The next job was in an older home. We were redoing a laundry room and bathroom. The walls were lath and plaster and my job was to smooth it down so drywall could be hung over it. I wasn’t at that job site long before I was sent down the street to work on a floor. This house was an older home as well and they were having tile put in the kitchen. The stuff we were laying down was for the tile to be put on top of. So the nails had to be sunk in because it could cause the tiles to break once they were stepped on. So I made sure they were sunk to a good level. I ran out of nails. She told me to hit every other mark, and I did exactly as I was told, but somehow it was my fault that we had run out of nails. “Go get another box. I’m not paying you for the trip”. Maybe I had done something wrong, but if I had done what I was told to do, then why couldn’t she point out what I had done wrong so I wouldn’t do it again? I returned with the box of nails and was told to go back up to the other house and clean up. “Oh, by the way. If an inspector shows up, don’t say anything to him, just tell him I’m somewhere else.” Huh? Inspector? I laughed a little and said kidding said, “What, you don’t have permits?” I was joking, but I had apparently hit a nerve. “Hey, don’t question me on that. You just say that you’re here to clean up, that’s all. You don’t know about anything else.” Hmmm. When I got back to the house, the owner started asking me about pipes, and wires, and other things that I couldn’t answer. I told her she was down the street working on a floor. “But, she’s not done here!” She asked where she was, so I told her just down the street, you could see her truck in the yard. “I’ll be right back. You wait outside.” So, I got my things and sat down on the porch and waited until the owner came back. When the owner returned, my friend was driving behind them. They got out and I stood up, ready to start clean up. “You.” my friend grunted, “You clean up this shit in the yard, put my tools back into the truck and come get me when you’re done”. So I did, rather sheepishly. I really hadn’t done anything wrong that I could think of. I couldn’t answer the questions the owner was asking me because I didn’t know exactly what they were doing and I thought it best if my friend answered the questions, which apparently was the wrong idea.
After cleaning up the yard and putting the tools away, I went back inside to tell my friend that I was done. “Ill tell you when you’re done” she said, dropping her hammer and stalking out the front door. Once we got to the yard she whipped around, “What do you mean sending them down to the other house to question me? All you had to do was clean the shit up inside and outside.” I took a step back. “They started asking me a bunch of questions that I couldn’t answer! What was I supposed to do? Make shit up?” She rolled her eyes and shoved her cellphone in my face. “You got one of these, right? Use it, shithead! Next time, just call me and put them on the phone. Don’t EVER send them to me, got that? Now go home.”
She paid me for the days work, minus the trip for the nails, and I drove home with a sinking feeling that something wasn’t right. Something was rotten in Denmark.
I was about to find out.
-- "Creativity is...seeing something that doesn't exist already. You need to find out how you can bring it into being and that way be a playmate with God."