There is a hell of winter going on out there. The boys I work with got called to another site to pour some 'crete in sloppy snow; I showed up on our site after the last exam of my first semester at university, to find it devoid of my spitting, coughing and cussing co-workers.
Moving a stack of ply from one area to another gave me time for reflection. I didn't use it; instead, I thought first about how tedious this process was. At the halfway mark, after moving twenty boards or so, I sorta got over that. Them boards gotta get over to the other side of the house son, and you might as well be the one doing it. So when I finished I ate some soup while sitting in the lunch room. It's warm in there, with two microwaves, a mini-fridge and many nails to hang your gear on.
The two rental pneumatic jack hammers are still there, there is more concrete to be banged and jacked up. It is a trying process: the tool weighs sixty pounds and is awkward; the vibration, a personal earthquake. Your teeth chatter and your brain leaks out your ear. It's much harder to do for an extended period of time than a decent term paper.
I want to hand in a jack hammer to a professor and tell him that this is what killed my scholastic abilities.
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