Trapped in the Penthouse
Back-track with me to July 17, 1983. I was just 18 years old and was working as a union construction laborer on a 47-story hotel in San Francisco, California. I had just completed my first year of college, and I weighed about 40 pounds less than I do now with considerably more hair.
I arrived at work at 7 AM and my boss, Angelo, told me to grab the chipping hammer and follow him. We hit the elevators and began climbing to the top of the building. We didn't stop until we arrived at the penthouse.
"Think of it like this," Angelo said, "You're going to spend the next 8 hours in the penthouse of a luxury hotel - it'll probably be the only time in your life that it happens for you."
Angelo laughed and moments later I figured out why he found it funny.
"You need to break up the floor where it's marked out - there's about six inches of concrete all the way around."
The portion of the floor was about twenty-by-twenty.
"Someone made a mistake in the layout and you need to open everything up for us."
"Why doesn't the guy who made the mistake do it?" I remember asking.
"Life doesn't work that way," Angelo said. "Think of it this way, it's just a single day in a long string of days that you'll never remember." He handed me some ear plugs and a pair of safety glasses.
Twenty-six years later, I remember that day, and not because anything monumental happened - I just worked to break the floor. I got the drill bit stuck a few times, lost about six pounds, and just stopped vibrating last week, but mostly I remembered the day because Angelo said that I'd soon forget it.
And tonight, I thought of all the days since and the moments spent on the ground floor, and the moments when I made it back to the penthouse. I thought of all the friends I made in the days in between, and the constant love of my family, through the days of the hard driving rain and through the beauty of the long summer days.
I thought of friends long since forgotten, and troubles that I thought would never pass. They passed. I cherished the days when my children were born, and despaired through the long, lonely days that life presents for us from time-to-time, and in a short period of time it all came screaming back to me, day after day, most of them not forgotten at all.
And I thought of the fact that I'd once spent a night on a penthouse in Miami where we partied for the release of one of my books, and I wondered about Angelo, and I hoped that his days were filled with peace - one way or another.
And I'm not sure if I've lost or gained sight since that day so long ago, but I do know that I didn't forget it, and most likely never will.
I arrived at work at 7 AM and my boss, Angelo, told me to grab the chipping hammer and follow him. We hit the elevators and began climbing to the top of the building. We didn't stop until we arrived at the penthouse.
"Think of it like this," Angelo said, "You're going to spend the next 8 hours in the penthouse of a luxury hotel - it'll probably be the only time in your life that it happens for you."
Angelo laughed and moments later I figured out why he found it funny.
"You need to break up the floor where it's marked out - there's about six inches of concrete all the way around."
The portion of the floor was about twenty-by-twenty.
"Someone made a mistake in the layout and you need to open everything up for us."
"Why doesn't the guy who made the mistake do it?" I remember asking.
"Life doesn't work that way," Angelo said. "Think of it this way, it's just a single day in a long string of days that you'll never remember." He handed me some ear plugs and a pair of safety glasses.
Twenty-six years later, I remember that day, and not because anything monumental happened - I just worked to break the floor. I got the drill bit stuck a few times, lost about six pounds, and just stopped vibrating last week, but mostly I remembered the day because Angelo said that I'd soon forget it.
And tonight, I thought of all the days since and the moments spent on the ground floor, and the moments when I made it back to the penthouse. I thought of all the friends I made in the days in between, and the constant love of my family, through the days of the hard driving rain and through the beauty of the long summer days.
I thought of friends long since forgotten, and troubles that I thought would never pass. They passed. I cherished the days when my children were born, and despaired through the long, lonely days that life presents for us from time-to-time, and in a short period of time it all came screaming back to me, day after day, most of them not forgotten at all.
And I thought of the fact that I'd once spent a night on a penthouse in Miami where we partied for the release of one of my books, and I wondered about Angelo, and I hoped that his days were filled with peace - one way or another.
And I'm not sure if I've lost or gained sight since that day so long ago, but I do know that I didn't forget it, and most likely never will.
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