We’re closing in on the second year of my depression, and, sadly, I’ve not spent a lot of time pouring into this blog (I tend to be pretty useless when depressed; it’s been like bleeding a creative stone).
In any case, because of this, I never mentioned I quit my job as a secretary and have been working as an industrial light technician/parking maintenance flunky for the last ten months.
A lot of people have asked me how I’ve handled the transition from working in an office (which I HATED) to working outside all day.
Well, let me tell y’all.
At the beginning of last week, my boss told me to go down into one of our garages to clean up some standing water. He said it would be best to take my assistant, a power washer, and a push-squeegee to clean it up. After one very messy spray of water toward the drain, we realized we weren’t pushing standing water at all; we had just power sprayed sewage all over some very fancy-schmancy cars. It took us another four hours before we could safely say we had cleaned up the poop.
This assignment was not my favorite.
Nevertheless, at the end of last week, my boss told me he had another assignment: get rid of 100 cans of paint. Apparently, it’s illegal to toss that many buckets of paint down the drain or chuck them into a dumpster.
We found a loophole, though. You can legally pour it out, let it dry, and toss it afterwards.
So my stooge and I took enough plastic drop cloths to comfortably cover 15 yards of a football field, went to one of our vacated and decrepit properties, and dropped every last bucket of paint we had onto it.
Here are some of the results.
(My favorite color mix)
(My favorite composition)
So what is the moral of this story?
I’d rather clean up real crap than proverbial if it means they’ll pay me $15.50 an hour, for an entire day, to make modern art/finger paint.