Make Good Money, $5 a Day

I know that my loyal readers are in withdrawal and I do apologize for the lack of posting. It's just that I haven't found my most recent position of construction laborer too inspiring. I have had the pleasure of being the low man on the totem pole at the Iberville Parish Veterans Memorial work site.[check out page 3 of the pdf link for some pictures] This has meant an incredible amount of back-breaking, knuckle-bruising work for your ole blogging buddy.

We've been forming up concrete walls. I helped to build the forms and pour the concrete. Also, there was shit work like re-arranging a pile of 2x4's, 2x6's and 2x8's. I got to hammer some nails and use a maul(i.e., sledgehammer) to drive in stakes. I got to shovel dirt, tie rebar and dig a hole to find a sewer pipe. I worked for a real cock-biter of a superintendent who some referred to as a wind-up asshole. Like some machine, he never seemed to really stop working and he expected that out of everyone else including me. It didn't matter that what I was doing was of no immediate consequence. I still had to do it efficiently.

I shadowed a guy who I'll refer to as "J." He struck me as a cliche of a 48-year-old southern black man: " Yes suh. Shoo, I jus gon keep right on sittin' here 'til he(the boss) come back, cause you ain' gon git no break with him around. Naw suh, don't let him see you not workin'." He took me under his wing and we did all kinds of fun, backbreaking shit with him instructing me on how to look busy.

The first thing he told me about was 'The Show Stopper.' Apparently, there was an extremely attractive woman who worked nearby and basically shut down the entire work-site every time she walked by. He told me to keep an eye out for her. I did not catch a good look at her until the next-to-last day. I was signaled and got an eye full. There was a discreet form of communication between workers when women walked by. It consisting of making some sort of animal calling noise. This was to avoid calling out someone's name and thus alerting the bossman. The Show Stopper was indeed incredibly voluptuous. Round in all the right spots. I resisted the urge to hoot at her. But it was tough.

The work was hard. We were to report at 6am and leave at 2:30p. Break was from 9 to 9:10. You weren't told about break by the boss, you just had to keep an eye on the time or the other workers. Lunch was from 12 to 12:30. You weren't told about that time-frame either. You were informed, however, if you returned from break 20 seconds after the others. The wind-up asshole wasn't too fond of me. Then again he wasn't fond of anyone. I spent hours daydreaming of cussing him out, complete with tensions escalating to physical confrontation. I kicked his ass every time.

I worked there off and on for 3 weeks, but it felt like forever. In Baltimore, I would pass the construction workers going to work and idealize them being outside and doing 'honest' physical work. Well, that idea has been revealed as just that, an idea. The experience of outdoor labor everyday for not much money sucks. And I lucked up with excellent October weather. I couldn't even imagine how shitty it would have been to be there in 90-degree temp with Louisiana humidity.

So, hopefully that will be the last of my labor crap for a while. Now begins the next phase of my professional life: office temp. On Monday and Tuesday, I will interview for some temp agencies for placement in Austin. So, who fucking knows what is next.

Yippie yay!

Slacking, sorry

Sorry about the lack of posts, but I've been occupied by work stuff.

Despite my failure to get work at the day labor place, I kept hope alive. I went back on Monday the 7th and was selected to work with a few others to help set up a booth at the Baton Rouge River Center, which is basically their convention center. The booth was being set up for Hollidays, some holiday -themed shopathon for women hoping to buy nic nacks and doo dads for christmas and beyond. The booth we set up was stocked with lotions, creams and beauty products for anything from dry hands to varicose veins.

The women we were helping were from Pensacola, FL and had a trailer full of shit to unload and set-up. I was skeptical that there was enough for 3 of us laborers to do. The other two was a redneck couple, guy and girl, in their early 20's I guess. They probably picked us because we were white. Wouldn't want any of the 'darker complection' scaring the white vendors and middle-aged women meticulously decorating Christmas trees. Our particular booth was on a red-themed corridor. I heard the women saying they wanted more red on the trees, they looked so good last year.

The work proved to be ample as we schlepped a goddamned shit-ton of lotions and giant shelves and tables. The boss assured us that our booth was among the best decorated. The woman in charge of the operation was a 40's-ish blond who was very particular about how we unloaded and set up. The other two laborers took this as condescension and set to taking sarcastic tones with her and muttering hostile whispers under their breaths.

The day went slowly as we conducted the rest of the tedious setup. Besides the mind-numbing nature of what we were doing, it was the pay that kept pecking away at my temper. Minimum fucking wage, $6.00 per hour. Not that what I was doing was sophisticated or actually deserved much more than that. But still, at the end of the 7.25 hr day, I had made $40. I have walked by a bar and spent that much before.

