Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
"We Three"
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tote that barge, lift that bale!
My little community college is erecting a behemoth of a student center. It is at least as big as our new library, and that's four freaking stories tall. Yesterday, I sat on the patio of self-same library for a few, soaking up the vitamin D, and watched the workers. Now, the frame is all up, the walls are (mostly) bricked in, and the roof is about half shingled. It seems to me that it hasn't changed at all from the beginning of the semester, in January. I saw about 10 guys, in their little orange vests and white hardhats, just ambling about. None of them stayed still for very long, but none of them did anything as well. They shuffled from one end of the room I could see into to the other, several times, sometimes actually carrying something, a bucket, a tool belt. The one working the backhoe stood and watched his pal write things in a notebook. One guy climbed up to the roof, apparently just to look at it, because he immediately climbed back down. Funnily enough, he was the biggest of all of them, up there on that scaffold. Now, I know the economy sucks, and, if it were me, I wouldn't be in a hurry to finish a paying job either. But, guys, you've got to look busier! I know someone was working as I could hear an electrical tool buzzing somewhere in the guts of the monster. I figured that was where the foreman was at the moment.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment