I'm the Old Guy
On Friday I went to a job in a town far away and was introduced to a young guy who's responsible for safety on a big job with a number of contractors under his control.
I had never met the kid before but he was very hard-working and sharp. He explained that he wanted to learn a few tricks from me but that he thought things were in "pretty good shape."
Well, the job was actually kind of a disaster. Too many people in too small of space doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.
So, we got started.
I yelled at a few guys, joked with a few more and tried to get the kid to see what I was trying to do. The inspection took well over two hours and I took him off to the side to give him sort of an overview.
And he was looking at me with wide-eyes as he tried to write down some of the things I was telling him.
And it hit me.
He was me back in 1988. Even the jobs were similar.
In '88 I was in New Haven, Connecticut trying to find my way on a job with a supervisor who didn't pull any punches and was quick to let me know when I was being stupid.
My Dad.
So as that kid wrote things down and nodded it really hit me hard.
"I'm the old guy," I said to that kid. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five," he said.
He was one when I was in Connecticut.
"Are you listening to me?" I asked.
I told him about my Dad and about that job and how I really learned a lot from guys who actually know construction.
I didn't tell him that I make my living in construction despite the fact that I can't fold one of those cardboard mailing boxes into something that the post office might actually send out.
"I've made my living writing things down, and meeting with people to let them know that they're looking at shit wrong," I said. "Be open to suggestions. Show up and shut up except when you know you're right. Absorb everything they tell you and keep your eye out for bullshit," I said.
"And write shit down!"
The kid was nodding furiously. He was amused by the fact that I was limping around the grounds and even offered to take my camera up the ladder and get some shots so I didn't have to make the trip.
"I ain't that old, wise ass," I told him.
But 1988 was the blink of an eye ago.
I hope the kid listens to me as well as I listened to Pop.
That's how we keep the damn ball rolling.
Pick up the rock son, carry it on.
I had never met the kid before but he was very hard-working and sharp. He explained that he wanted to learn a few tricks from me but that he thought things were in "pretty good shape."
Well, the job was actually kind of a disaster. Too many people in too small of space doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.
So, we got started.
I yelled at a few guys, joked with a few more and tried to get the kid to see what I was trying to do. The inspection took well over two hours and I took him off to the side to give him sort of an overview.
And he was looking at me with wide-eyes as he tried to write down some of the things I was telling him.
And it hit me.
He was me back in 1988. Even the jobs were similar.
In '88 I was in New Haven, Connecticut trying to find my way on a job with a supervisor who didn't pull any punches and was quick to let me know when I was being stupid.
My Dad.
So as that kid wrote things down and nodded it really hit me hard.
"I'm the old guy," I said to that kid. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five," he said.
He was one when I was in Connecticut.
"Are you listening to me?" I asked.
I told him about my Dad and about that job and how I really learned a lot from guys who actually know construction.
I didn't tell him that I make my living in construction despite the fact that I can't fold one of those cardboard mailing boxes into something that the post office might actually send out.
"I've made my living writing things down, and meeting with people to let them know that they're looking at shit wrong," I said. "Be open to suggestions. Show up and shut up except when you know you're right. Absorb everything they tell you and keep your eye out for bullshit," I said.
"And write shit down!"
The kid was nodding furiously. He was amused by the fact that I was limping around the grounds and even offered to take my camera up the ladder and get some shots so I didn't have to make the trip.
"I ain't that old, wise ass," I told him.
But 1988 was the blink of an eye ago.
I hope the kid listens to me as well as I listened to Pop.
That's how we keep the damn ball rolling.
Pick up the rock son, carry it on.
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