After two days of working at The Construction Company™ - which pays me handsomely - I'm pretty exhausted. On Monday, I smashed hotel ceilings all day. It was fun. Paul likey smashy things. Yesterday, I woke up and felt okay . . . until I tried to pick up a hammer again. It felt like trying to pick up a sledgehammer. As Tuesday went on, I became sorer than Paris Hilton visiting a movie director.
Except I wasn't getting boned. I was just sore from smashing ceilings.
I brought my tiny camera to work and took some photos. They're not very interesting, but neither was my day at work. Sue me.
This is me at 7 am. I dislike 7 am. If 7 am were a person, I would punch 7 am in the biscuits.
This is the view from the roof of the hotel we're working on. The opposite building is much nicer looking than the crappy hotel. Can you pick out which window has a midget standing in it? Give up? It's the 143rd. From the left.
This is both a ceiling and the most boring photo ever taken. I removed the tile, and I'm starting to remove the plaster. Above the plaster is a thin layer of wood. On Monday, that was all that removing a ceiling involved. Yesterday we were on a different floor, and the ceilings had an extra layer of thick wood plus hard wire netting over the plaster. This added an hour or longer to the removal time for each ceiling. This concludes both the most boring ceiling description ever and the list of reasons why I would have even punched God in the face if he messed with me yesterday.
Sometimes removing the ceiling tile revealed funny things . . .
. . . and sometimes it revealed a grimy cobwebbed hellhole that appeared to be the home for a mutated spider. I had to stand on a ladder with my head near crap like this all freakin' day.
Some ceiling tile was the removable kind, and when I opened this one, Playboy and Penthouse Letters magazines fell out. They were from 1983, and were probably from the last time this wing of the hotel was being used. Some porn addict probably stashed them up there to hide them from his wife. All I can say is, thank God for the internet. Now it's so much easier to hide porn.
That's . . . um, that's all I've got. No, really. That's it. That's the column. I'm tired. Bye.
