BackwaterBlog

I had the DeWalt chopper set up in the back hallway of some random cubicle farm, zapping up chunks of backsplash and other useful sticks of what passes for building material in this day and age.  It was a pleasant jobsite.  There was a low hum of activity, 20 trade mechanics moving in an efficient way to bring a new office to life.  It’s always struck me as a strange thing, that low hum.  You’d think more noise on a construction site would equal more stuff getting done.  No, the good ones are quiet, because they are filled with goodly experienced lads who don’t need to ask or inquire, and go about their business with no wasted motion, and expect much the same from you.  It’s a delicate dance we do, out here.

The plumber was around the corner and in the Men’s while I sprayed sawdust from the back of the rapid firing saw.  Bandy little guy with goggles and clutching a propane torch.  He emerged a trifle agitated, calling  ”Lighter?  Anybody got a lighter?” to the otherwise empty hall.

I fished the Zippo out of the shirt pocket and waved, clinking it open with my left while never releasing the saw trigger in my right, and he pounced at it.  The steady yellow flame fed his wavering blue one, until he dialed in the  dosage and a thin blue heat hissed like a laser between us.  He jammed a cigarette to his lips, waved the torch past it in a smooth arc (oh the little skills we pick up out here) and gave me a nod and a wink, off to the shitter to melt some copper into compliance with local codes.

“Hey Plumber, got your sinks here?  I got countertops, they need holes, you got sinks?”  It’s a standard thing with me, I ask this on every job. 

Carpenters install lots of cabinets, cabinets that frequently house sinks.  You’d think that the Plumber would be responsible for cutting his own sink hole through the top, but no.  One day long ago, stone aged Plumber forgot his jigsaw one day, and the superintendent was impatient to get the kitchen finished on his tenant build-out and was berating the Plumber for being so careless as to forget his saw.  So the Plumber, being a crafty and shifty sort, said “Look, there’s a Carpenter over there.  I just know he has a jig, get his ass to do it!”  And the super pondered for a minute and remarked “Gee, there’s a thought!”  So he went to the Carp, pulled out a twenty, had a quiet word and in minutes, the job was done.

Problem is, long ago Carpenter did such a nice job of it, with his sleek jigsaw with sharp blades that Plumbers began to spread the word.  Leave the saw at home they whispered in their dark plumber filled watering holes.  Leave it at home and get the Carpenter to do it.  Why, he does such a better job of it than we can.  Besides, why should we have to take a chance butchering somebody else’s product?  The Plumbers got drunk and indignant, and changed the industry forever in their twisted and evil way.

You don’t think so?  It’s all true, my friends.  Every word.

Turns out there were 2 plumbers on the job, and they were there to install sinks.  Just sinks.  They had nothing else left.  I was ahead of them by a little bit, but 2 plumbers with little to do gained ground on me in a hurry, the lone installer of things wood.  By the time they caught me, I was on the last two bathrooms and they were positively dawdling.  Noticably.

“Sheesh.  Looks like a dime’s holding up a dollar, eh?” as I glanced behind me while simultaneously firing three screws into a base cabinet.  They chuckled, admiring a brass fitting and wiping rags over the next sink with a polish.  “You just keep gettin’ up there, Woodpecker.  We got all afternoon.”

I pulled the next cabinet into alignment, whisked a clamp from the toolbelt, nudged the toebase with a prybar and slipped a shim in, checked the level and fisted the clamp tight.  Three screws, next, repeat.

“Right efficient there, ain’t he Bob?  Moves like he mighta done this oncet or twicet.  Where’s your help today, Carp?”

I grinned.  “Who needs help when I got you two climbin’ right up my ass?  Y’all got me motivated.”

Cabinets screwed to wall.  Top screwed to cabinets.  Four rapid moves and the sink lines were drawn.  Tip the jigsaw, plunge cut the first line (“Hey Smitty, he didn’t even drill a hole!  Didja see that?”).  Round the fourth corner with the saw, switched to left hand for the last 3 inches so the right hand could snake under the top to catch the chunk of top about to drop onto their shiny water lines and drain fitting.  Saw stops, chunk of top whirls through the air like a frisbee and lands atop 6 others just like it.  Done, and done.

“There y’are, lads.  You’re up to bat”, and saws and drills and toolbelts begin to nest themselves onto the big rolling cart I use.  The plumbers were impressed.

“Fine work there, Mr. Carpenter.  Just glad it weren’t me that had to do it.  Hate those sink cuts, I do.”

I paused, for the sheer drama of it all, pulling sunglasses over eyes and strolling for the door.  “Shucks, I kinda like ‘em, really.”

The Plumber raised eyebrows.  “Ye do?  How’s that?”

“Simple.  Means I’m done, and you ain’t.  Ta, boys.”

Woodpeckers.  Faster to the watering hole, and make better lovers, and all that.  Couldn’t imagine it any other way.