* I'll finish the Moot Court story Later, if anyone is interested enough. Or not. But I just don't know if anyone cares. A lot of people come here, (I'm averaging 5K views a month) but who knows what most of them are thinking by now?
Why bother to finish any of my little tales if no one is really interested? But here is another one. I gots lots and lots of little storys, be they anecdotal or whatever. Well--especialy antecdotal ones. And lots of banjo stuff. If anyone can see by now, my natural inclination is to take a bunch of random ingredients and weave them together into a story, whereas a good lawyer unweaves, and/or pulls all of the strands out of the tapestry and organizes them. I was always very bad at doing the latter, and I really think it has to do with the way my brain functions. It is just a theory. (See my prior post on my standardized test history). So again, here is half of another story. (And don't forget, none of this stuff is copyrighted.)
Here, I'm experimenting with dialect. The unwritten second half of this I woke up with at 4AM. It all works-for me anyway, and does tie in with the theme of the blog for everyone. You will see where this crooked path all leads to in the end Trust me.
Yusuf Throws a Brush
(Troy): Yo Yo. Check this out man! We’re workin’at this house on the Ocean—you know that one we were on? That one in Southampton . Right on teh beach! A Huge place with that big fuckin swimming pool man with the watefall… and the big deck that goes all around. You know the one I mean? Oh shit man that was some fuckin houuuuse……Imagine that shit, and fuck, it was cold that day. Man I had all these layers on and gloves on and shit and I couldn’t get warm for shit all day too. It was like allllll day and we was freeeeeezin’. When was it? It was in October or something like that right?
Yo yeah. That was where we saw that Seal—remember that shit. Were you there with me? Yeah that’s right you were. On the back deck we saw a seal in the water remember? Boppin his head up and down. Yeah, right, swimming along the beach in the ocean. Man that was cool. That was some cool shit man. I was like: Hey man CHECK IT OUT. A SEAL!. Ho Shit. That black head goin up and down. It had to be a seal. What else could it be?
And then there were all those guys fishin one day. Man they were catchin all kinds of shit every cast. Fuckin a fish almost every cast almost.
Oh yeah, remember that time Yusuf throws that brush? Yo man, Yusuf’s like up on the ladder. How High? He had to be at least thirty feet. He’s up there and he’s got his big puffy coat on. Man that was a big house. And then John Goes by. That’s funny shit. The Irish Foreman called him Krotchman John. Ha ha yeah he was laughin but he was fuckin pissed man! Yeah! So Krotchman John goes by and he says: “Man, its cold”!
So Yusuf says, he says:" I’ll sell you my jacket for five hundred dollars."
And then Matt was fuckin with him. Matt man he goes: I’ll buy your jacket, your wife and your daughter for fifty bucks.” Ho! Oh shit man! Yusuf he fuckin throws the brush. A loaded, wet four inch brush from thirty feet up had to be that high. He was fuckin Pissed! You should have seen his face! Fuckin it hits Krotchman John on the foot while he’s bendin over getting something out of the truck.
(The Irish Froeman, from Ireland): Thet wat the de Yusuf throws de fuckin brush. He gets dun frem de leddeer und hes all pissy man. As soon as I saw it I went up to hem and sed: “Yusuf!” What’s the madder wit yu? What the Fuck ere yu doin throwin a fuckin paintbrush on th job? Ye don’t throw paintbrushes at people on my job or any job. You could’ve het sumbody on th’ head.”
Somethin like that I said te him. I told him good, and he gets all pissy lie he gonna walk off an quit. All walkin around and shit. A fuckin big baby man!
(Krotchman John): Yes that was unusual. I think Yusuf was less upset about what Matt said than about having been publicly reprimanded by the Irish Foreman. As a consequence, he probably felt foolish, because Yusuf’s face, devoid of its usual crazed expression, was now scowling and had an expression of injured dignity. I’m not sure if he aimed the brush at Matt or at me. After all, I did chuckle a little, almost involuntarily, after Matt said that.
Yusuf then walked over to his truck, intent upon leaving it seemed. But then he lingered for a moment by the rear bumper. There was an air of anticipation as everyone, though seemingly going on with their work, waited to see what would happen next.
And nothing really happened. Yusuf ambled back over to where the Irish Foreman (From Ireland) was working by the front door and stood by him, leaning his weight on one foot, then the other. He had a dumbfounded, melancholy look.
“I don’t wante’ d truck no more” I heard him say.