We were pretty tired, and they were exasperated, so we ended up leaving early. I figured the lost $4 was worth my piece of mind. I was elected spokesman to break the news to the Type A boss lady that we were done. She raised her eyebrows when I made the case that we were fine with leaving early. However, she recovered and said that was fine. We left and I picked up my check at the Labor Finder office.

During the work day I had gotten a call from the father of a friend of mine. The dad works at a construction company and he had called to say that he had some work for me. I called him when I got home and he told me of a construction labor job he had for me that would pay at least $10/hour. I thanked him and said I would see him tomorrow to sign the papers and take the drug test.

To be continued...

Work work work

When we first came down, I had put out some temporary office work feelers. This involved filling out about a dozen online temp worker things for the BR area. To this day I have not received any leads from that. I had done some work with a friend of mine, but after he didn't return my calls for 2 weeks when he owed me money for a job, I decided to not pursue further professional entanglements with him.

However, the need for money hasn't really been a big issue. As you may know I have been living rent-free and somewhat expense-free for a while now. Besides the occasional work, I've kept busy running errands, playing Madden and honing my Wii Sports skills. I'm Pro Level at tennis, bowling and golf. Hells yeah!


But, the wife says those days are over because we need money. That means plan B for jobs.

I am still looking for jobs in Austin and will be moving there within a month. But I need something now. My BR jobs prospects are limited: I don't want to screw over any managers by taking an opening, then scuttling off. I know the hell it is to be understaffed because of flaky employees. So I cruised the classifieds and the only ad that really seemed to fit my situation was the ad that read: LABOR FINDERS, daily labor daily pay, wear work boots and bring 2 forms of ID. Daily pay. 5474 North Blvd.

Of course there were no numbers or office hours listed, so I looked them up on the internets and was able to find a number for the office. I called and the guy that answered growled that they had lots of work and that I should get there at 5:30am. So last Friday, with all other employment options exhausted, I found my way to Labor Finders.

I rolled up there at 5:25a with jeans, work boots and a bandana in my pocket. People were strewn about outside, some sleeping on the sidewalk, others pacing back and forth. The demographics closely matched those of the people I counseled in Bawlmer. For most, their appearances were the same, too. They wore torn and stained shirts and pants. Some reeked of alcohol and all smelled of stale cigarettes and unwashed clothes. Mostly were over 40 and worn down by god knows what. I swear the back of one man's neck looked and moved like leather.

As soon as the guy arrived and opened the doors, we all shuffled in and formed a line to sign in. After signing in, the first guy dutifully turned on the tv mounted on the wall. The local dinky-ass morning show was on. Apparently there was amassed at Tiger Stadium 1,000 fans at some predawn party for the CBS nationally syndicated morning show. After signing in, the men sat around and stared and shared stories. One guy was really yapping on and on about the work he had done that week and how it was good that he had worked 4 days straight and that it may rain today and did you have a cigarette and so forth.

I went to work filling out my application. I thought it odd that they asked for my educational background. I circled the 4 by Years of College for it was the maximum education level on the paper. I finished it and turned it in, then sat and watched tv. The book I brought to read stayed in the car. I didn't want the others to think I was some pussy and beat me up.

I sat and sat and smelled the room. Periodically, the manager guy behind the plexiglass would grunt and growl people's names. His voice really was shot. (Think contemporary Bob Dylan, but worse) The louder he yelled, the more incomprehensible it was. He primarily communicated work availably work by pounding on the glass to get everyone's attention. Then he'd point at the lucky worker-to-be.

Hours went by and my name wasn't picked. At about 8:30a I left and ate a steak, egg and tater-tot wrap from Jack in the Box. It was ridiculous and probably constituted 2000 calories, but I figured I needed that for a day of labor.

I returned to the office and waited. The crowd had thinned out considerably since sunrise. It was just me and a few others, including the guy that was carrying on and on about all the work he had been doing recently. He sat slumped over a table and slept on his arm. I figured it was safe enough now to read my book, especially since the alternative was to watch Martha Stewart.

Yes, the Martha Stewart Show was on and none of the laborers got up to change the channel.

At about 10a, the manager guy kicked everyone out and told us to try back tomorrow. He informed me that it sometimes took a few days for him to find work for everyone, but that he'd take care of me and that I should come in tomorrow. I said okay knowing full well that I was going to be tailgating all day and that there wasn't a chance in hell I'd come in at 5:30 on a fucking Saturday anyway.

I returned to the pad, able to comfortably play video games and drink beer having made a legitimate try for work.

The end.

L-S-U, L-S-U, L-S-U, L-S-U, L-S-U!!!!

