If You Haven't Seen It Yet . . . Here It Is

Click Here To Email This Video To A Friend

A Blog About? . . . . . Well Nothing I Guess

So I am sitting here trying to think of what I can write about. I never thought I would be in this position, wondering what to blog about, I didn’t even know what a blog was six months ago, let alone how to set one up, and now I am writing one. Who came up with the name blog anyway, it sounds like something dirty or illegal, when I was a kid if I told my mom I was blogging she probably would have started crying and called my bishop, thinking it was a new way to get high or something. Now you hear it everywhere, “hey check out my blog”, “have you seen my blog?” for a while I thought people were coming on to me. Now I know better, I am with the times, I am an expert blogger, and I can post a blog without any help, well almost without help. So why do we write blogs? Why do people even care about what other people are doing? For me it just gives me a reason to hate people for having fun without me. No, I really don’t hate anyone, but why doesn’t anyone think of inviting me on their vacations or asking me to come over when their baby is taking its first steps, come on I have feelings too. I am just kidding I don’t care about your baby, but I do like vacations. So seriously what possesses people to sit down and write about themselves? Is it boredom? Is it a feeling of responsibility to their “fans”? Maybe it is because of peer pressure from friends? I don’t know, but I do know that for me it isn’t any of these, I think it is more self serving than that. I am probably more entertained doing this than the people who read it. We laugh more at the shop about this stuff than anybody else ever will, I am sure of it. Of course I can’t speak for Chad, Jeremy, or Nate but I am pretty sure they have a similar motivation. Oh and of course fame and fortune is always a good motivator. So we will probably keep writing on our little blog even after our wives decide to stop reading it because hey if it makes us laugh then I guess it is worth it, even without the fame and fortune. But whatever reason you have to write in a blog or even not to write in a blog, you just keep being you, because you’re good enough, you’re smart enough, and doggone it people like you. Ok maybe not everyone likes you but you think what you need to so you can sleep at night.

The Temp

There is something out of the ordinary going on at the shop these days. When I say these days I mean for the past week or so, you see we have a “temp”. He is not your ordinary temp; he is not some guy we found at a temp agency, he has actually been working for “the boss” longer than anyone else here. I guess to explain our temp I must dive a little deeper into what it is we actually do here. If you haven’t figured it out yet we build furniture, cabinets, and other wooden things here at the shop, but what you probably don’t know is that the majority of the stuff we build goes into houses that “the boss” builds. So we spend a lot of time at the job site where these houses are built, we do a lot of installations, we deliver stuff, and sometimes we just go up to clean or do some other task the boss has for us like, ”move that rock 2 feet that way”. Well, at the job site is a man we lovingly refer to as “the painter”. What does “the painter” do at the job site? Yes you guessed it, he paints. Now these houses are not your average houses, they are million dollar houses, so they don’t get painted in a weekend, it is an ongoing process from the time sheetrock is up until the house is finished, so the painter is pretty much there every time we are, and because of this we have come to know him pretty well. We really enjoy the painter because he is always angry. We don’t know why he is always angry but he just is. He is always yelling, sometimes he is just singing along to his oldies country music but most of the time he is sarcastically yelling at someone, otherwise known as complaining. We’re pretty sure the years of breathing paint fumes are getting to his head but it could just be numerous prescription meds that he consumes.
So anyway he has come to work at the shop for a while finishing some carvings we have been making for the current house we are building. So now, we have a very loud and grumpy old man working with us. There is one thing that we have found about the painter that has become somewhat entertaining. He scares very easily, I mean very easily. You walk into the room where he’s working and say “Hi” and it’s like you just shocked him with a defibrillator. He yells a long incomprehensible Middle Eastern chant and grasps his heart like he’s going to die. Although we sometimes think this might kill him, we have found that it is very fun. We’re not sure how long he will be here, maybe until the job is done or maybe we will kill him first, regardless, a fun time will be had by all.

So “temp” here is your love, it’s not much but it is all we could come up with for a grumpy old painter trying to keep the hope alive. (see comments under previous “Nicknames” blog)

Something To Get You Through The Weekend

I Don’t Care
If You Lick Windows,
Ride The Short Bus, Or
Occasionally Pee On Yourself.
You Hang In There Sunshine
You’re Friggin Special.

