You would think after yesterday I would sink into retirement oblivion never to be seen by the eyes of younger construction workers ever again. Holy crap, the first two hours of pulling toilets and sinks out of a timeshare renovation were excruciating. Every muscle in my body hurt and all the bruises from lying under bathroom cabinets unhooking plumbing lines looked like I was hit by a train. You don’t even want to know about carrying toilets down two flights of stairs with the seats banging against my forearms that now look like freshly ground hamburger.
The amazing part was that, after the first two hours, I started feeling better and decided not to jump off the balcony in frustration. By lunch time, I was chatting with my co-workers and eating baloney sandwiches with relish. Age came up in the conversation, and one worker proudly announced he was sixty-four and undoubtedly the oldest guy on the crew. “No so fast,” I exclaimed. “You are now the second oldest guy on the crew!” I fear my announcement deflated him greatly. Is it my fault I don’t look sixty-eight?
We finished the job early and headed to the shop. I was proud to have made it my first day without having a heart attack or getting hurt. After unloading tools at the shop, I was anxious to get home and take a hot shower. My wife nursed me and told me how proud she was of her hard-working man. Her real concern was why I had not called her during the day. She said she wasn’t worried, but I could tell she was. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that if I had called, I would have begged her to let me come home because I couldn’t handle physical work anymore. Had that happened, neither one of us would have been proud….
I’m just saying,