My New Career
I am about to begin an exciting career as a ditch digger. It pays better than being a writer–three times as much. I owe this vocational revelation to my plumber. When he was prepared to charge me a $150 an hour to dig a hole in my yard, I realized that I was in the wrong business.
My apprenticeship began last week when I noticed that soapy water from the washing machine was backing up into a toilet. If I were more sophisticated, I would have appreciated my fulminating toilet as a makeshift bidet. Unfortunately, I am just not that French. No, I could only think of the situation as a disaster, and so I called the most reliable plumber we know: someone who will only rob you blind but guarantee the work.
Eight hundred dollars later, his crew alleviated the immediate problem and gave us the long-term prognosis: we needed a new pipe and that would require extensive digging by two men at a $150 a hour. I told him that I could get Ivy League PhDs to do the job for less. (Actually, I only know two–and I am not really sure that they can be trusted with sharp tools.)
However, I can be. When it comes to tools and manual labor, I even have delusions of being Gentile. So, to save money, I offered to dig part of the hole. The trench is supposed to be six feet long, three feet wide and four feet deep. (If there is a jester’s skull there, it is mine.) At the very least, I can remove and save the top soil. True, my 57 year-old body probably can only do half the work of some burly young plumbers; but I would only charge one third as much. That is a 17 percent savings!
The plumber would still do any work that required skill and training, but I was capable of the mindless drudgery. I cannot tell exactly what his reaction meant. Did he shrug in acquiesence or in disbelief? He has yet to send me his official estimate for the project; so perhaps he is trying to avoid me.
That is too bad. If he liked my work as a ditch digger, I could have used him as a reference on LinkedIn.
Congratulations on your new career!
The story goes that my great-uncle was the only one who had a job in our family during the Great Depression, as a ditch -digger. There were men lined up outside the ditch just waiting for him to give up and lay his shovel down, so they could jump in and take over his job.
I do know the words to “Buddy, Can You Spare a Dime?”
Eugene
You should have offered to edit something for him in exchange for the whole job.