Necessity is the Mother of Intervention: Part II

You learn a lot on a construction site. For example, I never knew it was possible for me to "stand there with my teeth in my mouth" or, thanks to a favorite jobsite prank, obtain the worst rash imagineable with a handful of dry mortar.

Let me explain: mortar is characterized as a combination of lime, portland cement, sand and water. Lime and portland cement are highly corrosive and caustic. When these dry chemicals are thrown down the back of a pair of work pants and met with upper-gluteal perspiration, horrific things happen to the surrounding skin. Things that would make a dermatologist wet and are only alleviated by a handful of diaper cream and possibly a steroid shot.

I also learned that even though you have a job to do, the neighbors in the surrounding subdivision may not share your superintentdent's enthusiasm for maintaining a schedule by allowing work to commence at 6:30am. Such was illustrated by fellow tender "Joe". Joe was a good guy, he had just been dealt a shit hand most of his life. Likely a high school dropout, Joe was a "lifer". Chances are he'd be wielding his laborer's shovel til he retired at 62 with a gold union card and a crippling case of arthritis.

That was life for Joe. Wasn't long after I first met him that he came home from work early one fall afternoon due to rain only to find his wife in his marital bed of their mobile home with another man. Deciding against confrontation, Joe exacted his revenge later that evening when he pulled into the local tavern and found his wife's penis du jour's full size truck in the parking lot. Methodically Joe smashed the entire driver's side of said gentlemen's truck; starting at the front quarter panel and working his way down in 3 consecutive runs. Much for words he wasn't.

Trouble seemed to find Joe. It wasn't long after the cheating incident when it came looking for him again.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!" Joe used his 28oz hammer to bang out mortar tubs of residual material as he had every morning in the years that preceeded this one.

"Hey! Asshole!!! It's 6:30 am! A little early for the banging, isn't it?"

Apparently "Starbuck's" as I like to refer to him by his apparent yuppie lifestyle, that lived in the 2 story colonial across the street wasn't pleased with our designated start time. "Look, Man, I'm just doing my job...if you need to complain, my foreman is over there in that trailer office".

"Just stop the Goddam hammering...it's too early for that bullshit!"

Joe shrugged and went back to his assigned duties, including the aforementioned hammering of metal tubs.

It took less than 10 minutes for him to return. This time Starbuck's was prepared to assert his alpha male posture and risk his potentially manicured hands just to show his imaginary gym buddies he wasn't really a pussy. "Come here, Motherfucker!"

Joe said not a word, just dropped his menial tool belt that held only a hammer and tape measure, set his hard hat on the ground next to his belt and planted his right fist into Starbuck's freshly shaven jawline. That punch was accompanied by another punch. And another. And another, before 3 of us pulled Joe up and helped him regain his composure. Starbuck's, with an ego broken worse than his carefully tanned face, gathered what I imagine was his dignity, and possibly a tooth, and promptly retreated into his 2 story...late for a board meeting, no doubt.