“I not’d want to work here more.” and other statements to that effect. This went on for twenty minutes or so, with the Irish Foreman (From Ireland) responding soothingly in his heavy Irish accent: “Where else ere you gon t’ go und meke this kind o’ mony?” and “I’m your freeend” and other such statements.
It was so bizarre. I wanted to stick my finger down my throat and make myself sick at that point. All of this had nothing to do with putting paint on a house. None of their horseplay, which they thought was so necessary, did. But who cares really. The world is crazy. I just wanted to work and make money. I desperately needed the money. Isn’t that all that really matters? Craziness can be tolerated until it reaches what I call the craziness threshold, where safety becomes threatened. And then one has to retreat. To this day I’m not sure if Yusuf aimed the brush at me? Because.......he was a guy I had to work with, and I could tell that he did not like me, and perhaps even secretly hated me. But he was my foreman and Boss too. What to do?
____________________________________________
This little scene might have continued for another 20 minutes, were it not for the fact-always a very welcome fact- that it was 1PM--Lunch Break.
I have worked for perhaps five different House Painting Companies over the years, and each one had their own particular methods and practices, with respect to how the work itself should be performed, and also as to methods of pay, (as in cash vs a check, or some cash and some in a check, or all cash, or even all in a check.) Also there were differences among the companies regarding what to wear (as in a sort of livery, uniform or "Whites"),transportation to the resopective jobsites, and the wheres and whens of lunch breaks, coffee breaks, starting time, quitting time, etc.
This particular company, among the others, seemed to be the most draconian. There were 6 mandatory workdays during the week. Work started on the job at 7AM sharp, and the painters in the crew were not allowed to drive their own cars to the jobsite. All had to meet up at the Speonk train station at around 6:30AM, or even earlier if it was going to take longer than half an hour to drive to the respective jobsite. For me, that meant I had to be awake at 5AM and leave my house at 5:30 or 5:45AM, in order to drive to and arrive at the Speonk train station on time.
Once at the Speonk train station, all the painters would park their cars for the day, and, coffee and/ or cigarette in hand, say good morning to each other, before piling into the four of five Painting Vans belonging to the Painting Company.
There was one 15 minute Coffee Break, at 10:30AM. Lunch was between 1:00PM to 1:30PM. "Pack-it-up" time was at 3:45PM, and quitting time was at 4:00PM. It was, in reality a pretty exhausting day, because the stretch between 7:00AM and the 1:00PM lunch break seemed to take forever--particularly if the work was mostly prep work, which it often was, involving non-stop sanding of walls or woodwork, It was also very dusty and dirty, with a lot of time spent on ladders or squatting or on the knees.
I have always been fortunate to have a very strong and therefore, I suppose well-aligned back, for to date, unlike a lot of painters and other constructions workers I have met, I have never experienced any type of back problems, such as a sprain or soreness, or at least one that hasn't gone away within a short period of time.
As I indicated, it was mandatory that we work on Saturday, or rather it was very strongly implied that if one of the painters did not work on Saturday, he might be terminated. And Saturdays, it seemed, were the shortest days timewise, but also, by far, the longest in terms of how it felt. That was because we were on the job as I say at 7AM, with the difference that there was no coffee break at all on Saturday, and no lunch break either, until quitting time at 2PM. If we wanted to eat, we ate "Standing up" or, in other words, while we painted. So I would sometimes literally have a paintbrush in my right hand, and a sandwich in my left.
On the upside, the company dealt with a very wealthy clientele, and painted some very expensive properties-many of them waterfront mansions on Long Island's East End. Many were in a place generally referred to, and known around the world as: "The Hamptons"; and in the Hamptons there is the Old Money (who lament the New Money; there is the New Money (who think the Old Money people are just plain stuffy, and that are the composition of all the group shots or fund-raiser or golf-outing collages, if you will, at the back end of the House Organ for teh Tony Hamptons: The "Dan's Papers". Dan, the founder of this publication, is a very charming, dressed down folksy kind of sort--a living reproff to the notion that one cannot celebrate money, and still casually go about one's business as a true Henry David Thoreau Look-alike, and keep all one's Thoreauesqueian (Have to look that word up) values, unsullied by lucre and, in fact, very much intact; there was Wall Street and Finance Money, Celebrity Money, Sports Star Money, Rock and Roll Industry Money, Foreign Money--OK, OK, I'll stop. You know what I mean--whatever it took to be able to buy such magnifgicent homes.
