summer

Its been an interesting summer for me.   My normal practice is to find a job with a schedule and take the "clock in, clock out"  approach.  This summer was different.  This time I merely hired myself out to people to complete certain projects and worked on these jobs at my own pace.  Granted, many of those who hired me were employers from previous summers, but I was my own man.
When you are your own man you find out how little you actually know.
An owner of a large barn wanted some help repairing the century-old building.  Snow had knocked the roof down and damaged the floor beneath.   The floor also had some rotten boards in need of replacement. The owner,  Reed von Gal,  had experience as a carpenter, electrician, plumber,  and welder.   He was a man who recognized a good worker.  So there I was,  trying to patch holes and replace rotten boards by myself.  My saw buzzed, my hammer hammered,  and my neck got sunburnt.  My accomplishments were about equal to those of an old basset hound on a sultry summer afternoon.  Help was needed.  So I called my friend Marcel.  "When do you need me?" Marcel asked.  "When can you get here?"  I said.  I ignored the project for two weeks waiting for Marcel.  Fortunately,  Reed took a business trip and did not watch his floor continue to molder away.  When Marcel arrived,  we went to the job as early as possible.  He strapped on his tool belt and went right to work.  Since it would allow me to at least look the part of a carpenter,  I  borrowed a tool belt and strapped it on as well.  It was on the loose side,  So while Marcel started repairing a floor,  my main task was trying to keep my tool belt around my waist.  Eventually,  Marcel realized that I was more useful as dead weight than anything else.  "Stand here," he said,  "and hold this board down."   That's when Reed decided to reappear.  He saw Marcel working while I stood still with my hands on my hips.  My daily wage no doubt ran through his head.  He told me to get back to work.  I pulled my tool belt back up and said that I would.   At the end of the day  Marcel appeared to me to have repaired five hundred square feet of floor.  I had nailed down a few sorry planks.  My ego was down on the floor, along with my tool belt, which had managed to slip off again. 
After a few days, Marcel had to return home, and I was left to continue to as best I could.  Well, Reed needed to come on up and help,  but when the dust settled,  there was a new floor in the old barn.  The completion came with quite a sense of relief.  Long days in the middle of July have a certain intensity anyway,  and my lack of experience had been just about as showcased as possible.  My main accomplishment was keeping my toolbelt around my waist,  by hanging it on gloves tucked into my belt and employing a walking gait normally reserved for runway models.  Fortunately, Reed had his head down most of the time.  He also hosted a barn dance a couple of weeks later.  No one fell through the floor, so  my assumption is that my work is no threat to humanity.
Later Marcel called me.  "What are you doing for a job this fall?" he asked.  I told him that I had no idea.  "Why don't you come work with the me?" he continued.  "I don't know,"  I said.  "Will I have to wear a toolbelt?"