Specialty Engineer
I showed up on my first day 15 minutes early, probably more. I was going to catch a lot of shit in the coming hours, days, and weeks—but at least not for being late. Punctuality allowed me to survey the scene alone for a bit. Mud, mostly. From within it, a short wall of concrete projected a few feet into the air, running a perimeter with hard lines and square turns. Several packs of lumber sat bundled to the side. I took in the sunrise sitting on a brick of 2x6s. The job was in the far east, which describes anything outside of the mountains where I’m from. Heat was already beginning to build.
My brother was next to arrive. We’re separated by 20 years—and a whole lot more than that—but we share a maniacal father and so we both arrive on time. He put his hand on my shoulder and broke it down for me. I was going to work really hard. No matter how hard I worked, I was going to be nearly worthless to him. He would pay me $12 an hour anyway. Out here in the flatlands, it would be hot. Real hot. There was no avoiding that, and I should drink plenty of water. We took a half hour for lunch, and two 15 minute breaks at 10 and 2. I wouldn’t get paid for that time, so it takes nine hours to work an eight hour day. Then he told me something I’ve never forgotten.
He told me to stand away from the job every day when we finished up and mark the progress. Every day I was going to be able to see a change. Only people that build things get to do that. He had been building things for a while now. However a job was going, good or bad, he took time to mark this progress each day. In this way he was proud, every single day, of his effort. You have to get paid, you have to watch out for your body, but above all else you have to remember to take pride in what you do.
As foretold I was useless that summer, more or less. I watched in awe while the rest of the guys performed feats of skill and strength that were beyond me. Carrying armfuls of tools and materials up a ladder. Balancing on a 3-1/2” wide top plate with a nail gun in tow. Deft manipulation of a whirring blade to shape timber to their will. Math put to practical use. Strength seemingly out of proportion to size. All the while I fumbled through menial tasks befitting the child I realized only then that I was. Moving piles of lumber from one place to another. Digging holes. Pulling nails from boards. “Helping” another guy do what he did better alone.
Each day with skin lobster red and sawdust clinging to a sweat soaked shirt I marked the progress and I was proud. Genuinely proud.
People that build things get to do that.
There is payment, but there is also compensation. I’ve never been offered enough payment of the monetary type that I didn’t have to consider the entirety of how I was being compensated. I’m sure I never will. That doesn’t mean I didn’t suffer through many years of my life working jobs for which the compensation was poor. I would stand back each day, if I even had the energy for it, and look upon my work completely devoid of anything even resembling pride. This feeling is internal and is not altered by external perceptions or pressures or obligations. As such it cannot be faked, least of all to yourself.
Although I am still in construction, I no longer build things. There is visual progress to be marked, but it is not for me to take pride in. I still find pride in my work though, or else I wouldn’t do it. Well… maybe I would, I don’t know. I need to make a living some way or another and I guess I’m just glad I manage to come home each day fulfilled. We aren’t all so lucky.
Is it luck though? You could toil away for some bullshit company shoveling shit for some asshole boss and then come home and construct a beautiful paragraph, standing back upon completion and marveling at what you built. That being the case, you can build most anything. A family. A house. A garden. A relationship. A strong body. A pile of completed books. A song. A bike. Anything, really.
When you finish each day you can stand back and mark the progress. In this way you might be proud, every single day, of your effort.
People that build things get to do that.