[111] Screed City

[111]

03/07/2022 Monday. Cushioned Stool. Room 204. Room 2 Suites by the Airport. Albany, New York.

Be careful what you ask for. As we were working today my whole plan to gold-brick the next couple days started to become very complicated. I mean, Allan called in sick. Said he was feeling unwell and didn't want to get anyone sick. Which, I mean, had the work site not been such a dust bowl complete with aggravating factors I would have called in sick last week. Which, I mean, I didn't. I should feel horrible about that. Or at least I should have taken a covid test just to be sure. But I didn't. I mean, the reason I wasn't worried about it was because I very much had dust clogging my tear ducts and my nose was crammed full of dust and dust-like particles. I mean, I can justify it all I want, but I was very irresponsible and now I am going to hell, but Allan didn't show up today. Which, I mean, he didn't show up one day the week before because he torqued his wrist. And something tells me he is the kind of guy that calls out of work on a regular basis. I mean, he is an iron worker that is afraid of heights, so what does that tell you? But I do apologize to humanity if I in fact got him sick.

So, no Allan. Which, I mean, that was good, I thought. Me and two boobs can gold-brick better than me and three boobs. I mean, the fewer gold-brickers the less obvious is my motto. And boy did we gold-brick. We gold-bricked like the wind. I mean, I didn't do any work. Just told the boobs what to do. I mean, I thought I was really killing it. But I wasn't. Things were moving at an alarming pace. The lighting pole for the arbors went up with zero hitch. The mid-stage traveler didn't confuse the boobs nearly as much as I thought it would. We were able to level and zip-tie four of the line sets. We even did a partial install of the first line set arbor. The one that needs new shoes. I mean, we tied the op line to the top of it. Ran the op line through the rope lock. Lifted it up to the top of the bottom crash rail. Landed it on it. Secured it. Secured the rope lock. Raised and secured the floor block. Put some caution tape around so nobody messes with it without knowing. I mean, I hope we gave the concrete dudes enough space so they don't destroy anything. I mean, I don't know how to prevent them from fucking shit up around there. Part of me thinks we should cover that area, the whole bottom of the arbors and floor blocks with plastic. I don't know if I have it in me to do that though. My work ambitions are a little frustrated at the moment. I Wiess didn't send enough 280 track. I mean, I just today noticed that there is supposed to be an upstage traveler. Which also means that we need all the hardware that goes with it. I mean, I don't remember someone telling me that we were cutting a traveler from the project. And, I mean, the more I look at the blooper prints the more I realize how very vague they are. And the only other drawings we have are shop drawings. I mean, I should have taken a picture of all the information we had for the lighting pole for the arbors. I mean, it might as well have been drawn on a beer soaked cocktail napkin. I mean, it was nothing. And I maybe could have been able to decipher something had I had a magnifying glass like some boob-pirate Sherlock Holmes. I mean, I just let out a sigh thinking about it.

I mean, we also hung the truss for the first line set off of the second line set. For safe keeping. Which brings me back to my original point. I went up to the load bridge to get the thing into weight. I had to add six full bricks to get the job done. Which is whatever, things take weight, but as I was doing this I had to hold the op line to the side so I could get the bricks into the arbor. Which is whatever. I also had to do this through the railing that shouldn't be there, which is also whatever. But twice as I was putting the bricks inside the arbor they rubbed against the op line. And see if you can guess what happened? I will give you a second to think about it. MmmHmm. Yeah, yeah, okay.