So, now that you are thoroughly annoyed, can you at least see what I am driving at? Money was no object in a lot of cases, and this particulat Painting Company could charge on a Time and Materials basis, (T&M) instead of providing an estimate before the work started. Which is a good-Oh way to go if one is a Contractor of any kind.
But I sometimes reflect upon how working as a house painter has taken me to places that many people never go to during their entire lives. Painting has shown me things that most people never see, ever. I really believe that.
Inother words, it has shown me how some select people really and truly live. The things they own and have. Their possessions. The opulence of what it really means to have true wealth. An not just on one estate, but the many that I have seen on Long Island in general over my career as a Painter.
To see--"The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" candidly and unedited, and in 3-D reality; to touch the doorjambs and knock on the chestnut woodwork. To marvel at the Oceanfront Views. To see the breathtaking sweep of the shoreline as the American Indians might hav, from an upper window of an incredibly wonderful home high atop a bluff on Shelter Island, at the end of a long wooded path, the entrance to which would be unnoticed except by the homeowner or the people that service the homeowner after having been given very careful directions regarding how many feet the entrance to the drive is on the right hand side,after passing the large tree with the broken branch.
To see a brand new marble bathtub in a Master Bathroom, cut out of a solid block of carerra (I think it was carerra) marble. Cut out of the side of a mountain, in other words. To see the largest imported order of Mahogony from Honduras in the United States for that year being installed in the shape of curved eaves and japanese-styled arches on the exterior, and in the form of 10 foot tall doors throughout a home that rivaled a Hotel in size, so as to complement the Teak windows and windowframes. To see a garage full of cars that were not just collectible, but celebrated, and in a register dedicated to cataloging some of the rarest automobiles in the world. To see an art collection that.........well, I guess you can guess the rest. And it's all true, and I have rapped my knuckles on a lot if this stuff, and even lightly tapped the tires of one or twosuch cars with the toe of my sneaker. And I'll spare you the description of the yachts, the servants, the gates and cameras, the antique, mid evil European Statue (from France I think), the cigar smoking mafia guy I met once (a nice guy too I thought), etc. etc.
But, I will backtrack now and do a little cleaning up of the above, and then back to the story.
Wouldn't you know it though, of all the things I am mentioning, that damn creepy statue keeps coming to mind, so I had to bring it up. It was ancient, and of partially rotted wood with very faded paint. A bishops hat on it I believe, and scary face. It scared me when I was all alone in the wing of that mansion that time. Like it was staring at me every time I walked by. I'm almost positive it had a fleur -de-lis on it somewhere, so that's why I say it was French. Must have come from an old cathedral is all I can guess.
____________________________________________
This little scene might have continued for another 20 minutes, were it not for the fact-always a very welcome fact- that it was 1PM--Lunch Break.
I have worked for perhaps five different House Painting Companies over the years, and each one had their own particular methods and practices, with respect to how the work itself should be performed, and also as to methods of pay, (as in cash vs a check, or some cash and some in a check, or all cash, or even all in a check.) Also there were differences among the companies regarding what to wear (as in a sort of livery, uniform or "Whites"),transportation to the resopective jobsites, and the wheres and whens of lunch breaks, coffee breaks, starting time, quitting time, etc.
This particular company, among the others, seemed to be the most draconian. There were 6 mandatory workdays during the week. Work started on the job at 7AM sharp, and the painters in the crew were not allowed to drive their own cars to the jobsite. All had to meet up at the Speonk train station at around 6:30AM, or even earlier if it was going to take longer than half an hour to drive to the respective jobsite. For me, that meant I had to be awake at 5AM and leave my house at 5:30 or 5:45AM, in order to drive to and arrive at the Speonk train station on time.
Once at the Speonk train station, all the painters would park their cars for the day, and, coffee and/ or cigarette in hand, say good morning to each other, before piling into the four of five Painting Vans belonging to the Painting Company.
There was one 15 minute Coffee Break, at 10:30AM. Lunch was between 1:00PM to 1:30PM. "Pack-it-up" time was at 3:45PM, and quitting time was at 4:00PM. It was, in reality a pretty exhausting day, because the stretch between 7:00AM and the 1:00PM lunch break seemed to take forever--particularly if the work was mostly prep work, which it often was, involving non-stop sanding of walls or woodwork, It was also very dusty and dirty, with a lot of time spent on ladders or squatting or on the knees.
I have always been fortunate to have a very strong and therefore, I suppose well-aligned back, for to date, unlike a lot of painters and other constructions workers I have met, I have never experienced any type of back problems, such as a sprain or soreness, or at least one that hasn't gone away within a short period of time.
