How did I get here?
Three days ago, I was an excited young employee of the Hardwood Cafe, given the assignment of learning and eventually taking over the transition molding department of the business. My boss and I were working together to save the company money by making our own moldings (costing us 5 bucks plus labor) instead of buying them (20 bucks straight up). The excitement was growing as we approached our first real job. Little did I know what fate awaited me the very next day…
I woke up at the crack of 7:15-ish, which took a lot of willpower for me. I got all ready to go, hopped in an overstuffed suburban (picture Tim Allen’s entire collection of tools including table saw and miter saw in one vehicle), and headed off to my first job. We arrived on site, unloaded everything (a job in itself), and started moving furniture and ripping up carpet…
Now, I don’t know about the carpet you’re familiar with, but we’re talking about carpet that stays up at night, inventing ways to maim, scar, and ultimately cause psychotic breakdowns in its victims. When dealing with carpet like this, you want to be well armed with thick leather gloves, a good utility knife, and plenty of duct tape. What did we equip before battling this beast? 5 cent razor blades held by vise-grips, our bare hands, and one puny roll of duct tape that was always at the other end of the room when you had just finished rolling a section of carpet. The result: 15 broken razors, 43 holes in my flesh from the evil tack boards, and a pile of carpet in the garage that haunts me while I sleep. Overall conclusion: I hate carpet… Not just a little bit. I hate it with the passion of a thousand burning suns. I hate it like a dog hates it when you blow in its face: You wanna mangle and destroy this thing that is annoying you so badly, but it looks at you and keeps saying stuff like “Goochie goo! Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy,” and you know that you would never get away with declaring all-out war on it. However, my current plans bring a smile to my heart. I will offer to “Dispose” of the rolls of carpet (which are currently bound, gagged, and virtually incapable of causing me much grief), throwing them into the ditch, spreading napalm all over them and lighting them on fire. Then I will release a maniacal laugh as this thing that has caused me so much pain is utterly destroyed in a violent blaze of hatred and vengeance. Yes, hateful carpet, your days are coming to a close. Beware the napalm.
I suppose I should add a disclaimer and note that I do like working on flooring and it is an overall good job, but I just gotta rant about all those little annoyances. In fact, I plan to write more tomorrow. Here are some possible topics for future posts:
-The Demon Stud Finder
-The Angle that Doesn’t Exist
-The Return of the Chandelier
-Stop. Sand. Refinish. Repeat.
-The Ghost Staples
And for those of you who are claustrophobic…
-Why remove furniture? We can work around it!
You may not think any of those sound funny, but my brother (who happens to work with me) is probably laughing already. But I’ll leave it up to you.
More to come…
-Stevish
March 10th, 2005 at 1:35 pm
Oh MY!..Have some troubles are ya? Well be careful when terrorizing the carpet in the end. With you’re luck, it will end up being some kind of horror film, attatching itself to your car as you wish to leave, and decide you give your room a makover. Revenge is sweet, and since it’s a carpet, it won’t think it’s so funny anymore..Dun Dun Dunnnn..
March 11th, 2005 at 10:42 am
to sand or not to sand, that is the question. all of your story reminds me of my own story. here goes. i was helping my friend one summer, as a one-time deal, in his flooring business. we got up early, yada yada, we had just finished laying the carpet and put down some tacks to hold it in place. my friend kevin taps his upper shirt pocket and says “aw man, where are my cigarettes?” and heads out to his truck to locate the nicotine fix he’s craving. just then, i notice a small lump near the doorway, under the just laid, just tacked down carpet. i didnt want to be ‘in trouble’ so i took the hammer and smashed down what i assumed were some mislaid marlboros, getting it jusssst about all smoothed out. you could barely tell there was anything there…. then the lady who we did the carpet for came in and was all panicky. “you havent seen my gerbil, have you??” yep, never laid carpet again.