Goooood lord…
When Christine saw the new Krispy Kreme sign going up awhile back, she squealed and slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street. I was the same when I saw the new big orange Home Depot sign going up around the corner. But everyone at the new Home Depot already knows me now. For an old curmudgeon like me, it’s kinda annoying sometimes. I don’t always feel like being all neighborly when I am just slamming in real quick to pick up a box of nails or something, yanno. But I do engage in the nice-nice… … cuz I am southern, afterall.
Heavy into the construction project in the backyard, turning a rather rustic old shed into a painting studio. Hoping to finish it up by the middle of next week. The guys are doing drywall now. At this point, I am mostly staying out of the way, running those endless errands to the new Home Depot. To tell the truth, I think the workers send me on an errand when they want to take a long break. It’s already hitting some serious highs in the afternoons.
The handyman who is heading up this studio project is squat little monkey of a man, masquerading as a peacock. His name is Emet, and he is full of shit. He has been working around my love shack off n’ on for a coupla months now, helping me with different stuff. I know full well he bluffs when he boasts, but I have seen that he will throw down to back it up. Emet will take on construction stuff he knows nothing about, and figure it out as he goes. (I did the same thing in technology.) Any man who takes some pride in his work gets my respect and my money. Emet is no craftsman, but he is the most earnest handyman I have ever come across. (In renovating this old house, believe me, I have had some less than stellar experiences with contractors.) Emet is a citizen of Mexico and his English is only so-so, just as my Spanish is pretty limited. But sometimes we’ll stand around bumping our gums, topping each others stories. These are somewhat tall tales, usually punctuated at the end with “no shit”.
Since I do have a genuine affection for Emet, I was glad to be able to help him a little. I made Emet some business cards and set up the voice mail on his cell phone so he could bump his business up a notch. Because the man is such a hardworker, now he is supervising crews on a coupla other renovation jobs while managing mine. He just bought a new work truck last week and was showing it off to me.
Not far from my house, there is a certain corner where other men from Mexico gather very early every morning, waiting for labor for that day. This is where Emet gets his crew, and he has brought a different guy almost every day. I used to see those men waiting on that corner in the mornings, and suspected their labor was being exploited. Now they are in my own backyard, I don’t know how I feel about that. A real personal sensitivity around class struggles, combined with the usual dose of white guilt, topped off with the nagging weight of American privilege makes me feel like I should spring for lunch most days. But what kind of reaction is that, really? My desire to show some appreciation to Emet for the work he has done for me is pure, but what assumptions am I making that I would feel any tug to be generous to his work crew, men with whom I have shared inconsiderable interaction with? Is it self-serving or charitable?
I’d prefer to relate to any stranger soley on a direct human level, with common kindness and respect. But even an everyday act as simple as hanging drywall in an old shed reminds me we do live in a complex world. Racism is such a crushing, turning wheel the world over… I think it is impossible to have both eyes open and be unconscious and unaffected, even in simple decency and intended good will.
Mmmm. Unresolved, but that is nothing new.
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