As I indicated, it was mandatory that we work on Saturday, or rather it was very strongly implied that if one of the painters did not work on Saturday, he might be terminated. And Saturdays, it seemed, were the shortest days timewise, but also, by far, the longest in terms of how it felt. That was because we were on the job as I say at 7AM, with the difference that there was no coffee break at all on Saturday, and no lunch break either, until quitting time at 2PM. If we wanted to eat, we ate "Standing up" or, in other words, while we painted. So I would sometimes literally have a paintbrush in my right hand, and a sandwich in my left.
On the upside, the company dealt with a very wealthy clientele, and painted some very expensive properties-many of them waterfront mansions on Long Island's East End. Many were in a place generally referred to, and known around the world as: "The Hamptons"; and in the Hamptons there is the Old Money (who lament the New Money; there is the New Money (who think the Old Money people are just plain stuffy, and that are the composition of all the group shots or fund-raiser or golf-outing collages, if you will, at the back end of the House Organ for teh Tony Hamptons: The "Dan's Papers". Dan, the founder of this publication, is a very charming, dressed down folksy kind of sort--a living reproff to the notion that one cannot celebrate money, and still casually go about one's business as a true Henry David Thoreau Look-alike, and keep all one's Thoreauesqueian (Have to look that word up) values, unsullied by lucre and, in fact, very much intact; there was Wall Street and Finance Money, Celebrity Money, Sports Star Money, Rock and Roll Industry Money, Foreign Money--OK, OK, I'll stop. You know what I mean--whatever it took to be able to buy such magnifgicent homes.
So, now that you are thoroughly annoyed, can you at least see what I am driving at? Money was no object in a lot of cases, and this particulat Painting Company could charge on a Time and Materials basis, (T&M) instead of providing an estimate before the work started. Which is a good-Oh way to go if one is a Contractor of any kind.
But I sometimes reflect upon how working as a house painter has taken me to places that many people never go to during their entire lives. Painting has shown me things that most people never see, ever. I really believe that.
Inother words, it has shown me how some select people really and truly live. The things they own and have. Their possessions. The opulence of what it really means to have true wealth. An not just on one estate, but the many that I have seen on Long Island in general over my career as a Painter.
To see--"The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" candidly and unedited, and in 3-D reality; to touch the doorjambs and knock on the chestnut woodwork. To marvel at the Oceanfront Views. To see the breathtaking sweep of the shoreline as the American Indians might hav, from an upper window of an incredibly wonderful home high atop a bluff on Shelter Island, at the end of a long wooded path, the entrance to which would be unnoticed except by the homeowner or the people that service the homeowner after having been given very careful directions regarding how many feet the entrance to the drive is on the right hand side,after passing the large tree with the broken branch.
To see a brand new marble bathtub in a Master Bathroom, cut out of a solid block of carerra (I think it was carerra) marble. Cut out of the side of a mountain, in other words. To see the largest imported order of Mahogony from Honduras in the United States for that year being installed in the shape of curved eaves and japanese-styled arches on the exterior, and in the form of 10 foot tall doors throughout a home that rivaled a Hotel in size, so as to complement the Teak windows and windowframes. To see a garage full of cars that were not just collectible, but celebrated, and in a register dedicated to cataloging some of the rarest automobiles in the world. To see an art collection that.........well, I guess you can guess the rest. And it's all true, and I have rapped my knuckles on a lot if this stuff, and even lightly tapped the tires of one or twosuch cars with the toe of my sneaker. And I'll spare you the description of the yachts, the servants, the gates and cameras, the antique, mid evil European Statue (from France I think), the cigar smoking mafia guy I met once (a nice guy too I thought), etc. etc.
But, I will backtrack now and do a little cleaning up of the above, and then back to the story.
Wouldn't you know it though, of all the things I am mentioning, that damn creepy statue keeps coming to mind, so I had to bring it up. It was ancient, and of partially rotted wood with very faded paint. A bishops hat on it I believe, and scary face. It scared me when I was all alone in the wing of that mansion that time. Like it was staring at me every time I walked by. I'm almost positive it had a fleur -de-lis on it somewhere, so that's why I say it was French. Must have come from an old cathedral is all I can guess.
But me they'll lash me in a hammock, drop me deep.
Fathoms down, fathoms down, how I'll dream fast
asleep.
asleep.
I feel it stealing now. Sentry, are you there?
Just ease this darbies at the wrist, and roll me over fair,
I am sleepy, and the oozy weeds about me twist.
END OF BOOK
April 19th 1891
