Monday, January 16, 2017

Here's the Kind of Shit that Can Happen When You Pick Your Kid Up from a Sleepover in Juneau

You can end up standing outside for a very long time in the pelting wind and rain. You could be dressed in inadequate gear, and with an inadequate buzz going, conscripted into indentured servitude on your friends' DIY construction, maintenance, home improvement, and repair projects.

You'd think after all this time I would've been more prepared than I was this morning when I went to retrieve Paige from a friend's house where she'd been spending the night. 

But I wasn't. And I knew as soon as I saw it that there would be trouble. To paraphrase Taylor Swift, I knew it was trouble when I walked out. 

MOTHERFUCKER, I thought to myself.

"It" was a gigantic metal scaffolding pre-fab boat shed and enormous green tarp that had been partially mostly upended by the previous night's 60 mph gusts, and "trouble" was my Fairbanks-born-and-raised friend's sudden plan to make us all "work together" to reassemble it immediately. (This guy is a "do it right now" sort of a fellow, and so I knew I would be pressed into service rather promptly.)

Saying no wasn't an option. It never is, which personally I'm completely in favor of. It's Juneau karma. Like the Beatles said, you get by with a little help from your friends, so when someone asks for help with something unexpectedly, you do it, because it won't be long before you have to call in a favor yourself.

This time, the favor I called in was Geoff, whom I'd left behind with Isaac, but who had more weight and skill to offer to this effort than I could ever provide. 

Here's how my call for his deployment went:

My own contribution to this project, I'm sorry to say, was minimal at best. What you see in the photo below is basically exactly what I did.

I hung onto a bar while cracking jokes and taking swigs off a mason-jar full of mimosa every time I was given permission to let go. I whined about cold water dripping down my sleeves into my bra, made a few excuses to go back inside, and lectured my friend to be careful on the 15 foot step-ladder and not swallow any of the screws he was holding in his mouth. 

In other words, I played the role of Jewish Mother of the construction crew. I am all but positive that unlike foreman, "Jewish Mother" is not a union job or anything anyone actually needs on a job site.

But if someone out there disagrees, I'm open to discussing upcoming projects and my hourly rate.

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