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| Part 1 |
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"What are we doing today?" I whine with my face pressed against the passenger side window.
"The Johnson job over on 5th street, remember?" my dad replies. "Thirty-two square yards, vinyl in the kitchen and bathroom." I rub my eyes to get the crusty stuff out while Dad digs for another chew. Dad always wakes up a little later than he means to and usually dicks around long enough to let me get more cat-naps in. I swear he leaves tools at the house on purpose just so that he can get out of working as much as possible. |
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* * * |
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| For me growing up, my parents seemed like most important people on the planet and the idea of them being disappointed in me was one of my deepest concerns. I had no conception of the real world and where my parents fit on any social scale (or anywhere in evolution, for that matter). I just knew better not to make any mistakes or suffer the wrath of my father. So I remained fixated on doing their will, no questions asked. |
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* * * |
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This isn't how I wanted to spend my Saturday, but its getting harder all the time to bum beers off the guys. It was either doing this and making some money, or staying home and mowing the lawn or doing housework for nothing. |
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"Is anyone going to be home?" I ask.
"Just an old lady. She used to be a judge quite a while ago. She's an old battleaxe, lemme tell ya."
"Why, did you have to stand before her?" I poke.
"No...I don't think so. Pete had her a couple times though."
"That's not surprising."
"Shit, she must be pushing 90 or so..." Dad turns up the station and howls along in a southern twang I was always fond of. He always cracked me up when he sang. He didn't care if anyone was in the vicinity. Anytime someone would say a phrase in normal conversation and it resembled a line in a song he knew, Dad would interrupt them and belt out in song. |
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| We roll into the driveway of a one story house and bring our tools to the front door. The curtains rustled and a dog barked, as a very nude, very confused 90 year old lady opened the door. |
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| "...Gawd!" Dad grunts out. Both of our heads simultaneously roll downward, only to realize in horror that this naked, 90-some year old lady has NO BIG TOES. Dad completely lost it, so we went on a 2-hour tool run. |
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* * * |
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| Its remarkable how I grew up believing my father was essentially my God. He used to be such a strong, righteous man who I feared deeply. In time I would realize that my father is just another man trying to earn a living. He installs carpet and I try to help when I can. He didn?t attend college and I often question his capacity to take care of himself. And when I found myself inevitably disappointing my parents year after year with poor grades and anti-social behavior, I failed to realize that my development into an adult would be inseparable with my disappointment in who my parents really were. |
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* * * |
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Two hours later, a fully clothed Mrs. Johnson welcomed us in and offered me a drink she proudly concocted herself.
"It's just grape juice and 7-up." Thrusting the beverage in my direction.
"Gee thanks, Mrs. Johnson. Hey, this isn't too bad." |
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Part 2 |
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| "Man, I hate this fucking job." I say while my dad is out of the room. I throw the stapler down and swagger towards the bathroom. Dad always makes me staple the padding down while he drives around "to get more supplies." For all the time he's off getting supplies, he could be living a second life as a CIA operative. I'm on the 8th floor of a high rise residency for the elderly and we've been here well over a week. I hate old people. All morning they stroll across the pad that I'm trying to fasten down, with their wheelchairs and those walkers with the green tennis balls on the back legs. |
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| The most important thing about carpet installation, to me, is timing. Having to deal with any customers is the fucking worst. They either try to help out, or they talk your ear off about their banal existence, or they get in your way. So it's important to get on the site when they're at work and their kids are at school. Perhaps schedule a job when they're on vacation. Construction jobs aren't so bad except that you have to deal with the painters, or the electrician, or some other assholes that are as grouchy and punch-drunk as you. Motels are great for taking advantage of the swimming pool and arcade, before enjoying continental breakfast and HBO. However, the family gone on vacation scenario is the ultimate. My favorite on the job pastime is raiding the fridge and watching the game. Although I like to snoop around people's rooms and go through their shit, I never steal anything other than food or beer. |
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| Dad waltz' in with McD's breakfast in one hand and more staples in the other. I wolf down the rubbery sandwich and get back to stapling. You have to staple up close to the tack strip and then cut the overlapping parts off afterwards, all along the walls. It's easy, but the carpet blades go dull very quickly. |
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An old man with a walker gyrates his way through the corridor on his way to the elevator. On closer inspection, I notice a pretty large glob of pearl whiteness stuck to his pants on his lap.
Nah man, that couldnt be...could it?
He disappears inside the elevator as the doors close after him. |
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| After the pad is stapled down, we carry in the heavy rolls of carpet and lay them out so that the seems match. Then we stretch the carpet with the contraption made of steel tubes and claws. After that we trim and tuck the carpet into the walls and toss out the scraps. |
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"Dad, did you see that guy?" I ask.
"No, what's the matter?" he replies.
"That guy had some white stuff on his pants and...you didn't see that stuff?"
"No. What are you talking about?"
"Just wait till he comes back up." |
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| Only recently have we started getting high at on the job. Not necessarily together, but neither of us says anything when both of our eyes are bloodshot and slanted. |
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Sure enough, five minutes later the old man fires up the walker and comes barreling out of the elevator.
"Psst...Dad! Look." My Dad turns around and notices the white, sticky goo clinging to the old man's brown polyester pants.
"Ahhh Gawd...Godammit, man..." He mumbled.
I had never seen my dad exercise his gag reflex before, but this was a special occasion.
As the old man trailed off into the maze of corridors and back into his room to jerk off and wait for death, Dad disappeared into the restroom to collect himself. |
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