The Competition

I pushed the broom with a quick rhythm across the driveway. Painters were crawling around on the roof like ants, putting their finishing touches on the carefully crafted facade. Empty boxes of garbage were being carried out of the house and vacuums and mops were being carried in. The house was on the market now and pressure was building. Other homes on the street were already listed and the games had begun.

I was focused on my work when a neighbouring builder approached the site. He walked straight up to me and without modality said "I sold my house".

There was a pause in the action as my guts began to quake. My silence made it obvious that I was not happy. Heads were turning. The trades working on my house were now tuned into the interaction. I made the honourable move and congratulated him. I listened to the story of how the offers and counter offers had come to completion. He complemented the good job I was doing and walked away. The pace on the job site resumed. I put my head down and continued again with the rhythm of the broom as the looming disappointment dug in a little deeper.

I don't consider myself to be a competitive person. No one else does either. I have taken several personality tests that would verify this - apparently this is because I don't watch a lot of sports. But pride develops when you devote yourself to something. You become vulnerable and start to care about things that are very real within the context, but are not always logical. I pride myself in building houses that are well built, carefully designed and aggressively priced. Unfortunately, I also pride myself in out-selling the competition. And I usually do. It's hard not to care.

Back to School

I remember back to school
Everyone bummed
Anxious about wardrobes
 
I remember feelings of relief
No more shovelling, sweating or moving piles of lumber
 
Teachers were so much kinder than bosses
My friends were more fun to hang out with than know-it-all rednecks
Relentlessly telling you how it is
How to be
What you should've done
Why didn't you this
Why didn't you that

Good riddance

At least I had a few muscles until October
Then it's back to skin and bones

 

The Truth

"Sorry I didn’t make it out today. My truck caught on fire." I called back right away only to hear the same voicemail greeting I had heard too many times already.

"Good one". Irritated, I sat staring at the pile of garbage that needed to go. The broken-down-truck excuse has been used too much to be believable anymore.

Talk is cheap when it comes to keeping a construction site on schedule. Trades and labourers knowingly make short-sighted promises.  They commit to show up at a certain time only to bail out and ignore multiple phone calls in a complete boycott of communication.

Trades and labourers are often accused of not being reliable but the deceit is also ubiquitous among contractors and construction managers.  Contractors often convince trades to show up at a job with full knowledge that the site won't be ready for them. Unashamed, they lie or withhold information to get a better deal. They manipulate the facts to get extra work done free of charge.

In some cases there is also no intention of paying trades for their work. This is one of the worst offences a general contractor can commit and yet, it occurs frequently. It's amazing that anything gets done with these industry standards.  It has at times, caused me lose faith in the entire industry.

Over time, actions of the integral eventually overshadow the overflow of empty promises and missed deadlines. A reputation is built as words are measured against actions. Trust between the owners, management and trades is established and only then is it possible for work to be completed effectively. Once a trusting relationship is forged between a contractor and a trade, it is rarely broken and the relationship can span an entire career.

My doubt was extinguished when a shiny new truck drove up a few days later to pick up the giant pile of garbage that had been irritating me. I was then shown a picture of a truck consumed by flames and an article written about the incident in the local newspaper. The truth had been told.

 

The proof that this actually does happen sometimes

 

Creativity

A Stereo made from an 8" PVC pipe. An act of ingenuity even though it plays a lot of Nickelback.

 

I drove my Ford Econoline van loaded with tools up the hill to Simon Fraser University. Eight years had passed since I last made the journey. Subsequently, I decided to abandon my studies to pursue a career in residential construction - a choice that would leave my study in literature and language use underutilized and unappreciated. Walking the halls of the university, I spotted the flyers and posters projecting both political and social initiatives that don't get a lot of airtime during construction site conversation. Part of my mind was being reawakened. A multiplicity of world views and ideas flashed at me from the cork boards as I walked to class - philosophies that had become casualties in the wake of my time spent in a working class culture.

 

Two years ago I went back university to continue my literature studies in the evening after work. Not only was I busy with my young children and a demanding job, I was also shaken by the negative attitudes I encountered regarding my occupation.

 

This became clear to me during one of the classroom discussions. The word, "creativity" had been used in almost every discussion and in every possible form. It was becoming redundant so I took a different approach to the idea and asserted that there is an element of creativity in construction and manual labour. The flow of the conversation stopped dead. The instructor broke the silence: "What is it that you find creative about construction?" It was an honest question but still, I was surprised that my assertion demanded an explanation. My words seemed to fall flat on the floor as soon as they left my mouth. There was an awkward silence and the conversation moved on. Clearly this was not a receptive audience.

 

What isn't creative about working with your hands? It is, in fact the very essence of creating. Writing, visual arts and music are truly creative disciplines but they are abstract in nature. After many hours of work, the only physical evidence left behind is a stack of paper, a canvas or sound waves travelling through the air. I need a continual reminder that I am actually taking part in something tangible. When something tactile is created with your hands, no such reminder is necessary.  It is painfully obvious what you've accomplished after shovelling an entire truck load of sand.  When it comes to mindless and repetitive jobs, there are nuances to the work that only an expert will recognize (on a typical job site, they'll certainly let you know). The process in which a job is carried out is unique once the minutia of the work is understood. Also, as problems and deviations occur in the course of the work, the act of problem solving is undoubtedly creative.

 

The word "creative" is often used as a means of differentiation. The work of others is often perceived as banal and uninventive - as if being creative is unique or special. It isn't. Being creative is simply part of being human. We all create objects, ideas, images and beauty as we perform our daily routines, whether it’s a stay-at-home parent finding a way to distract their children from melting down on a car ride, a carpenter planning out the most efficient way to cut a stack of 2x4s to length or an artist applying oil to canvas. One just happens to draw a lot more praise and prestige.