Draws

When I tell people we are doing draws, they always ask, what is that? It’s more of a name we made up for the day we pay bills. Yes, we pay all our bills on one day. It is usually the fifth day of the month. I dread this day more than slow drivers, long prayers, and baked apples all put together. In short, I would rather be driven cross country by an old women eating nothing but baked apples and listening to the 24 hour prayer station. Than to participate in draws. The day usually starts early when the mail is dropped off so I can get started. The mail consists of the all the mail that has been stacking up at the post office for the last month and fills several crates. I try to have the mail sorted in a couple of hours. About this time “The Boss” comes in. This is about the only time he comes to the shop. I am set up in the front office and have invoices spread all across every flat surface and on the floor. “The Boss” starts to get his computer set up and I get everything stacked by category and we begin. It’s a long and boring process, I sit across from him and I hand him an invoice, he enters the information and hands it back. I prepare an envelope and stack the paid invoices by category. It goes on like this all day and into the night. Except for this time.
It started out like the regular painful draws I have learned to hate. We had been working for about an hour when the guy next door walk in. We said hello and started some small chit chat. He didn’t say anything until he reached the desk. From out of nowhere he set a gallon paint can on the corner of the desk. We stared at it, not sure what he was doing. Both “The Boss” and I shared a confused look, and I started to ask what the can was for. Before I could finish he reached in is pocket and pulled it out and held it over the can. I instantly new what he had, but I wasn’t sure “The Boss” did. It was a piece of 1 inch PVC pipe about four inches long with a cap on each end. From the center a green braided fuse exited the pipe. The moment he flicked the lighter in his other hand my heart began to race. With a voice that was dead serious he said “I suggest you *%?kers run.” There was no mistaking he meant what he said when he lit the fuse and dropped it in the can and headed for the door. Time seamed to slow for moment as I debated in my head what had just happened. Would he have really done that? At first I thought there was no way he would do that, but then again, I could see him doing that. He is not that crazy? “The Boss” is here, he wouldn’t really do that, maybe that means he really would. I finally made up my mind, I think he really did what I think he did. I stood and headed for the doorway. I past the guy next door and when I reached the door and turned the corner there was the rest of the guys from the shop standing in the hall trying not laugh. I turned to see what “The Boss” was going to say. I saw him pick up the can and with one motion open the front door and with a underhand fast pitch fling the can out of the front door of the office. It flew over the grass and rolled under his own car. He stood there at the front window, pulling the blinds apart, waiting for what he was sure was going to be a big mess. The rest of the group in the hall couldn’t contain themselves any more. And with the resounding laughter “The Boss” and I realized they used a dummy and we had been had. At which time he picked up his chair and we went straight back to work.

Idle Hands

“Idle hands are the devils workshop”, we’ve all heard it before, well around here that statement holds true very frequently. I am not saying we have a lot of time on our hands, but if we don’t have anything to fill those 15 minute brakes at ten and three then, as I am sure you may have noticed, we tend to find things to do. So one day as we were sitting enjoying our break Chad says “Hey guys, you know what we should do?” this statement has been said many times around here but it still always gets everyone’s attention, “we should do something for the guy next door”. Now I must interject to say that this particular week the guy next door was having a bad week, we will just say things were not going very well over on his side of the building. So the rest of us, being as kind and caring as anybody else, were more than willing to help in any way that we could. “What do you think we should do?” we all asked. Now remember we are guys and being guys, when we say, do something “for him” that usually means do something “to him” I mean if you can’t kick a guy when he’s down what kind of world would we be living in. So after a short minute of deliberation Chad said,”what if we tin foil his office?” Perfect, nothing that will cause bodily harm or might result in an expensive fix but something to let him know we care. We all agreed on the idea, now to put it into action, it would take the cooperation of his wife who works with him (we’ll call her the lady next door), she would just let us know when he‘s gone and then we would strike. It’s settled, now to buy the foil, so off to Smith’s we went to buy the finest Kroger brand tin foil they had to offer, or at least the cheapest. Five rolls were all that was in the budget, the purchase was made and we were ready. The day went on with no notice from next door; it was then that we decided the guy next door NEVER leaves. The end of the day came and we weren’t going to wait for him to leave, because he probably sleeps here. “Tomorrow we will make it happen” we all decided. As the next day played out the guy next door was again not having a good day. Chad would periodically peek next door and ask our accomplice, “how’s the weather over here?” “Stormy” was her only reply. Then it came, we got the call. We rushed over to begin our task; we didn’t know how much time we had, after all this guy never leaves. However it just so happened that this day was special, he had gotten so upset that he had to leave for fear of killing one of his employees; still we had to hurry. His office became a factory of tin foil wrapping, it was as if this was our destiny, we wrapped each item on his desk and in his office with such talent and speed that it would make any mother proud. It turns out however that we lack the concept of quantity for we soon ran out of foil. Even still it was beautiful, our hearts were filled with joy over the great thing we had just done “for” our dear friend. We went back to work, anxiously waiting for him to return and see what we had done for him. After a few hours of waiting, we knew that he had returned, yet we still had heard nothing. We peeked next door into his office and noticed that the foil had been removed. Could it be that he didn’t even recognize the amount of time and effort we had put in on his behalf? Or, was he really mad? Our heads hung low hoping we hadn’t lost a dear friend due to his selfishness. We all knew better than that, not this guy, he is not mad he is just waiting to get even. Our sullen faces turned to fear for worry of what was to come our way. The next days were spent on pins and needles. He came over and would laugh with us about what had been done but we knew he would not just let it go at that. So we waited but still nothing, this is the kind of thing that is worse than being pranked, waiting to be pranked, and he knew it. Then one day Chad’s mouse on his computer was all taped up and every time he would print there was a paper clip copied onto the middle of each sheet. As Chad stared confused at each sheet that came off of his printer, behind him stood the guy next door grinning from ear to ear. Finally we could all rest easy for this was the sign that it was over, for now. . .

