I mentioned previously that I once worked renovating a house that was full of college-aged girls. The entire crew was pretty much me and Pete and a guy we had every couple of days to clean up. I can’t remember his name, actually, but he was paid at the end of the day and I’m pretty sure he didn’t have a penny in his pocket by the time he came back. We didn’t care how he spent his money, though, so long as we didn’t have to move all the rotten siding around the house to the dumpster.

Because the house was full of younger girls (although, to be fair, they were the same age as I was at that time, but much, much younger than Pete), and also because the house was surrounded by other occupied houses, we had to start a bit later in the morning. I think that made Pete cranky, because he constantly claimed to have the most energy in the morning. “I feel like I’m chomping at the bit,” he’d say. I had no idea what that meant, though.
“I get up no matter what. Before the sun rises, I’m out of bed and ready to go.”
“That’s because you drink too much,” I told him, “And you need to get to the toilet.”
I’ll let you imagine how he’d respond to that.
Anyway, we would arrive just as these young women were leaving for the day. Pete would stay in the truck, hands on the wheel, while they ran out of the house. I found them friendly and chatty but Pete insisted I stay in the truck. When our devoted helper would arrive, on his bicycle, he would sometimes stand there talking to the girls as they were coming out. I was not exactly envious, but I couldn’t see any reason to wait for them all to leave before we got started doing something.
“I thought you were chomping on a bit?”
“You’re an idiot.”

The girls would leave and we would get our tools and head to whatever part of the house we were working on. The work was to tear off the existing siding and put new siding on. The majority of the house was covered in soft, fibrous siding that absorbed whatever water came in contact with it. Under the windows was finished with fake cedar shingles, which were white in colour, that we also had to pull off and get rid of. They were very thin and hard but didn’t break easily. They were made of asbestos, which was the wonder-material of the first half of the 20th century. Asbestos, for those of you only familiar with it’s bad name, doesn’t burn and doesn’t rot. Asbestos fibres added into things like drywall or composite tile add a massive amount of strength. So, it was everywhere and in everything.
Pete happened to mention the shingles were made of asbestos and the helper said he wasn’t going to put them in the dumpster. “I don’t want to get the cancer, man. You don’t pay me enough.”
“Don’t be stupid. I used to cut this stuff with a saw all day long. I don’t have cancer. How are you gonna get cancer from this? Are you going to eat some on the way to the dumpster?”
But our helper refused and I then had to do it.
When I get asbestosis, I’ll blame Pete.

Sometimes, one of the girls would stay in the house and then Pete would get very awkward. “Keep away from the windows while she’s in there,” he said.
“Why?”
“We don’t want her to think we’re looking in.”
“We’re replacing these windows, though.”
“Not today. We’ll do something else.”
I’ve come to appreciate his paranoia about that situation a lot more over the years. But when you’re young, you think the perception can be trumped by reality. Well, the fact is, the perception is usually the only reality that matters. Things happen because of what people believe and if people believe you’re trying to do something, it doesn’t matter whether or not you are. So, as Pete would say, “Don’t gawk at the young girls. And by gawk, I mean look.”

I would say it is a matter of propriety, which doesn’t seem to count for much in the majority of our civilization. But it did for Pete. Even though he was a bit rude to everyone he knew, he was always very polite to everyone else. And I can say he probably never unintentionally bothered anyone, however much he intentionally insulted me.
“You’re a real drawer, Nelly.”
“What?” I was moving the asbestos shingles in a wheelbarrow to the dumpster.”What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Straighten your back or you’ll regret it.”

I would say it is a matter of propriety, which doesn’t seem to count for much in the majority of our civilization. But it did for Pete. Even though he was a bit rude to everyone he knew, he was always very polite to everyone else. And I can say he probably never unintentionally bothered anyone, however much he intentionally insulted me.
“You’re a real drawer, Nelly.”
“What?” I was moving the asbestos shingles in a wheelbarrow to the dumpster.”What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Straighten your back or you’ll regret it.”