deconstructing construction talk

I just finished my first week as a full-fledged construction worker. ie- a hardhat, coffee in the job trailer at morning break, and porta-poties. It's a large enough job that walking through the building I pass different crews about their own work--the drywallers, the electricians, the plumbers, the carpenters--with their own zones of radio stations and chit-chat. On breaks they stand outside the gate and smoke, or sit in their trucks with their crews and eat. And smoke.
It's been an ear opening week. I thought I'd jot down a few notes about what I've heard.

Vague use of pronouns: "put it right to it" for instance, might mean, "apply a considerable amount of force to that fastener with the screw gun." The context is everything.

Excessive vulgarity: Substituted for any part of speech. It adds credibility, I guess.

Femeninity of nouns: Usually refers to tools or building materials. "Set her down over there."

Second-person voice: When two are working together, the ownership falls on the person receiving the commands, ie, "hold it to your line"; "give me your sheet"; "line it up with your stud." That way, if anything goes wrong, it's your fault.

In general, the contruction worker's speech tells that he (or she...hypothetically) has authority over his domain, a casual but hardened attitude, and a fashionable distaste for the work week.


But seriously, I've had an interesting and thoughtful week. I'm starting to see why people care so much about getting good benefits and why people save up for their vacations and retirements. An occupation starts to become who you are. I see it in the lives of the older men doing their work as if its second nature, embedded in their routine. I wonder if they think, "I was a young kid like him yesterday, and now I'm fifty. Where did the time go?"

flops

So I made myself some pancakes last night, going for a nice, soft food, still feeling a little pang where my wisdom teeth used to be. I loved the way it sounded: "I'll just whip up a batch of pancakes," as if I would pick up that ladel and work magic.
But instead I found every way to go wrong. I could never quite get the heat on the pan right. Some were hard, some were doughy in the middle. They came out all odd shapes and sizes, and I was dropping things all over the place.
I felt like such a helpless child. "What's my problem?" I asked my parents, all flustered. I thought I had the hang of this by now.

Humbled by a batch of pancakes.
That sums up where I've been in other parts of my life lately. I had forgotten how much error can be in simple things, how unwise I can possibly be. I thought I was smart and capable. And I thought that, for pete's sake, twenty-two years would have taught me a thing or two.