“Easy, that’s just the kind of comment that made this meeting necessary.” John scoots forward, about to play the good cop.
“ Well the question still stands, boss.” Easy hunched forward on his chair. “If you really don’t get it, I can spell it out for you.”
“Please do.” John wasn’t afraid, but he liked the desk there between them.
“Say you got a situation. Everything ought to have gone right, but something went wrong, and your climber’s stranded up in the top of a tall tree-maybe his fault, don’t matter.” Now it sounded like Easy had swallowed something wrong, and his voice got louder.
”It’s out of reach of the fire department ladder trucks, in a back yard, and you can’t even hear the climber talk. What are you going to do? Climb up his line? It might be cut. Toss in another one? What if it’s a removal and he didn’t leave any stubs or limbs to throw to? What if your buddies up there bleedin’ to death or with brain damage or dead?” You want me to call you and get you to bring me my spurs?”
“ I see your point but-“
“But nothin’!” Easy shouted.
You climbed less time than me, you don’t remember shit, and you’re all excited about your brave new bullshit. Let me tell you something- day’s gonna come you’ll wish you had me here.”
He got up and left his chair. Anybody else, John would have called back. But he was glad to see Easy go.
Easy would get another job. He hadn’t had one when he came in years ago, and he didn’t have one now. He cleaned out his locker quick, tossed all his junk in the back of the truck, and roared out of the parking lot. But he wasn’t mad, just done with it. In a week or so, they’d send him a check. He smiled. That feeling of independence washed over him. He’d just told the bastard off, and the sun was streaming in his windshield, making him squint. He lit a cigarette and said “Fuck ‘em.” To no one.
An hour and a half later, he was still driving, slow, now, through a nice neighborhood. Maybe he’d get a license, go out on his own. If they let some of these guys get a license, they ought to let him get one.
He saw a crew struggling with a rope stretched up into a tree. Pulled his brake tight, got out and walked over.
“Need a hand?” He asked the first guy he walked up to. That guy was Hispanic, pointed at an older guy, who looked up and down at Easy and said, ”You got experience?”
Easy looked at him, held out his hand and took the hank of rope twice around a tree, handed it to the other laborer. It was turning out to be an interesting day, and he had no doubt it would get better.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Hardly Easy's Forte'
It was getting to where nobody wanted to watch Easy climb. No one wanted to work with him, he was a confirmed grouch, and took any opportunity to talk about how much harder and better things had been ‘years ago’.
There was a story for every event, and some of them came up again and again, as if he were a finely set recording, just waiting to be sprung on the crew. Not that he limited his monologue to the crew. His conversation trickled out in diners, waiting rooms, and with
customers.
“See that’s the trouble,” John D argued with John B. They were both managing crews, and John D had Easy on his.
”You can’t tell the guy anything new.”
”And the younger guys feel stifled by him”. John B added.
“Exactly” John D said.
“So what’s our move? Probation?”
“Probation. Yeah, get him a few new ideas, some outcome goals, and see how he reacts.”
Easy walked in to the meeting expecting the praise he had always had. He knew he wasn’t doing it the way all the young guys were, and that his way of trimming, not pruning, was considered stone age. He never lowered anything he could throw, he hardly used a rope except to descend, and he’d been caught using spurs on trees he shouldn’t have. But he did not expect criticism from both the managers, and had no defense except ‘yes sir,’ to men young enough to be his sons. He was a climber, a pruner of trees. He’d had no experience of boardrooms, or the mentality facing him now of calmly accepting what your superiors said.
“So then I gotta change my techniques or hit the road?” Easy asked.
“Let’s not frame this like an angry thing. It not about that at all, it’s more of like a re-boot thing. And we want you around, don’t get us wrong, it’s just that the whole world is changing, Easy. We have to match up our workforce to the demographic at hand, I’m sure you agree…”
Easy didn’t know these words or their contexts. He got confused, and showed it like he always did, in a joking anger.
“ What if we just talk English, John. You want me? This old dog will do whatever you need. I can learn a few new tricks but don’t expect me to turn twenty-five and start climbing on new hardware, ok?”
