Not pictured: me working.
That’s right, I got a job in construction. Don’t laugh—no, seriously, stop laughing. I wore gloves and everything. I even had a sweet carpenters belt for five minutes before my boss told me it was slipping and I should probably take it off because I look ridiculous. The belt was quickly taken off.
I work with…well, I don’t know how else to say this…Mexicans. They are all very cool, but I’m only all too aware that I am the only white person in the group. My Spanish isn’t that good either. As I started piling things in the wheelbarrow, I pretended that Jose and Rafael were silently rooting for me, whispering to each other, “Look at him lift that wheelbarrow…go Gringo! GO! GO! GO!” Suddenly the damn thing tipped over spilling out half the contents I had spent so much time putting in. I made an O face, turning my whole body to see their reactions, but both ignored me as they did something useful.
Yes, I’m quite useless on a construction site. These guns never won any prizes, nor do I know all that much about construction work (well, I did build a house in Mexico, but that says more about my abilities to follow orders rather than any extreme knowledge in building shit.) The Mexicans didn’t really know what to do with me either, so they put me to work on remedial jobs that kept me quiet and out of the way. I swept a lot.
Coming woefully unprepared, I didn’t even have water or lunch. Although I didn’t see any of the workers drinking, not once, so I figured it was either not allowed or a test of manhood, which I readily participated in—although my mouth was SO dry. I ended up driving to Andronicos to buy a sandwich, but became sour when I realized my lunch was going to cost almost an hour’s worth of work. It wasn’t until after lunch that I spotted one of the workers taking a secretive sip of water, and then I felt better.
Ten minutes on the job I was sweating profusely, and as I finished raking the ground I realized I was quite out of shape and this would probably be very good for me. Whenever my Mexican coworkers talked to each other in Spanish I liked to create subtitles for them. They went a little like this:
Rafael: “This new kid…he’s not bad.”
Pedro: “He’s got a beard just like us! Very impressive.”
Rafael: “We should invite him out for drinks after this.”
Pedro: “I will buy him a drink, and if he declines it, I will give him a supportive pat on the back.”
Rafael: “And I shall do the same!”
Pedro: “Should we just give him an encouraging pat right now?”
Rafael: “No, no, we cannot show him that we’ve been talking about him. Hand me the hammer and look like you’re measuring shit.”
Not pictured: Pedro and Rafael patting me on the back.
I smiled at them and shook my head just the tiniest fraction. Those guys, how much I appreciated their support. Then Rafael had me move fifteen foot-long timbers and I no longer felt his appreciation. Especially because I literally had to move them three feet away from where they currently were laying. This whole operation took me two hours of back breaking, arm straining, and splinter catching work. Jose walked up and grabbed three of these long boards at once and walked away to saw them. I then proceeded to show off my manhood as well, but then I realized carrying only two would be better, before settling on just one. Safety first.
So for my first day of construction work I swept, took down drywall, picked up nails, and moved wood. I felt empowered! I felt like I was living during the first Great Depression and I was in one of those government programs designed just to get people to do something so they don’t kill themselves. Instead of moving rocks, like they used to, I was moving timber. It didn’t matter that I was getting paid, jus that I was being productive. Okay, so it mattered that I was getting paid. Yes, I was doing the work of a elementary school dropout, but god damn it I was being paid for it!
When my dad walked into the house later that day he asked, “Why are you in your pajamas.” I told him he could go punch himself in the face. Okay, I didn’t say that, but I sat there with my glass of water and glass of ice cold soda and I just stared at him without answering. I was tired. Really tired. I raised my glass of soda to Pedro, Jose, and Rafael. “Here’s to you guys.” My first day was over.
Not pictured: my dad punching himself in the face.
…Okay, so the one guy’s name wasn’t Pedro, but I can’t for the life of me remember! I’ll have to listen in tomorrow and see what they call him. I hope to god they call him Pedro, because that would be both a win for me and super hilarious.
