchange platitudes with some schlep that is stuck in the same place as me with a similar job as me.
"Um", was the only utterance of mine before he could continue his amazing thought, although the look of bewilderment on my face must have relaxed him into thinking we were of a similar mind-set.
" Yeah, I know, den deyd be REALLY expensive". He continued, "Shit, if it wah legul I'D be out dere bangin' all sorts a chicks and gettin friggin paid fah it".
"Yeah... right", I said, hoping that Alan Funt would step out from behind a pile of gleaming tin and tell me with a big toothy grin that I was on "Candid Camera". No such luck. This was the real deal.
He then began to regale me with his war stories about what a " great fuckin lay" he was, or so he had been told by the greater Boston metropolis, and how he'd be " a fuckin millionaih if only dose stoopid pricks in dah state house wood make it legul".
Now, I'm no great judge in aesthetics when it comes to men, but this guy looked like he had fallen out of the "ugly tree" and hit every branch on the way down. He was not, what you'd call, a pretty man. I was having a hard time believing that he could get laid in a whorehouse with a fist-full of fifties on amateur night. Yet nonetheless, there he stood, hips in motion, imparting his "Trade Secrets" to me. Now I ask you, what exactly is it about me that would prompt a seemingly normal person to talk to me while gazing off into some other world and gyrating up against the reception desk that we were standing at? I almost felt that he needed to be left alone for a couple of minutes to finish up. The really weird thing was that just as he was really getting into it, (he was spanking the desk by this point) the guy filling the orders came around the corner with his order and he completely snapped out of his little world, received his order, gave me the contractor nod and left without saying a word.
I felt so cheap... so used. I felt as though he had just raped my cheery, sunny afternoon right there in front of me over the reception desk in this dingy,dark warehouse as I stood there frozen in shock. I was slack-jawed and speechless by now.
The guy filling the orders had apparently been listening to this little rant and watching us from around the corner for a couple minutes. He could barely contain his laughter until the guy left, and when he did, told me all about my facial expressions during this whole interaction. He nearly fell on the ground recounting what I looked like, and then laughed even harder when he realized that I hadn't gotten over the shock of the situation and still had the same look of bewilderment on my face. I don't remember much of the rest of that afternoon...
I'm not exactly sure why I am telling you this now, other than to have you try to understand the brand of people I deal with in my life every day.