Home Alone and a Pallet Jack
As I write this story, I am sitting here watching the last of my family leave the house, leaving me alone with the dogs. It is senior picture taking day. One of the twins woke Elaine (and me) to get a check to pay for the senior pictures. Elaine and I weren’t invited to the actual photo session, but were required to get up early on this holiday weekend to write a check.
Full disclosure- I actually wasn’t asked to write a check. Elaine, solely received that invitation alone. However, I woke up when Elaine was sneaking down the stairs to write a check.
I remember my senior pictures. My mother paid for them. I’m pretty sure she didn’t tell dad.
Senior pictures would not been anything dad or for that matter, I would have needed.
A quick story, my hair was quite long my senior year. Mom was a little embarrassed at the length of my hair. We won’t talk about what dad thought about it. Mom had the photographer paint over the bottom four inches of my hair. If you have a copy of that photo, you have my permission to add four inches of hair. Oh well, cutting my hair for the photo made Mom happy.
The twin are taking pictures.
Labor Day weekend is also Wild West Knitting Retreat weekend. Elaine (and Ivy) are spending the weekend at Cherokee Park Ranch with the knitting and weaving attendees. Nope, the beervirus did not cancel the retreat. Beervirus tried, when the ranch said it was business as usual, the retreat was on. Of course, with social distancing and masks.
Incidentally, I might have giggled a little bit as I was helping set up the meet-n-greet at the ranch when I saw the staff, with cowboy hats, boots and paper masks.
I have the opportunity to attend the retreat, but I have decided to stay home with the dogs and swat flies.
It was a crazy week in my construction life this past week. As I might have mentioned, I have been working on a county owned facility for the past few months. I use the term “working” loosely because I really am just a babysitter. A babysitter for adult babies, and some of them work for the government.
Beervirus has pushed the schedule back. The building is being built with block walls. Beervirus closed the block factory. For the most part, the county (government) employees that are actually responsible for the construction of the have been understanding. Some of the county (government) employees that are waiting for a new office are not as understanding. Dare, I say jerks.
If you have read these stories, you might have come to the conclusion, I don’t mind dealing with jerks; being that I closely resemble one myself.
Last week the block arrived and the crew started constructing the walls. Today’s construction crews know or will find the best way to make their job easier. Each individual block is heavy. A pallet of blocks is really heavy. A pallet jack is used to move pallets of block.
The block layers were at lunch. Into my office trailer walked in who will be named County jerk #1.
County jerk #1: Do you have a pallet jack? Me: Sorry, no. Cj#1: Do you have my pallet jack? Me: Sorry, I don’t have any pallet jack. County jerk #2: (actually the head jerk): Whose pallet jack is that? (pointing out the door) Me: I don’t know, whose pallet jack is it? Cj#2: It’s ours. Aren’t you watching your guys? Me: Oh, that pallet jack belongs to the county taxpayers. Is that what you’re saying? Cj#2: You cannot use our tools. Me: Take the pallet jack, I will talk to the crew.
The crew is back from lunch.
Me: They don’t want you to use their pallet jack. Carl: Who doesn’t? I asked them. Me: You asked the wrong guy. Carl: Show me the guy who said I can’t use the pallet jack. Me: That’s a bad idea. Just let it go. Carl: They told me I could use it.
Me: Let it go.
My cell phone rings. I recognize the number. It is the county construction manager. I didn’t wait.
Me: We returned the (construction language) pallet jack.
Manager: Great, the emails are flying Me: The crew believes they had permission to use the pallet jack.
Manager: Why would they think that?
Me: Because they asked someone, Now the foreman want to kick Cj#2's (construction language).
Manager: You need to stop that from happening. Me: already did. You need to tell Cj#2 to educate his people as to what they can give permission for.
Later that day, a block layer came into my office trailer. He said "Sir, sir, we don't have toilet paper in the port-a-john".
Forty years, I've been doing this for forty years. I deserve a gold watch.
Our crazy lives!