“Okay, the hardball answer, which you seem to want, is that you have to stop using spurs, period, to get into a tree. Use a ladder, like I do, and take your time. Nobody’s expecting you to outrun the young guns.”
John paused. “But you have to keep the spurs off, and from now on we’re going to ask that you leave them in the yard here unless we have a removal.”
“Let me ask you something, John, are you trying to be an asshole, or do you just not understand safety?”
There was a story for every event, and some of them came up again and again, as if he were a finely set recording, just waiting to be sprung on the crew. Not that he limited his monologue to the crew. His conversation trickled out in diners, waiting rooms, and with
customers.
“See that’s the trouble,” John D argued with John B. They were both managing crews, and John D had Easy on his.
”You can’t tell the guy anything new.”
”And the younger guys feel stifled by him”. John B added.
“Exactly” John D said.
“So what’s our move? Probation?”
“Probation. Yeah, get him a few new ideas, some outcome goals, and see how he reacts.”
Easy walked in to the meeting expecting the praise he had always had. He knew he wasn’t doing it the way all the young guys were, and that his way of trimming, not pruning, was considered stone age. He never lowered anything he could throw, he hardly used a rope except to descend, and he’d been caught using spurs on trees he shouldn’t have. But he did not expect criticism from both the managers, and had no defense except ‘yes sir,’ to men young enough to be his sons. He was a climber, a pruner of trees. He’d had no experience of boardrooms, or the mentality facing him now of calmly accepting what your superiors said.
“So then I gotta change my techniques or hit the road?” Easy asked.
“Let’s not frame this like an angry thing. It not about that at all, it’s more of like a re-boot thing. And we want you around, don’t get us wrong, it’s just that the whole world is changing, Easy. We have to match up our workforce to the demographic at hand, I’m sure you agree…”
Easy didn’t know these words or their contexts. He got confused, and showed it like he always did, in a joking anger.
“ What if we just talk English, John. You want me? This old dog will do whatever you need. I can learn a few new tricks but don’t expect me to turn twenty-five and start climbing on new hardware, ok?”
“Okay, the hardball answer, which you seem to want, is that you have to stop using spurs, period, to get into a tree. Use a ladder, like I do, and take your time. Nobody’s expecting you to outrun the young guns.”
John paused. “But you have to keep the spurs off, and from now on we’re going to ask that you leave them in the yard here unless we have a removal.”
“Let me ask you something, John, are you trying to be an asshole, or do you just not understand safety?”
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Later that lifetime
Easy looked at the laundry ready to be done. Pants that have felt the violence of saw teeth, oils, and of tree’s bark and pitch. Shirts too sweaty to wear another moment. Cast off, thrown off in a funk of wet and moss and fungus. The tired, wrung underwear, twisted as it fell. Socks, busy hiding from their mates as married couples with different hobbies.
The laundry lies in piles and stacks with towels, rags that were used to clean things.
The gas, the oil, the sap. Bits of sticks, leaves, needles stuck in the clothes pockets and chips at a high-water mark on some of them.
He picked it all up and walked into the Laundromat, at an hour where he hoped to meet few people. It had been years since Jim’s death, and he had moved south, to the bay area. It wasn’t any warmer, and he hated the traffic, but it suited him, somehow. He had become a solitary old man who walked with a little limp. He was a valued employee at Davis Tree, but as usual he had no real friends.
As he set the baskets atop a formica counter at the laundry folding area, he felt in his pocket for the quarters he’d brought in. There was almost no one in there. He pulled his cap’s brim low enough so it felt like there was only him.
“Trent, dude, grab a ride home with you?”
“Yeah, alright, but hurry up.”
“What do you have to hurry for?” Rich pulled out a joint and fired it up. “You afraid Mr. Easy’s going to hound your ass all the way down Fremont too?”
Trent smiled, “True, huh? Fucker’s always got some shit to bitch about…thanks.”
They cruised along, starting to feel the smoke loosen their tongues.
“What bugs me is not his constant stories about Jim, whoever the hell that is, or his riding my ass like a lawnmower in deep grass,”Rich laughed and coughed up his hit at that, ”but the fact that he’s apparently the oldest looking bastard in the world, but he outworks all our slim asses.”
“Dude is unreal.”