Yesterday, the wifey and I decided to head down to the LSU campus for some tailgating. Along with an ice-chest, chairs and a bottle of Jack, I brought a camera to help capture some of the mayhem of the LSU vs Florida pre-game.

As you may know by now, LSU won 28-24. It was an awesome game. For in-depth comments on the game itself you may go here and here. We watched the game at a nearby bar as we didn't have hundreds of dollars to spare on tickets. But we did wade into the tailgating fray, and that's what this little post is about.

We arrived on campus after waiting in about 35 minutes of traffic. We walked along a relatively calm Highland Rd schlepping our cooler, chairs and booze. The sidewalks were full of purple and gold, but the car traffic on the street was at a trickle. As soon as we got onto campus, we loaded up our no hands koozies and set off to meet up with our associates.




They had set up at 8:30 that morning and were hitting their stride when we meet up with them at about 1pm. We got there just in time to enjoy the grilled gator shish kabobs. They were pretty friggin good. There were multiple grills set up and we feasted on chicken wings, ribs, and andouille, not to mention all of the potato salad and other concoctions.

We were set up pretty close to the stadium and strategically close to a building that I used to take Spanish classes in. They were nice enough to leave the building open and let people use the bathrooms. Otherwise it could have gotten ugly.




I was sitting back with a beer and cleaning the bbq off my hands when I noticed what looked like a coffin under the tent next to ours. Upon closer inspection, it was a coffin!!







But not just any coffin. This coffin was fully stocked.




I was so impressed with the whole coffin thing that I decided to walk around the tailgaiting festivities to see what else was in store. I was not disappointed. Apparently some Tiger fans had acquired a stuff Gator toy or something. Check it out:





I knew something was about to go down when the giant guy with the ice-chest started stomping on it. Luckily I was quick enough to capture the essence of Tiger tailgating. Other pictures help to document this as well. I guess sometimes it comes down to people being able to transport their living rooms to campus.

At approximately 5p, we started breaking down the tailgating area in order to watch Mike the Tiger and the Tiger Band enter the stadium. We jostled and pushed and climbed a fence in order to get close enough to get these crowd pics.

The LSU Golden Girls are hot.
Even the people in the stadium were looking at the entrance festivities.

We were all sardined along the street, but I put the wifey on top of the ice-chest and she got a shot of Mike the Tiger pacing about in his cage. Poor thing was probably terrified from all the screaming and hollering.









So, shortly following the entrance we retired to our watching spot while everyone else, or at least 92,000 went to the game and watched LSU go 5 for 5 on 4th-down conversions and beat Florida with a 4th quarter comeback. Awesome fucking game.



The end.

Suckers with Jobs

Just in case no one heard, my wife got a job in Austin.

And even though it's been fun farting and blaming it on her 88 yr-old grandfather, I suppose it's time for us to move.

It is unclear when exactly the move will occur, but as usual I'll keep you posted.

Man vs Nature, continued

I was on the back porch with my father-in-law the other day. We were sitting on patio furniture, drinking some beers after finishing putting on yet another caliper. Apparently the rebuilt caliper from O'Reilly wasn't worth a damn. Pretty scary since it's defectiveness led to a dramatic loss of brake fluid. Nothing like trying to stop and mashing the pedal all the way to the floor before beginning to slow down. So it was in the sense of righting a wrong and avoiding a major calamity that he drank a Coors Lite and I drank a Miller High Life-Lite.

Kicking back beers, we looked out at the back yard and noticed a squirrel running up the trunk of the large oak tree. I remarked that our dog Bird probably wishes she could climb trees. In the hopes of catching a squirrel, she bolts out of the door in a dead run every time we let her out. My father-in-law(we'll call him 'D') remarked, "I've got something that can climb trees." I didn't quite catch on and said something to the effect that perhaps our old cat could climb up the tree after the squirrel.

At this he got up out of the chair and repeated that he had something that could go up there and get it. He walked over to the utility room and retrieved a .22 caliber rifle. He told me how he had special shells just for squirrels, I think he called them cv's or something. Anyway, he walked to the edge of the driveway and admitted that the neighbors to the right of the house would "freak out" if they saw him. The other neighbors wouldn't care, as Mr. B has reportedly shot a few himself.

While he was retrieving the rifle, the squirrel had jumped to the nearby pecan tree near the garden. D asked me to point out the critter for him, and I did. He approached the tree while holding the rifle down toward the ground with his right hand around the outside of the trigger and his left hand underneath the barrel. Moving into position, D was careful to use the carport to obscure him from the squirrel-loving neighbors' view.

D looked up and spotted the squirrel, then raised the rifle and shot. This happened in one fluid motion, taking about 2 seconds. Apparently the beauty of cv's is that they are very quiet shots. A "pop" not much louder than a BB gun rang out, and the squirrel jumped to another branch and ran frantically down the limb. Just as D declared that he had missed, the squirrel fell out of the tree and hit the ground with a soft thud.

