[101] Screed City

[101]

02/21/2022 Monday. Cushioned Stool. Room 410. Home 2 Suites by the Albany Airport. Albany, New York.

I mean, I was planning on doing something different tonight, but it is too early to go to bed and I am too tired and annoyed to just watch television or something. I mean, whatever. You know how I operate.

The general lay of the land. Sally is funny but annoying as hell when it comes to working. I mean, she is the perfect ground guy. Always looking for busy work that means she doesn't have to go up in the lift. But she says a lot of words that just make things harder. Like:

"Well, how about you just send us home with a full day of pay and then call us back when get your shit together." I mean, fyi anyone that is working on a job site that has been abandoned for eight weeks and the job is basically starting afresh, maybe let the guy in charge figure some shit out before you makes snide comments like this. They don't help.

Allan is nice. He is a large beefy man that asks a lot of good questions but then apologizes for asking questions. I like him. No signs of racism yet. I mean, I think he is slightly afraid of heights and is kind of too large for some of the snake-work we have to do on these jobs. I mean, he said he hasn't worked since October, which is never a good sign. And his hands shake. But whatever, I will take his positive attitude.

The other guy, Billy, he is a know-it-all. And I think, I don't know for certain, but from what I understand from what Sally said, he is one of the guys that got into a skiff with Harold. Who, last time we were here was running the job but he has since quit because of unadulterated racism on the job site. And I think the other guy that caused Harold to quit was the same asshole from the last time that called his own eleven year old daughter a bitch. I mean, if I have to let anyone go it will be Billy. I have the Big Bosses permission on that.

I mean, yeah. Things aren't as tense this time. Maybe because there isn't a Black person running the job. That is speculation, but it certainly feels like it. Because, I mean, nothing else has changed. Poor Harold is all I can say. These animals are toxic.

The job itself is moving along okay. The stage is a horrible mess. I think the pipe fitters are going to move their shit tomorrow. Which means we will have full use of the stage. Which is good. I mean, we will just fill it up with our own crap, but that will be better than driving half a mile to the connex every time a bolt is missing. I mean, I had to drive to the shop after work to get more supplies. Like threaded rod and a Hilti gun and a SDS drill. And adhesive. I mean, I don't know. Today went much better than expected. Aside from having to explain every single detail to the crew. And then having Sally trying to go home and Billy telling me exactly what we did wrong and how to do it right. I mean, it is like working with a three-man team of Squirts. Squirts meaning Andrew, the Millennial Mozart of Stage Rigging. I say that ironically. He is the opposite of that. I mean, he is a Millennial, but his idea of work is blaming somebody else because it didn't get done. I mean, I have spoken extensively about my feelings about this. And I am on his side. But still, at least these union boobs actually know how to work. When it comes down to it. They will do what I tell them to do no questions asked. I mean, unless I show the tiniest bit of doubt, then they pounce like overpaid alley cats. I mean, overpaid is the wrong word. Exactly-paid but with the skill set of a different job. So for this work they are just a glorified peanut gallery.

We got the one head block up that we needed to. Which, I mean, that went surprisingly well. We were able to rig a come-along in a way that I was able to install it by myself with almost no lifting. We almost got the arbor put in, but the shoes are the wrong size so now we have to wait on I Weiss to send another set. Which, I am not holding my breath about it. I mean, it is the first line-set, so as far as line-sets are concerned it is the best one to have to wait on. In theory. I mean, it would be better if the shoes fit. And not only that, but the stage weight for the arbor need to be smaller and I don't remember seeing different sized stage weight. But it has to be there, right? There were supposed to be two of the smaller arbors. Which would stand to reason that they would send some smaller stage weight too, right? I mean, I will find out soon enough.

Going back to the shop kind of stank. I couldn't find all the shit I needed because it is in Buffalo with the other crew. But I think I can do what I need to do with what I got. I mean, the adhesive and the threaded rod was really the big thing. And the SDS drill. I mean, the rope lock system is going to be a pain in the ass. I found out today. It needs to be blocked up 1 and a half inches. I wanted to use Unistrut but there was none at the shop and I didn't have it in me to figure out how to go to the storage unit to find some. There are other solutions. And as long as we can set good anchors it won't be a problem. I mean, in theory we get that in tomorrow. We move the loft blocks that need to be moved and then it is just HANG PIPE! HANG PIPE!