“ And he’s probably the loneliest guy in the world.”
“ I heard that.”
The next day, Easy was up in the tree, cutting out a top. “I’m gonna sell my rope and saddle, for a ticket to Seattle” he sang tunelessly. It was times like these he felt his best. The work was going good, he liked his crew allright, he was sweating and not thinking. He was just doing, and something good would come of it.
“How old is that guy up in the tree,?” asked the lady of the house.
Trent, stopped to chat with her, looked up to see if Easy was going to yell at him.
“Nobody really knows, “ he said. He looks about fifty, but he talks about going to high school in 1957, so…”
“ My god, well he sure is fit. I can’t watch this.”
The laundry lies in piles and stacks with towels, rags that were used to clean things.
The gas, the oil, the sap. Bits of sticks, leaves, needles stuck in the clothes pockets and chips at a high-water mark on some of them.
He picked it all up and walked into the Laundromat, at an hour where he hoped to meet few people. It had been years since Jim’s death, and he had moved south, to the bay area. It wasn’t any warmer, and he hated the traffic, but it suited him, somehow. He had become a solitary old man who walked with a little limp. He was a valued employee at Davis Tree, but as usual he had no real friends.
As he set the baskets atop a formica counter at the laundry folding area, he felt in his pocket for the quarters he’d brought in. There was almost no one in there. He pulled his cap’s brim low enough so it felt like there was only him.
“Trent, dude, grab a ride home with you?”
“Yeah, alright, but hurry up.”
“What do you have to hurry for?” Rich pulled out a joint and fired it up. “You afraid Mr. Easy’s going to hound your ass all the way down Fremont too?”
Trent smiled, “True, huh? Fucker’s always got some shit to bitch about…thanks.”
They cruised along, starting to feel the smoke loosen their tongues.
“What bugs me is not his constant stories about Jim, whoever the hell that is, or his riding my ass like a lawnmower in deep grass,”Rich laughed and coughed up his hit at that, ”but the fact that he’s apparently the oldest looking bastard in the world, but he outworks all our slim asses.”
“Dude is unreal.”
“ And he’s probably the loneliest guy in the world.”
“ I heard that.”
The next day, Easy was up in the tree, cutting out a top. “I’m gonna sell my rope and saddle, for a ticket to Seattle” he sang tunelessly. It was times like these he felt his best. The work was going good, he liked his crew allright, he was sweating and not thinking. He was just doing, and something good would come of it.
“How old is that guy up in the tree,?” asked the lady of the house.
Trent, stopped to chat with her, looked up to see if Easy was going to yell at him.
“Nobody really knows, “ he said. He looks about fifty, but he talks about going to high school in 1957, so…”
“ My god, well he sure is fit. I can’t watch this.”
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Laid low
Jim never showed up to work the next day, Wednesday, and nobody could be reached at his number, but since Anita worked, nobody thought much of that. Jim was known to disappear, but only on Mondays or Fridays.
Everyone had an idea he was a drinker, but in the tree business, in the 1990’s, that was protective coloration, not something to make a man stand out. Hell, Easy drank, but not very often and not very hard, not for years.
There was a little banter between McGrath and Easy Wednesday evening at the shop about Jim, and McGrath saw that Easy was holding back from his usual barbs.
“What the hell, is he taking a sick day now, three weeks after he fell?”
“ Oh, I wouldn’t let it worry you. You know Jim” Easy returned.
“ I’m pissed, Turnbull, not worried. You ever turn a trick like this you’d better expect the Wrath of McGrath.”
“ Heh. That’s fer sure. Easy slid off the corner of the desk,” I’ll be seein ya for more fun tomorrow.”
The phone rang and McGrath held up a finger, “You hang on a minute while I take this?”
Easy nodded and stood up, yawning.He heard, “McGraths Tree Company’ said in a higher register, with a smile, then, ”Hows the boy?” in a serious tone.”Just a second Anita, I can’t understand you at all hon, let me put you on the speaker.”
She talked very fast and high.’’I… came home and there are these messages.. we had a little fight but he never drives when he’s…” sobbing, ” Oh tell me he’s there.How could he be dead?”
“WHAT?” Easy exploded.