In his thick Mississippi drawl, D. reflected, "Well. I guess I got 'im."

I walked over toward the still-twitching squirrel. It wasn't a head shot, but it was still a pretty damn good shot I thought. I said as much and it dawned on me that my father-in-law had just shot a live animal in the back yard with a rifle. The realization elicited a childish giggle, and maybe that was just because of the beer on an empty stomach.

He explained that he had shot about 15 in the last week since his wife had renewed his gun privileges. "If you walk out to the tree line where I've piled them, you'll definitely smell 'em," he confided. Also, he wanted the episode to remain a secret from my mother-in-law as she has explicitly forbidden firearm discharge in the backyard.

So, by posting this, I've threatened the Father/Son -in-law bond. But I figured the greater good was at stake and that a disservice to humanity would be done by remaining silent.



Cheers.

Sunday walks in Austin

There will be a Man vs Nature update shortly, but I am making sure that by posting it I will not get my father-in-law in trouble. To be continued...

In other news, we made another little trip to Austin. Somebody other than me had a job interview. We hauled ass up(over) there on Sunday and stayed at a local poet's residence. That evening we ate curry chicken and drank Shiner Bock. It was a refined experience. One of the perks of Texas drinking is the proximity to the old Spoetzl Brewery. For instance, I got to drink their summer brew, Shiner Kolsch. It was quite tasty. We drank into the wee hours of the evening, discussing potential children's names. Options for boys(my last name not included): Dwayne Wade, Kevin Koenig, Royal Vincent, Robert Earl. Girls names: I can't really remember, but I think we agreed that Virginia was a nice name.

Monday was the interview. While that was going on, I dicked around town. I surprised a friend who manages a coffee shop and shot the shit with her. While she did inventory, I settled in with a coffee and muffin and lumbered some through Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. It's a fucking wicked book so far. It gets a little slow sometimes as Cormac likes to get all literary and make these profound statements in ridiculously long sentences. But he is a bad-ass writer no doubt. This title is set in the mid 19th century and was written in 1985. For something more contemporary, check out The Road which won the Pulitzer prize for fiction.

I dined with the interviewee at the Roux in downtown. The place was largely empty, but it had a good feel to it. Food wasn't too bad. The po-boy was remarkably good for not being in Louisiana. We discussed the interview and overall she was guardedly optimistic. To me, being tentatively optimistic is impossible. I've found it to be an all-or-nothing type of thing. If hope does creep into your psyche, it's best to just run with it until it is spent. It's like getting a huge crush on a girl. You can't suddenly pretend that you don't like her and that it doesn't bother you that she's banging someone else.

After that we went on a whirlwind tour of Austin's malls and shopping areas looking for a birthday present for her mother. While she was doing that, I managed to find some new flip-flops. It's safe to say that the new footwear was the highlight of the trip for me. My new Tiva's are awesome. Highly recommended if you are in the search for comfortable leisure footwear.

Yes, of course it was great seeing the Austin people I hadn't seen in awhile. On Monday evening we met up with a Baton Rouge friend and her boyfriend and ate some good bbq at Hill's Cafe. It was fun hanging out with them despite the fact that there was a picture of George W. looking at us the whole time. We ate and drank, but we retired early because everyone had to do this stuff the next morning. I believe they called it work, or something. I don't know.

Anyway, we crashed out and slept as well as we could on the gradually deflating air mattress. It would fool us into comfort for the first hour. By the 4th hour, our asses were touching the floor. And when we were finally awoken at 8:00am by the gas-powered hedge-trimmer across the street, the only things not touching the ground were our heads( I suppose because they were lighter than the rest of our bodies.)

We dropped the poet at school and fueled up at the 7-Eleven. The hippy-looking guy tending the wide array of coffee informed us that he had been up since 4am. We nodded and responded with something. I guess my greasy-hair and beard endeared me to the guy since he only charged us for 1 bagel and coffee. I felt famous or special or something.

The trek back to BR was largely uneventful. Lots of traffic, road construction and horrible drivers. We stopped at a Dairy Queen in Welsh, LA and I witnessed some white-trash-looking woman yelling at her granddaughter and slapping her arm for reaching for crayons and knocking over a drink. In hindsight, I could have threatened to call the cops or something. But that could have slowed us down and put us in danger of hitting BR rush-hour traffic. We hightailed it out of there and didn't speak until we were safely out of Jefferson Davis Parish.

We did miss rush hour traffic. We unpacked the car and were comfortably lazing at the compound by 5:30pm.

The end.