What happened was the fucking stage weights cut the fucking op line. Like cut it, cut it. Like, do that again twenty times and there is going to be an issue. A very big issue. Even doing it once is a huge issue. Your stage weights shouldn't be cutting your op line when you use them. They just shouldn't. It is a problem now, it will be a problem in the future. I mean, it is a very big issue that needs to be solved immediately. And since the only way to solve the issue is to grind the edges off of these fucking stage weights, it looks like we will be spending all of tomorrow and probably half of Wednesday with a couple grinders up on the load bridge finishing a job that we paid I Wiess to do. And on top of that, there are already four stage weights that are too big. Like won't fit into the arbors big. Which, I was just going to mail back to I Wiess one at a time C.O.D. [Cash On Delivery,] but it turns out that Billy can run a plasma cutter so we are going to do a scissors lift/plasma cutter swap with the steel guys on Wednesday. I mean, I am in the process of writing an email to the Big Boss and Scott about how much and how extensively I Wiess can suck it. I mean, there is a litany of bullshit. An unbelievable litany of bullshit. I mean, they suck. I have been telling people they suck for years. I mean, I think BMI is not using them anymore, but so what? They have been shit for nearly a quarter of a century now. I mean, even if we take our business away it probably won't matter. The Ponzi Scheme has been completed. There is no way they can fail now. And if you think they are the only company out there that does shit like this you are wrong. 99% of them do this shit. But it doesn't matter because of the way our "Capitalism" works they can just cover their losses with other new contracts ad infinity. And by the time the new clients realize that they are garbage it is already too late. They have no choice but to stick with them or they themselves will lose the cost that I Wiess has transferred onto them. I mean, Over A Barrel Capitalism is what we should call American Capitalism. Or BlackMail Capitalism. I mean, it has the appearance of a free market, but it is anything but free. Loan Shark Capitalism? I mean, I am having trouble expressing what exactly I mean because there is no way to stop it. Like the whole "Too Big To Fail," bullshit from the banks. I mean, you rig with the Ponzi Scheme you have, not with the Ponzi Scheme you want.

I mean, that very depressing update aside, Sally managed to convince we to let Allan go for the rest of the week. I mean, I hope I did the right thing. I mean, I listened to her. And then I consulted Billy, who I guess is their leader, whatever that means. All he said was "Whatever you wanna do." And then I said "I really don't want to take any work away from anyone. I just don't think we need him here." And he said "Just tell me what you want." And I sighed. Sally texted the guy. I mean, he has to come in tomorrow to get his tools. Which are pretty funny. A tape measure, a little plastic box of a ratchet and a couple sockets that is taped together, and a bottle of WD 40. I mean, I really hope there isn't any drama. I mean, what the fuck do I care? I mean, sure, two gold-bricking boobs is better than three gold-bricking boobs, but still, it is not like the amount of boobs I have changes anything. I mean, you could have a thousand boobs rigging on stage for a thousand years and you would never get the job done. But, I mean, I think I got played by Sally. She just really doesn't like Allan. And in her defense, he is kind of very useless. But the bar for that uselessness is very low. I mean, the boobs aren't really there to think, or to even have to think about thinking, so, I mean, I don't know what I mean. I just hope I am up on the loading bridge with a grinder in my hand when he shows up. I mean, Sally just called me. She said that she heard back from him. That he would be by to get his tools. That she was thinking about it. She could climb up the ship's ladder if she wears the right shoes tomorrow. That there is quite a bit of grinding to do. That it is probably two days of work. That we also need to think about cutting the stage weights down. The ones that are too big. That, do you like turkey sandwiches? I can bring you one tomorrow so you don't have to run down to the burrito place and then wolf down a burrito and then come running back in the rain. Plus I have some veggie straws. Those are pretty good. Can you get some masks for us in the morning? That grinding dust is going to be pretty bad. And loud. At least we have the hearing protection.

I mean, I almost didn't answer the phone. Then I thought twice about it. She would keep calling me, and calling me. I half-expected her to be drunk. Maybe she was? I mean, I like Sally. In a curious sort of way. She is 55 I learned today. Whatever that has to do with anything. I mean, these jobs we do. Stuff like we are doing now. It is not very fun when you get past a certain age. It just hurts your body and your soul and your desire to work hard. I mean, I know she is just manipulating me, but who cares? I don't think she is trying to bone me. She knows I have a fiancé. And she seems like the kind of person that would respect that. And, I mean, the idea is ludicrous. But I don't know what is in the hearts of people. I mean, I very reluctantly gave her my phone number to begin with. But then Scott had to get on a ship to Italy and suddenly I need to be in contact with these boobs. I blame Scott. Just joking Scott! I don't blame you at all, I mean, I could have easily told the Big Boss no, but I didn't. This is all on me. But that phone call. I mean, I just hope Allan isn't super pissed off when he comes in tomorrow. Because I won't be able to handle that at all. In fact, I will just give him his job back. I mean, I shouldn't have listened to Sally. Why did I listen to Sally?

