“Stick with me kid and you’ll be farting through silk underware”.
I’ve had worse bosses in terms of practiced incompetance or case studies in inbred nepotism but for shear cantankerous assholery, a certain bricklayer from the Tar-heel state by the name of “Grady” takes the prize as the hardest guy to get along with during work hours that I have ever been around. If his cake hole was open it was blaring an off key symphony of the vilest insults against you, your parents, your ancestors, future progeny, friends, acquaintances, pets…..all the while hammering into your skull in an equally profane manner the holy trinity of masonry; Square. Plumb. Level.
As a 17 year old hod carrier my primary responsibility was in keeping the mason supplied with bricks easily at hand and to mix and deliver the “mud” (mortar) at exactly the consistency he desired. And when I say “exactly” I mean that if after relaying the mud up the scaffolds via a shovel and 3’x3′ sheets of plywood known as mud-boards, if it arrived a bit drier or runnier than he was accustomed to I would find the mud-board, piled high with mortar mind you, flipped off of the scaffold and rocketing past me, if I was lucky, amid shouts of “mud’s too dry you worthless sack of shit!” At least twice an hour he would, after a particularly vicious assault on my breeding or sexuality or lack there of, laugh maniacally and yell “Stick with me kid and you’ll be fartin’ through silk underware!” as some sort of encouragement I guess. There wasn’t an hour that went by that I didn’t fantasize breaking one of those mud-boards over his mono-browed head and walking off the job. Somehow I managed to get through the summer and as my senior year of high school was commencing, I elected not to “stick” with Grady, silk underware or no.
Years later after learning the carpentry trade and running my own small general contracting company, I reminisced on that summer of hard work and bruised ego and came to a surprising conclusion.
I still hate that S.O.B. Grady with a passion and if I ever see him walking down the street I’ll do what I should have done when I was 17 and bust a piece of 3/4 inch ply over his thick tar-heel skull!