A New Low

My neighbor, Rob, asks, "What are you doing Monday? Wanna go under a house and rake gravel?" Of course I do.

There's not enough room to crawl on all fours. I've got my raincoat on with the hood drawn tight and I'm crawling on my belly. I've got a paper mask on, but the dust gets everywhere. We stir it up in giant brown clouds. I can tell the color from light coming around the edges. We're here to get the place closer to code. The large crossbeams are made of giant raw trees. We need to have 18" clearance under each beam. I decide the easiest way to work is laying on my back. I've got more range than trying to hold myself up on my belly in snake pose. When I get tired. I lay my head down on the rocks.

It's like the tunnel in Hogans Heroes or Shawshank Redemption. I dig towards freedom. I'm (sort of ) innocent. I'm a POW (Prisoner of Wages). I'm at Ground Zero. I'm a West Virginian Coal Miner.

Neighbor Rob keeps taking smoke breaks. He's used to being a foreman and pointing for other guys to work. I'm used to sitting at a computer. Cobwebs are everywhere between the joists where there's no insulation. Sometimes the insulation dangles in our way. It's all going to get replaced. Maybe by me. We pull it down indiscriminately and stuff it toward the door. I focus on the incremental successes instead of the potential spider attacks and carcinogens I'm breathing. I get so filthy that I blow black boogers for hours afterwards. In fact I get a bloody nose that neighbor Rob attributes to the insulation. He got one too.

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