Jimmy was taking me around the site, marking spots where he wanted me to drive temporary fence posts. This was the classic image one might have of a construction site; hard hats, orange vests, huge yellow machines beeping in reverse while huge piles of earth are moved from one place to another. My first few weeks on a real construction site. He makes small orange dots of spraypaint on the ground where I'll hammer 4 foot metal stakes into the ground with a sledge hammer.
"and I want one here. and here. and here. and then every 5 feet across this section right here..."
he has sprayed orange dots across a section of blacktop pavement. he keeps walking.
"wait, Jimmy. you want me to put stakes right here?"
his jaw drops. he cannot believe that I have interrupted him. I am 19 years old.
"I mean, its just that.. there's concrete right here. Its not dirt like everywhere else."
Jimmys face sort of sags down off of his skull. Chain smoking cigarettes in a CAT 330 excavator will do that to you. This is a guy who was building things 20 years before I was born. A guy who spits on the ground and yells indoors and doesn't lace up the top part of his boots, walking around giving instructions to some kid and the look on his face is that I'm completely unbelievable to him.
"Put the fucking stakes THROUGH the asphalt son! Where I spray a fucking dot, you put a fucking stake! I don't have time to fucking hold your hand! Figure it out!"
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