Nemo and I were putting the finishing touches on house for a dude from New Jersey, let's call him him Mussolini cause fuck-all if he doesn't look just like him. He works through local 3 en el norte and commands 50-60 guys doing comercial work. This guy has been a number one pain in the duce from day one. I understand it's his house and all but Nemo has 20 year's experience doing a house just like this one so don't hassle the man, it only gets him spinning. Over the past six months or so on a job site with the captain, I would here his phone ring, it would take a moment for him to look at his phone to discern the caller id Magoo style before I would invariably hear, "Fucking (Mussollini)!!!!!" sounding eerily like Heston belting out "It's made of people, it's made of people" for the fellas back in the day. Duce would call about the septic hook up, the trim, the ac hook up, 'oh, when are you going to get that generator set up for me', all the while the guy was leading the fascists to war up in Jersey, I mean, guy, relax, you have the best in show working you're electric. Tend to your own and everything will be cheese.
The thing of it is, you might of heard that the bastard (aka Bastard Nephew of Nemo) myself and all others in our surrounding clanm lost a matriarch recently. And between me you and a bastrad, neither one of us has had the sun shining on us all that much lately. The same is the double truth for old Nemo, who pushing 59 and still kicking old school on a 20 foot extension ladder tied with #6 wire to a stand up 10 footer (I saw him do it, I've only seen one thing crazier in my time just for a job: The dude who changes the light bulbs at Arthur Ashe Stadium. Not the 650 watts in the offices, the fucking stadium bulbs, (tune in to the US Open starting next week for the gist)in a lightning storm. Whoah). He's trying to run a small business in a system that makes that close to impossible (and for that, I don't blame anyone, I blame everyone!). So with nme jaunting back and forth to the homestead twice before in the past month, Nemo and I went back up to bury his Mom. So suffice to say we fell behind a little.
Long story significantly shorter, we finally made time for Mussollini, cause he was spending his vacation overseeing the trim-out of his house. And I don't know, maybe he thought who the hell we were, like we were some hayseeds he saw on Karpocolypse or whatever, maybe he wasn't thinking but everything became Electric 101 with him.
"You guys put wire nuts in those lights". Nah, I like to keep wires exposed when I got 110 power running through the house, this way you can grab at 'em and see if you're grounded. It's a little game I like to play.
At one point I'm putting the finishing touch on the string of flourescent wrap lights in his garage, two of which are lit up while I'm adjusting the third ever so slightly to match the others on the same line (I added that detail to illustrate how little we at Surfside Electric fuck around, ya' heard!) when he says to me "So, we gonna have light in here?" Man, I don't know, the candles I lit in those other two wraps may go out before the sun goes down, we'll see.
"Nemo, I got the alarm guys coming in next Thursday, am I going to have power in his receptacle . You know the one I'm talking about? You need me to show ya'" Dude, we wired the fucking joint, we knew where the alarm receptacle was before you archetect drew up the plans.
I said to Nemo later on that we should change our company name to Turnip Truck Electric. That's apparently where we fell off from. I don't know why I chose to return to form with this nugget, maybe I just had the time to finally sit and write something. Point is I need a pass. I'm exhausted and dreaming of Labor Day weekend. I know my role is to pick up the bastard's slack (aka the slack jawed bastard)but the last three or four months have been a real motherfucker to the motherfucker. I'll tell the story in my next How To... book--How to Cut People Off, and the Art of Heroin Junkie Maintenence and Removal.
It's made of people.
It's made of people!
that's yer motherfucker