And a Lucky New Year
Great moments in building history: I'm stuck!
A few days before Christmas, the boss instructed Tony and me to put one final decoration on top of a garage roof before he drove off hurriedly (the way he always did before a difficult or undesirable job was about to begin). After he’d gone, Tony said, “Don’t worry. I know exactly what he wants done.”
This assessment compounded the worry for me because this client was by far our wealthiest and our most intimidating. The garage was a six-bay monster with a delicate tile roof. In each bay was an exquisitely restored show car, including a gorgeous 1975 Corvette, several makes of sports cars and a rare 1965 Lincoln limousine with suicide doors.
Tony lifted the tarp to reveal the decoration, a huge wooden cross, nearly 6 ft. from end to end and at least 8 ft. tall, festooned with colored bulbs, the whole affair mounted on a piece of 3-in. metal pipe. “All we have to do is get this thing up there and pop it through the hole in the ridge,” Tony said. I replied, “Can’t we get the caretaker to move the cars out, just for a few minutes?”
“He’s not here, so that’s not going to happen. Just get yourself over here.”
I helped Tony wrestle the 100-lb. cross up onto his shoulder and steadied the ladder as he climbed up onto the fragile cement tiles.
In the garage, I gingerly maneuvered another ladder around the Corvette and found the ceiling access hole directly over the trunk of the Lincoln. Warily, I eased a new cotton tarp over the car and then poked the end of the ladder into the access hole, pushing the lid open. I gently angled the ladder into the hole and made my way up to where Tony was waiting on the roof. “Hurry up, will you,” Tony said. “It’s starting to rain and this thing isn’t getting any lighter.” I worked quickly, wrenching down the nuts in the saddle made for holding the big decoration.
“Okay, pal,” I yelled, “we’re all set. I’ll plug it in and meet you outside.” I heard Tony’s acknowledgement, so I plugged in the lights and made for the opening in the ceiling where the ladder was protruding through the hole. Just as I reached the fourth rung from the top, the ladder slipped on the neat, epoxy-painted floor and plummeted down with me on it—toward the trunk of the perfect Lincoln.
Fortunately, my arms caught in the access hole in the roof, and the ladder hooked on the upturned toes of my boots, less than a foot away from the classic auto parked underneath.
I was so surprised at my bad fortune mixed with good that I could only, at first, laugh.
It was a minute or so before I realized that I was not going anywhere without help.
“Tony,” I yelled, the sound of my voice absorbed into the insulation above my head, “I’m stuck!”
I heard him throwing his ladder back into the truck, and it seemed like an eternity before his footsteps made their way toward my position. “Quit fooling around. It’s getting dark.” He rounded the corner and saw my dangling feet, the ladder hanging inches from disaster.
Tony grunted as he slipped between the classic cars and hoisted the ladder back into the opening. “What are you trying to do? Get us fired?”
I shakily descended the ladder while Tony pinned it to the floor with his boots, and I felt like hugging him.
“Merry Christmas, pal,” I said. He eyed me and grumbled, “Yeah, sure. And thanks to me, a happy new year.”
—Scott Robinson, Milton, WA
Drawing by: Jackie Rogers
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