I mean, we have that one set of dead hangs, which is nothing. I mean, I don't mean to be optimistic, but this job is maybe not going to be the albatross that it was seeming it would be. However, remember last time when I got the scissors lift stuck on the loading bridge and nearly died? Well, now the railing on the lift is broken. Luckily we noticed before we were getting back into the lift after hanging that head block. I mean, it is one thing to have to crawl over a railing to get into a scissors lift at forty feet in the air, it is another thing entirely to do it with a broken railing on the scissors lift. I mean, as I was doing it I was thinking about the OSHA 10 training I just received. This is the kind of thing that becomes a problem on the quiz. What did the workers do wrong that could have prevented the fatality? I mean, all those questions have one single answer that is universal:

The idiots showed up to work.

I mean, in theory we will have a new lift tomorrow. Hopefully one that isn't pure junk like the one we have. One whose safety features are actually a detriment. I mean, the lift we have is a menace to Society. It needs to be taken out of circulation.

I had a burrito for lunch. Alone. It was kind of depressing. Normally I am into eating lunch alone. Catching up on some hot gossip in the tabloids. But today was me walking as fast as I could to the burrito shop. Sucking the thing down Garfield-style. Then running back to get annoyed with boobs. Boobs that just sit in their trucks all lunchtime chain smoking cigarettes and probably listening to the new Rush Limbaugh. Whoever that is. I mean, all I can say that is nice about doing these racist union jobs is that you start at 7a and you are done at 3p. No other options. No, let's do this one more thing. No, give me a second while I figure this out. It is, 3p, the day is over. Now get in the van and drive for an hour in traffic to get a bunch of stuff you didn't know you needed. Then drive back to your hotel room. Tickle the ivories as fast as possible and maybe get some sleep. Do it again tomorrow.

I mean, Augustin is hot on my heels with the Hilarious edit. Teresa is hot on my heels with the Dishwasher edit. Shane is hot on my heels with the Donkey BOT [Book on Tape.] And I can barely use my right index finger because it has a dime-sized blood blister because I managed to catch my finger in-between some metal and some other metal today. I mean, I can't catch a break.

I have a Cubby Bubby for dinner. Some potato chips if I want. All the homemade Ticklers I can drink. I mean, I will need to go to the grocery at some point to get more coffee and maybe some sandwich stuff. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow. I mean, on Wednesday I think I will go down to G's school and take them out to dinner. As it is, there is nothing stopping me. I mean, I guess I can go to the grocery tomorrow after work. Which, I mean, that is something to do, I suppose. I mean, Albany. I could hit the Hooters on wang night. Maybe check out the gyro place that Allan suggested. I mean, I never really like spending my evenings at Shenanigans, but for some reason it is kind of depressing to not even have the option. I mean, what? Am I going to go there alone? Get some apps? I mean, I think there is karaoke down the road. I could go test out some stand-up material. I mean, whatever. I just want to get some sleep. Have a better idea about things tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

I mean, I don't know. I guess that is it. My arms are sore. My face is dry and red. My index right index finger is pulsing. I would take a shower but I don't think I have the energy. I mean, at least the money is coming in, right? I can pay my taxes and give the landlord some WAM [Walking around money.] I mean, good ol' Capitalism strikes again. Three boobs that are almost useless with ignorance. A Foreman that was considered so sketchy just three months ago that the Big Boss had to take Scott aside and wonder what the fuck is up with him? Now he is running a million dollar job for some reason. I mean, I boot-strapped my way to the top, boys! All you have to do is just stand right where you are and wait for the system to crumble around you. I mean, at least I am finally making the amount of money I deserved 10 years ago. All it took was a global pandemic and the incompetence of the entire managerial "Elites." If I am not careful I may just own this company in the next few years. I mean, by that logic, I don't know if I should do more things or less things. If I do more I will get less, but if I do less I will get more, but if I get more I will have to do more, which means I will get less. I mean, it really is a mobius-pickle going on around here.