“ Anita, we’re going to get to the bottom of this,” McGrath said. ”I’m going to come and pick you up in ten minutes. Wash your face and we’ll go see the police or whoever- okay. Okay hon. No no. Listen. Ten minutes. Okay..”
“Jesus, what the-“
“Shut up Easy. Get in your rig and go to the central police, say you’re his cousin and i.d. him if you have to.”
“I.d?”
“Identify. Jim’s dead. No cop is going to make that mistake, besides, it was the coroner who called.”
“Oh Jesus.”
“ Yes! Easy, can you do this? Because if what we heard is any indication, Anita can’t, and auto injuries are not pretty.”
He did it, and he didn’t say a word, but, “-yep, that’s Jim,” to the intern in the morgue.
Later, when he went to the junkyard for Anita, and he saw where the window was cracked, and there was still blood that hadn’t quite dried, he did say some stuff, none of it memorable. By then everyone knew Jim had had few on top of pain medication, and was on his way to the store for more when he swerved for something, hit a pole at forty -five or so. No belt.
“No belt you sonofabitch! Didn’t I teach you nothing?” Easy yelled at the wreck.
Everyone had an idea he was a drinker, but in the tree business, in the 1990’s, that was protective coloration, not something to make a man stand out. Hell, Easy drank, but not very often and not very hard, not for years.
There was a little banter between McGrath and Easy Wednesday evening at the shop about Jim, and McGrath saw that Easy was holding back from his usual barbs.
“What the hell, is he taking a sick day now, three weeks after he fell?”
“ Oh, I wouldn’t let it worry you. You know Jim” Easy returned.
“ I’m pissed, Turnbull, not worried. You ever turn a trick like this you’d better expect the Wrath of McGrath.”
“ Heh. That’s fer sure. Easy slid off the corner of the desk,” I’ll be seein ya for more fun tomorrow.”
The phone rang and McGrath held up a finger, “You hang on a minute while I take this?”
Easy nodded and stood up, yawning.He heard, “McGraths Tree Company’ said in a higher register, with a smile, then, ”Hows the boy?” in a serious tone.”Just a second Anita, I can’t understand you at all hon, let me put you on the speaker.”
She talked very fast and high.’’I… came home and there are these messages.. we had a little fight but he never drives when he’s…” sobbing, ” Oh tell me he’s there.How could he be dead?”
“WHAT?” Easy exploded.
“ Anita, we’re going to get to the bottom of this,” McGrath said. ”I’m going to come and pick you up in ten minutes. Wash your face and we’ll go see the police or whoever- okay. Okay hon. No no. Listen. Ten minutes. Okay..”
“Jesus, what the-“
“Shut up Easy. Get in your rig and go to the central police, say you’re his cousin and i.d. him if you have to.”
“I.d?”
“Identify. Jim’s dead. No cop is going to make that mistake, besides, it was the coroner who called.”
“Oh Jesus.”
“ Yes! Easy, can you do this? Because if what we heard is any indication, Anita can’t, and auto injuries are not pretty.”
He did it, and he didn’t say a word, but, “-yep, that’s Jim,” to the intern in the morgue.
Later, when he went to the junkyard for Anita, and he saw where the window was cracked, and there was still blood that hadn’t quite dried, he did say some stuff, none of it memorable. By then everyone knew Jim had had few on top of pain medication, and was on his way to the store for more when he swerved for something, hit a pole at forty -five or so. No belt.
“No belt you sonofabitch! Didn’t I teach you nothing?” Easy yelled at the wreck.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Bonus track
I am inserting another serial this week. I am working on a format change, too, so expect to see it soon. It is cool when I look at the other blogs linked to declarationediting.com how they some of them have the serial in order so you can read them form the top down. I want mine like that when I grow up.
Point Counterpoint
Jim turned and faced him without dropping the limb.“You, Easy- you’re up my butt lately. Just back off and let me work, okay?”
“I don’t have any idea-“
“You don’t have any idea? Let me give you an idea, Buddy,” Jim said sarcastically. “You told me about fifty things I could have done better on that fucking redwood. You’ve told me about the fact I wasn’t wearing spurs, and the fact I should have taken more time, and the fact that you saved my ass.” He took a breath and was surprised that he didn’t feel mad any more, he felt shaky, but determined. He dropped the branch off his shoulder.