Speaking of bad decisions, I had a dream last night that I had gathered a huge pile of strike-anywhere matches into a pile. And then, like some great big lark I thought it would be funny to light the pile of matches on fire. I mean, it did not end well. I got in some serious trouble. I mean, I don't know what kind of thing my sub-conscious has planned for me, but that is not a good sign. Or maybe it is? Maybe there is about to be some break in the continuum that is my life? Maybe I am about to make a very serious and long-lasting decision. I mean, I don't have anything on the horizon, so I don't know what it could be, but if the dream is any indication I will think what comes afterwards is hilarious. I mean, I guess I look forward to that.

But tomorrow. All those fucking stage weights. I mean, I asked for it. I needed a little bit more work, and I got it. Careful what you ask for. I just don't see another option. I can forget about it until next time, but if it never happens that will be on me. I have the time. I have the manpower. I have the resources. It not now, then when? I mean, I think we will just set up a little station up there on the loading bridge. Bring a chunk of plywood to deflect the sparks. I stopped at the Home Depot on the way back to the hotel. I bought some flap wheels for the grinder. I mean, really it isn't that much work. But it will be heavy, and loud, and obnoxious, and stupid, and unnecessary, and dumb, and I will end up with gritty teeth and my feelings will be hurt about it. I mean, my least favorite thing in the world is using the grinder. And supposedly Billy will do the grinding and if Sally can climb the ship's ladder she can assist him. But I don't want that. I want the job to get done. I don't want to stay here until Thursday. I mean, I didn't even call the Big Boss about it because I was a little stunned by the implications. I mean, if I can't put a stage weight into those arbors without cutting the op line what chances are there that, I don't know, some goon from the future, or who know? It is a school, maybe some theater teacher or student goes up there and starts doing shit? I mean, that load bridge is already super dangerous. I mean, even with the newly designed stage weights with their handles and front loading arbors, I mean, even with the technology on our side that shit is bad news. That railing is bad news. I mean, and the idea that I, with actual knowledge of something else causing the thing that is bad news to be bad dangerous news, I mean, I can only control the things I can control and this is something I can control. Even if it sucks, big time.

I mean, it is a half-day of work that will drag on until mid-day Wednesday. I will make that happen. Then the Big Boss will drive the Box Truck and the four inch stage weights down after lunch and we will bring those up to the loading bridge. Try to ignore that they also need to be smoothed out. I mean, I am not precious about this. The fact that I watched the op line being cut. I mean, I am still in a state of processing this information. Because I feel like I am being alarmist, but I saw what I saw. And I see the future. I mean, I guess I should tell the Big Boss to get there at 1p just in case we do need to clean the four inch weights. Which, we can do on the deck. Before we send them up. I mean, then we can load out. Which will take just a few moments. We have nothing. Three job boxes and a spooler and a spool of wire rope and a spool of op line and a full piece of J guide. All the hardware for the tracks and all the one inch pipe will live up on the loading bridge until next time. I mean, I could have put it on the tracks for safe keeping, but who the fuck knows what is coming down the pike with the curtains? I mean, less work now equals the right amount of work later. I mean, I just want to go home. I don't want to be here anymore. The work sucks and the food is bad. I mean, that is not true. The tacos I had for lunch were top notch. But still. I worry about my plants and the mail and the homemade Ticklers. Did Grit get the peanut butter cups I left her? Have the goats had their Zoom call with the butcher yet? Because they do that remotely now, due to covid. That is a joke the Publisher made earlier. The butcher is apparently flaky. Big surprise. Vermont-style. Things happen when they happen.