Working With Real Men

Originally written August 07
I know what you’re thinking. “Finally, another anti-music biz rant that is full of venom and honesty.” And you would be kinda wrong. Sure, I’ll take my shots if they’re there, but this isn’t about the biz; though I promise those posts are coming. I could go on about how the company that laid off most of their ground troops sent me a letter last week, enabling me to increase my life insurance. But that can wait. I would ask that you read the vacation posts first to get the true culture shock we were in for.

We’re doing over the bathroom. And by “we’re” I mean mostly my father in law and his friend, a former plumber and roofer. They’re both about twice my age. They probably have as many tools as I do CDs. Trust me I know, because my downstairs living room is full of them. While we were away, they started redoing our bathroom. And no job like this is ever easy. They ended up hitting a few problems; wiring wrong, pipes wrong direction, etc. Now add that that we’re coming home 2 days early. We came home to our house looking like it was slowly throwing up a bathroom. In the dining room were the bathroom door, vanity & mirror. Our downstairs room was uninhabitable, covered with tools upon tool upon tools. I hadn’t seen that many tools since the Journey concert. Outside was our old tub and door. Poor Bauer was pretty much confined to 2 rooms while we were gone. We come back to a totally empty room. Studs showing, new insulation going in. Egads, this is gonna be a while.

So since there’s still a few weeks left in the summer (and no one wants to help me build my “hose shower” out in the yard)me and Tara are going to help. You must understand that she is wwaayyyy into this stuff. She watches all those Trading Spaces and house flipping shows. You know, all the ones that say your house now sucks, and you have to fix up every room right now. Me, on the other hand, can’t stand it. I have no tool/reconstruction inclination at all. I have no skill for it. My thumb automatically throbs when I just pick up a hammer. She can spend all day at Home Depot. I’m more about destruction than construction. I just don’t have the patience.

Now what you gotta know about Pops, and his friend Hops, is that they’ve done this all their lives. They’ve been long retired, but still must enjoy it on some level. God bless them, ‘cause I don’t know what we’d ever do without them. They’re old school, true old school. They’re almost too proud to have us help with anything. They’re out cutting drywall, then carrying it up 2 flights of stairs. They’re lifting things, and bending in places that men their age shouldn’t able to, let alone do it of their own free will. We want to help, to at least learn about how to do some of this stuff. But it’s the Hops & Pops show. They’re very entertaining to work with. I swear sometimes they just do this so they can bust on each other. The way these 2 talk, you would think they hate each other, but it’s all in good fun. Old school slurs, lotsa yelling. I kinda realize at this point that if Warner wanted to keep their kickest ass rep, I would have been screwed. Aside from the obvious no shower, there’s no way I could take calls or work at home with 2 old guys loudly calling each other asshole. So I guess that’s a slight silver lining.

So I guess about Tues or Weds, we have to cut cement board for around the shower. However, it’s raining outside, so we have to do it in the garage. This is where more tools and supplies come into the downstairs room. And of course by saying “we cut”, I really mean Hop. So we drag everything that’s in the garage into the room and get to cutting. Lemme tell ya, there are huge clouds of dust when you cut these mofos. It’s so thick, at times you can’t see through it. The dust starts to get everywhere. I get a fan to help blow it out. But there’s white residue all over the place. There’s more white residue at my house than Lindsay Lohan’s place. And it clings to you, too, so it gets in the house. Not fun. Hops is old school, no mask, just holds his breath as he gets this shit all over him. This is a man.

I will go to the gym in the morning, then get back right about when they get here. Since I had been out of the gym for a week, I’m aggressive when I go back. So there’s a bit of a hurting on me when I start. I am sure it’s nothing considering what these guys have to feel like. And through out the course of the day, these guys wear me out. Wear me out physically, and sometimes mentally as well. These guys have tools far older than me, and probably more useful than me, too. Squaring things. Leveling things. Marking the wall. I feel like such a dolt when they ask me to get them a tool, and I have to say “is that that plier-y looking thingie?” I am sure there eyes roll.

Lunch is a sandwich, maybe 2. Some chips, and they’re good. There’s no salad or fruit. Just some slabs of lunch meat, 2 pieces of bread, some mayo and they’re cool. I think they’re so old school-or just plain hungry-that they don’t even wash their hands. I guess they must like a coating of drywall with their roast beef and cheese. And, bam, they’re right back to work. There’s no coffee breaks, no smoke breaks, no checking of emails or phones. Hell, I swear they don’t even go to the bathroom. That’s hard core.