“ I am so sick of hearing about it- just let it fucking die, willya?” He waved one hand. Easy started to say he was sorry-which would have been a first- but Jim cut him off-“Just let it DIE!”
That was when he strained his back, a terrific wrenching heave to get back under the branch. He couldn’t let Easy see that, so he carried it on out, fired up the chipper, and started to let in the clutch. Before the noise got too loud he could hear Easy’s saw start in the backyard, like a wasp hitting and slowing, then hitting again, angry and fast.
As Anita rubbed his back, she asked if Easy had been doing something to embarrass him or shame him.
“It’s not that” Jim said. “I honestly don’t think he knows he’s doing it. Easy’s…” He let the words trail off. Her hands felt good, and if he didn’t move, or think about work, he could at least partly enjoy this moment.
“I really think its something telling you to quit- it’s not Easy or you or anything else, just maybe after all this time you need to do something else.”
“Right,” he snapped, ”I know your opinion, and I think its funny I never tell you where to work.”
Anita stood up, obviously stung, and Jim lay on the bed trying to form the word ‘stop’, or ‘wait’, but in a minute, he heard the front door click shut, and knew she would be at her mom’s, watching old movies, and would not be home that night.
He pushed himself off the bed and winced, making his way to the refrigerator, and could only think of a cold beer.The phone rang a few minutes later as he hit the remote, casting around for something to watch.
“What?” he said, expecting it to be Anita. He’d say, ”You left? I didn’t notice.” When she told him where she’d gone.
“It’s Easy, Jim you got a minute?”
“Go.”
“ I got to say- I mean I have to, uh…”
Jim thought the line might have gone dead, but he listened just in case for twenty seconds. Finally a small voice said ” I was outa line. I’m sorry.”
“No no.”
Then a silence as they both struggled to find something to say.
“I don’t have any idea-“
“You don’t have any idea? Let me give you an idea, Buddy,” Jim said sarcastically. “You told me about fifty things I could have done better on that fucking redwood. You’ve told me about the fact I wasn’t wearing spurs, and the fact I should have taken more time, and the fact that you saved my ass.” He took a breath and was surprised that he didn’t feel mad any more, he felt shaky, but determined. He dropped the branch off his shoulder.
“ I am so sick of hearing about it- just let it fucking die, willya?” He waved one hand. Easy started to say he was sorry-which would have been a first- but Jim cut him off-“Just let it DIE!”
That was when he strained his back, a terrific wrenching heave to get back under the branch. He couldn’t let Easy see that, so he carried it on out, fired up the chipper, and started to let in the clutch. Before the noise got too loud he could hear Easy’s saw start in the backyard, like a wasp hitting and slowing, then hitting again, angry and fast.
As Anita rubbed his back, she asked if Easy had been doing something to embarrass him or shame him.
“It’s not that” Jim said. “I honestly don’t think he knows he’s doing it. Easy’s…” He let the words trail off. Her hands felt good, and if he didn’t move, or think about work, he could at least partly enjoy this moment.
“I really think its something telling you to quit- it’s not Easy or you or anything else, just maybe after all this time you need to do something else.”
“Right,” he snapped, ”I know your opinion, and I think its funny I never tell you where to work.”
Anita stood up, obviously stung, and Jim lay on the bed trying to form the word ‘stop’, or ‘wait’, but in a minute, he heard the front door click shut, and knew she would be at her mom’s, watching old movies, and would not be home that night.
He pushed himself off the bed and winced, making his way to the refrigerator, and could only think of a cold beer.The phone rang a few minutes later as he hit the remote, casting around for something to watch.
“What?” he said, expecting it to be Anita. He’d say, ”You left? I didn’t notice.” When she told him where she’d gone.
“It’s Easy, Jim you got a minute?”
“Go.”
“ I got to say- I mean I have to, uh…”
Jim thought the line might have gone dead, but he listened just in case for twenty seconds. Finally a small voice said ” I was outa line. I’m sorry.”
“No no.”
Then a silence as they both struggled to find something to say.
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