Waterloo
Great moments in building history: Know your terrain, always protect your flanks, and never drop your guard.
We were going to make big bucks. Our bid to install vinyl tile at the local mall had been accepted even though my partner Custer and I had doubled every cost we could think of when we estimated the job.
Our plan was methodical, always leaving an ample path for traffic. The owners of the mall had provided us with plenty of the stanchions and rope commonly used to cordon off areas under construction. As with most commercial jobs, time was of the essence, and after the first day we realized that we were going to finish well ahead of schedule.
We had been working just about around the clock, taking a few hours off for sleep during the busiest traffic time. The lack of sleep and the impending profits made us both a little giddy. The conversations bounced between the new tools we were going to buy and the location of our extended vacations.
But with the near-constant issue of crowd control, I knew it was important to keep our guard up. The adhesive we were using required a 15-min. “tack” time after it was spread out, and I felt the most vulnerable when all of that goo was spread on the floor.
I had just finished trawling out a sizable area of the adhesive and had picked my spot to stand guard when I saw the little bugger coming.
He was 3 years old, was doing about 30 mph and had what looked to be an older brother right on his heels. The most alarming attribute of this 3-year-old was his height, which was about 2 in. less than our barricade.
Custer was much closer to the impact zone, and I shouted a warning to him as I moved toward the kids. He closed the gap easily and corralled the little guy, absorbing the impact as the trailing sibling slammed into them.
Custer’s attempt at a stern reprimand was less than convincing, and I glanced around at the crowd to enjoy the reaction.
It was at that moment when everything started happening in slow motion. I’m not sure when I first saw her, but I think it was when I caught a glint of her blue-gray cotton-candy hairdo. Even though her gait was slow, it was steady, and I knew instantly that I’d never make it in time. She apparently didn’t hear my shouts of warning. She reached the barrier cord, deftly lifted it and moved under it. As she moved across the freshly spread adhesive, I realized my only hope was to catch her at the other side. Snapping out of my paralysis, I made tracks to intercept her. Once again the gap was closed easily, and I stood waiting to offer an outstretched hand.
But her balance apparently was on par with her hearing. As she got about halfway across, down she went, and her futile attempts at getting up resembled a dog scratching its own back. Finally, she rolled over on all fours, and stood up, thoroughly coated with adhesive. To complicate matters further, she was now pointed in the opposite direction. As she took off, I had no choice but to hop the barricade and give chase.
Tile adhesive can be mighty slippery before it tacks up, and I realized immediately that the best I could do was to match her steady pace. Everything was happening in slow motion again, but this time it felt like a recurring nightmare, the one where you try to run but your legs just don’t respond.
All I could do was watch helplessly as she cleared the barricade and headed for the men’s area of a nearby department store. The row with underwear would have been great, or even the shirts. But this stickum-covered woman with a penchant for disaster started plowing right through the store’s best line of men’s suits. An alert sales clerk had managed to choke off one end of the aisle, and Custer had the sense to block off the other end.
It took a while to calm her down, and we tried our best to talk her into a clean set of clothes, but she would have none of it and insisted on getting home as soon as possible. We escorted her to her car (keeping a respectful distance) and, being the gentlemen we are, spread one of our drop cloths over the seat. As a final tribute to our concern, Custer poked three holes in the bottom of a plastic trash bag and gently lowered the bag over her. We didn’t want her to become one with the drop cloth.
It wasn’t until years later that I stumbled across a book that would have prepared me for that job. It was a book on the strategies of war by Napoleon Bonaparte, and after I read it, it was clear that I failed to observe three essential rules of winning a battle: Know your terrain, always protect your flanks, and never drop your guard.
—Carl Hagstrom, Montrose, Pennsylvania
Drawing by: Jackie Rogers
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