Get To It


The old man was getting ready to go do his job again. Break time was over, but he lingered over that cup of coffee for a few more seconds, trying to get all the rest from those last few moments of break as he could. The job ahead was not a small one, and he was a wee bit tired. He hadn’t had enough sleep the night before.

And he had to hang the entire floor alone for the first time. Flying solo. Nice. He’d never done this before, there had always been help before. Should be fun, but there was a large amount of hanging to be done. And the old man liked the work. But this was stepping up to a whole new level for him, he’d never done an entire floor alone before.

He had worked for years, what seemed an entire lifetime working a different job with different stresses, with people he liked not at all, but knew the job so well he didn’t care about that over much. Now he worked with people he liked in a job that would have, 2 years prior, seemed like a fantasy land. He never thought about this line of work. He never had to. He never thought about the work that went into doing the things that he was doing now.

Because there was no need. It was simply not anywhere in his spectrum, nowhere did it broadcast on his wavelength at that point. And that is part of what is so great about it. There are office politics, but it isn’t of the same caliber. There is crap that happens that people complain about, but it isn’t of the same magnitude. There is stress, and a deadline regardless of where you work is always a bitch to run up against, but those things never bothered the old man much anyway. They gave him a headache, but that’s what they’re for.

But a ton of work doing what he was doing, and doing it alone showed him a few things. One was that they trusted him. And he liked that, he was humbled by it, and he was thankful for it. The old man hoped he would do them proud. Not the organization itself per se, but the people who he had spoken to, who gave him the specific job to do. These people he had known for the few months he had been on this job, and he liked them, and was happy to work for them.

He got to it. As he set eyes on the job ahead he took count of the number of works to hang. Four old posters, real posters, not those things they hang now, 5 and 6 footers. Not Toulouse-Lautrec exactly, but that size. Might be a momentary issue, but it should be easy stuff. There is a low ceiling here, and the large pieces make it difficult to get a proper hang height. It’s got to look museum quality, can’t just throw it up there, if you could anyone could do this.

Half a dozen mirrors. The wood on some of these things looks to have been worm infested at some point, weak structurally, gonna have to be very careful with those. The big ones are just that, big. No major deal, aside from those already mentioned with the posters. Weight would be an issue but the equipment we have for the heavy stuff makes sure it’ll hold properly. Save the real heavy ones for last. Have to re-wire one piece. Nice.

Twenty to twenty five oil colors and other paintings. This stuff will be fun, but there is one triple hang that might be an issue. The place where it will be hanging will look funny hanging it regularly, and the hangar that these walls have attached to them are not very long, and three pieces there might be hard to fit. If it was just a regular wall, hammer and nails would make that job a snap. Can’t do that here. Some of the other oils are so long they will require multiple hangars for the walls.

The old man likes this job. He smiles every day because of it.

_________________________

That’s it from here, America. G’night.

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