So the pattern is set. Arrive by six, work, rest in the shade, work, rest in the shade. Spit. Work the weekends and after work, weather permitting. They've picked up another gentleman, Black man, Leo Spivey, to clean up as they throw the debris over and to help with the tear-off. Leo's first order of business, once out of the car, was to head to the cooler for a gatorade. He drank more than he worked, if you asked me. The second Saturday, Leo had overindulged the night before. The sun and heat were killing him. None too steady on his feet--on my roof--a major concern. Got to come down; find him something to do in the shade. "Are you alright, Mr. Spivey?" "I'm fine, just cramps." "Mr. Spivey, if you're sick, you need to go home. I'd prefer that you not be on my roof." "I'm just getting cramped up." This went on until finally Shannon took him home. Can't drink heavy and work in the sun. He's as old as me; should know better. Can you imagine their faces when they came down to rest and found that the cooler was empty? Leo had cleaned it out. That didn't help the cramps either.
Platinum-blond Troy got fired. I've run into someone who fires as quickly as I do. Shannon gave him directions and Troy refused to follow them. "You're fired." He, Shannon, was quite contrite. I had no problem with it. Troy was getting paid to do a job. Refusal was out of the question. Now, he rode with Shannon but had to find a way home. Walk-ups looking for work. Work for a few hours, disappear, show up to get paid.
Bottles everywhere. Finished? Throw it on the ground. Enough. This is not a trash dump. "Here's a box. Put your empties in it." Everyone has sat under the tree but me. Mike's wife has gotten into the habit of coming with him every evening that he works and plops her wide bottom under the tree. It's become so good, she moves the chairs. I quickly pick up on the fact that I'm not at the top of her list. Sorry, don't have time to entertain nor were you invited for social hour. Ah, but it is a woman thing and a good deal of jealousy thrown in. Get a job.
Mouthy Little Mike has developed a habit of not speaking when he arrives. Or, he just breaks into your conversation. Don't think she appreciated my reminding him to speak. Don't care. Now she remains in the car. Good place. Home is even better. Breaking point came when she rolled up on my grass, got out, and didn't speak. I thought she didn't hear me and spoke a second time. Very obvious that I was being ignored. I laid in the cut waiting for a repeat performance the next time she drove onto my grass; the war would have been on. Her brother-in-law says she's moody. I'd call it something else but won't.
Cars on the grass. Is something wrong with the driveway? Can I use the phone? No problem. Big mistake. Became a very irritating habit. Go to use my phone and can't find it? It's outside. Did it grow legs? Phone rings and they answer. It is for me. Surprise, surprise. The wives started calling two and three times a day. Excuse me??? He's working. Do you call the factory like that? I get on the ladder, the doorbell rings, something is needed. Guess you can tell my patience, not a strong suit by a long shot, is wearing thin.
Overruns, miscalculations, run to the store for this, need more of that. Patience is becoming exceeding short and so is the cash. Roofing coming to a finish. Thank you, Jesus. I'm not sure how much more I could take. But it is looking good.