I try to learn and do what I can, but these guys’ drive is to do it all themselves. Or maybe I suck. They’ll give me shit things to do. Say drill in drywall. I’ll do it. It might take me a bit longer to get it done, but they have instilled in me to get it done right. So I might work on that, and think its fine, only to have Hop do everything over. So now I just wasted my time. I think sometimes they just give me shit things to get me out of their way. One day I thought I was doing something good. I was all motivated and like “OK guys, what can I do next?” “Uh..why don’t you go down and make us lunch.” Ouch.

While this is going on, we obviously don’t have a shower (but thankfully we have another toilet). For a few days there was a bit of a novelty. We would go to my parents house since they are the closest. It was good to get a shower. But after a day or 2, I realized, Goddamn, this shower is small. It’s so small I have to leave just to change my mind (rimshot). They have a bar that comes out from the right so no one falls. But it sticks out so far, that I literally can’t fit. If I have my elbows touching my sides, I still touch the wall and the shower curtain. I feel like Andre the fricking Giant. It’s kind of icky, constantly pushing the shower curtain off of you, while you’re trying to get clean. It’s more of a struggle than I sometimes feel up to.

I don’t mind the work. Sometimes it is fantastically numbing to me. But Pop and Hop can be really fun to work with. And I do develop a small amount of pride when I even just did the tiniest thing right. But sweating it up in the gym, then sweating it up here, and not being able to fucking shower here really, really, really grates on me. For those of you who have never met me I’m about 6”1 or so, 215 pounds of twisted steel and raw sex appeal. So once I get moving I sweat and get dirty. So to put in a good, long day of work, and not be able to hop right in the shower fatigues me. It’s now an extra struggle to just do a simple thing; get clean. I have to get a bag together, then go somewhere. Ugh, just imagine this routine for weeks on end. I wised up with my parents, and would at least get over there around dinner time to score a free meal.

I love my parents dearly, and we’ve gotten closer over the years, but sometimes I just want to shower and leave. I’ve gone to the gym. I’ve put in a real day of work. Not pretty boy work like putting up displays, and sitting on the phone and computer. I’ve done real man work. Real labor. Real ‘now that our day is done and we’re skuzzy, let’s go to the corner bar to drink it off and be manly’ kind of work. Except, I still have this little thing of trying to find a job to worry about. The namby-pamby comes out in me, when it seems I just get more tired and worked up to go somewhere to get a shower, only to come back and have the everyday stuff here to take care of. It might not be 7-8 o’clock by the time I am back, stink-free and have time to do stuff. And some nights, it’s a stretch. The dog needs to be walked. Bills need to be paid, wash done, lawn cut, etc. I know Pops and Hops go home and cut their own lawns, or put a new addition on, or some such manly shit that my tank is empty for. Me? I’m a wuss, and want to watch tv.

We’ve showered at my parents. We’ve showered at Tara’s parents. We’ve showered at John and April’s. I feel like we’re carpet baggers. I feel like we’re putting nice people out. J&A had a barbecue, and we showered when we got there. A few of the people were like ‘what’s up with that?’ April had to explain we had no shower. Kinda like we live in the woods or something. A slight bit embarrassing. Maybe I let it get to me too much.

Progress is being made. The shower is almost completely tiled and grouted. You can take a bath, which is what Tara did last night. But real men don’t take baths. There’s no way I can look Hops & Pops in the face in the morning and say “O man, guys, last night I had the sweetest bath.” So I’m still kinda screwed. It’s tempting to take a “whore shower”. I’ve done that once or twice so far, just to carry me over. But I’m afraid I would stink worse than WEA’s fall release schedule (ZING!) Just a few more days I keep telling myself. I’ve been saying that for almost a month now. Sure, there’s still much to do, but just being able to get a shower here will be sweet. It’s really starting to come together, and it’s exciting to see, but sometime’s it like what my mother in law said, “It’s such a small room, why is it taking so long?”

Thankfully, we do have another toilet, which is of course down 2 flights of stairs. I don’t know about you guys, but once I hit my mid 30’s, I have to pee in the middle of the night now. And it sucks to get up, wander around in the dark, wake the dog up, and go up & down stairs just to pee. Then try going back to sleep after that? I can’t do it. I swear, one night I’m just gonna pee off our deck. And now all of our regular bathroom sink stuff is around our kitchen sink. But at least it’s good to kill a beer and brush your teeth at the same place now. The kitchen space is a bit tight now, but it’s a minor problem.

So it could be worse. I know I could never do what these real men do. Just give them Diet Coke, and let them go. I am grateful to have them do this, and at least help me understand why I just can’t drag the hose up through the window to wash all the grout off the tile. For me appreciate your job today. Take a nice, long, hot shower for me to. Some of you can send me pics of that, and you know who you are. Ggrrrrrrrrr.

Stinkfully yours