8:15

I look through very blurry eyes trying to decipher the numbers that are displayed next to my bed. I look twice, then again. My mind is tripping over numbers trying to remember how many minutes are in an hour. Instantly I jump out of bed, still trying to do the math in regards to my commute time. I stumble out the door with my shirt untucked and shoes untied. Skip scrapping the frost off the windows, and I’m off with a deadline to beat. We don’t have an oversized employee manual that spells out all the rules and regulations. We don’t have a set schedule for breaks or lunch, or even who’s really in charge. We try to keep things simple in the shop, in that, we keep rules to a minimum. No one has been written up for exceeding the allotted bathroom time, or dress code violation. Even if we did, it’s not like we keep things on file. We all work at what we are we are supposed to, and most of the time we don’t pay attention to what time it is. Except first thing in the morning, we do have one rule that has become set in stone. It’s called the 8:15 rule, and it has been rigorously enforced for years. We start our day at 8:00 in the morning, and everyone is expected to be there on time. But for one reason or another, like today, you might be getting to work a little bit late. Maybe you slept in, or traffic was bad, or your significant other was feeling frisky that morning. That is where this rule comes into play. If you think that you are not going to make it to the shop by 8:15 then you will be required to bring a dozen donuts for the rest to enjoy. Some have tried to use excuses, and one even tried to pass a sleeve of mini donuts, but the rule is simple. If the time clock reads 8:15, or later, you are late, and will be bringing donuts. It has become something that others in the shop look forward to. Even though with my best effort and skillful driving, I sit at a light waiting for the person in front of me to find the courage to turn left when I notice the clock. Several text messages begin to arrive. Reminding me, each in their own very individual style, that I will need to provide a treat of some kind for the others. We have had days where we were blessed with several dozen donuts. We have began to accepted substitutions since donuts shops are getting hard to find. Breakfast burritos from Betos, bagles, or what I will bring today, breakfast from McDonalds. Some complain about the cost, but if you can’t do the time, then get there on time.

Baked Beans

We all have things in life we don’t like, for instance getting hit in the head with a stick, or being tossed down a steep hill, or going to the in-laws. I am sure most people don’t like these things because all of them can be painful. But today I am not talking about those kinds of things I am talking about food. For instance Chad, Chad has a disgust that boils deep within his soul for cooked fruit, more specifically baked apples. Just the smell of baked apples might send him searching for any receptacle capable of holding the amount of vomit that is ready to erupt from his mouth. (This may sound over the top but he really hates baked apples). For me it is Baked Beans, I don’t despise them, I don’t even mind that they show up at every bar-b-q that I have ever been to. I just don’t particularly care for them. What I do care about is that everyone thinks that I need to LOVE them. For example, this is my typical baked beans encounter. “Hey have you tried the baked beans?” “No thanks I don’t like baked beans.” “Oh but you haven’t tried my grandma’s baked beans, they are the best.” “No thanks I’m fine.” “Come on just try them they are the best, you’ll love them.” It is at this point, the fire within me begins to rage. First of all how can everyone’s grandma make the best baked beans? Second why do you have to prove it to me? Is it really not good enough that I don’t particularly care for baked beans? . . . .”Oh my grandmas are the best”. . . REALLY? DO THEY TASTE ANYTHING LIKE BAKED BEANS? OR DO THEY TASTE LIKE ICE CREAM AND CANDY? WHAT? NO, THEY DON’T TASTE LIKE ICE CREAM AND CANDY? WELL THEN I DON’T LIKE THEM, NOW GET OFF OF MY @#$” This of course is what is caged inside my head just begging to be let out, but what inevitably comes out is, “Oh I am sure they are, I will have to try them later but I am pretty full right now thanks.” So please for the good of all mankind, or at least for my sanity (which is questionable anyway), when I am around, just enjoy your grandma’s baked beans without me and don’t flatter yourself by thinking that even though I don’t like baked beans I just might like hers because, “they are the best”. If your grandma’s baked beans don’t taste like normal baked beans then it’s probably not baked beans, it’s probably Chili, which I like.

We don't try. Sometimes it just happens.