Putting The "Woman" In Manual Labor

Our office is currently expanding into a space next door. It is almost completed and we already have two guys employed for when it's done. They've been here for like six weeks playing Halo and answering phones. We get on quite well. My Halo game has improved quite a bit and it's nice not to have to answer phones anymore. (We've been between receptionists for 4 months now.) Today was the day that the carpet was being put in.

I walk to my transfer train and as usual, see Ben, one of the two guys mentioned above. He has headphones on and as I approach him he starts to take them off. You know when you have your music on pretty loud and you speak louder than usual to compensate, which is pointless only because no one else can hear your music and you just end up talking unnecessarily loud? Well that's what he did. And what were these loud words he decided to speak? "I got hit by a car!" Everyone looked at us, and if i weren't so stunned by his announcement, I would have been embarrassed by his outburst. He took off his sunglasses to reveal the nastiest black eye I've ever seen. That was his only visible injury and so immediately my mind started wondering how exactly one would get hit in the eye by a car. And moreover, how one might survive such an attack. He explains how a cab hit him on his bike and he hit his face on the windshield and bounced off into the road. People walking by saw and pulled his unconscious body onto the sidewalk. He'd be dead if he weren't wearing a helmet. (Now I don't know about you, but this is the point where I'd take two months off of work and curl up in the fetal position on my parents bed, screaming anytime anyone mentioned a "C" word.) He had a concussion and spent the better part of his weekend in the hospital getting CAT-scans and x-rays. Why exactly was he going into work? One may never know. I ordered him to turn around and go back home, (as if I have such authority), but alas, he insisted he was fine.

We get to work and he fills everyone in on his eventful weekend. Comparatively, we all concluded that our weekends were pretty awesome. The other guy reveals with a hearty cough that he has bronchitis. My boss turns to me and pats my back, "Ready to do some manual labor?" ECCCCKKKK.

The three rooms need to be cleaned out of all the junk-including large scraps of dry wall. Ladders, paint cans, nails, shelves, a computer, wood, need I go on?? Then the floors needed to be vacuumed. It was not going to be an usual Monday. (An usual? A usual? Word has lost all meaning.)

There was an awkward moment when drugged up Ben, (from painkillers), said something about how amazing the vacuum is, "it sucks better than you've ever sucked-". Of course this was directed towards me, and with my boss at my side, blush rose to my cheeks and I couldn't help but crack a smile at the obvious unintended double meaning there. I would have slipped in a "dirty" or a snide remark but bossman beat me to it, "Please stop there." I agreed, "Yes please!" That is one thing that I love about our office. We're all pretty young, even bossman, and the atmosphere is so laid back that these potentially funny moments never pass us by. Someone is sure to point out a "dirty" or tell a coworker to "stop being an asshole". The latter is usually me. I work with three boys! I'm the only girl and someone needs to keep them straight.

I digress, due to the extraordinary circumstances, I started my manual labor. Sweat and all. And I was wearing my new jeans! I've never felt like more of a girl. But I did it and cleaned out the whole space. Then I took the super-sucking vacuum to the floor, filling the bag with drywall powder. A thick, flour-like mess. At the end of the day, the carpet was laid, the stuff was moved, and I was tired. My last, seemingly easy task was to return the vacuum. Just getting this thing on the elevator was work enough. I finally get it down there and the tall man with the cover-alls tells me I have to empty the bag because "The boy from Savannah borrowed it last week and didn't clean it out. Once is okay. Today he borrows it and I tell him he has to clean it out, and no, he has to clean it out." I didn't have the heart to tell him that "The boy from Savannah" left work early cause he got hit by a car this weekend, so instead I tredge back upstairs with a gas mask and a frown. He provided me for the gas mask because of the dust that was surely going to be let loose. Remember my "ECCCKKK" from earlier? Insert it here as well.

I take the 260 lb. vacuum to the end of the hall. Me, exaggerate? Maybe a little, but it is unbelievably heavy and doesn't roll easily. I have to unzip the bag, immediately making dust fly into my face. If I had been with a significant other baking a cake in a cheesy romantic comedy, my face would have been perfectly made up for the scene. I comically dumped the bag into the trash bag, tipping the entire vacuum and shaking it, stirring up a cloud of dust that is so thick, it takes an hour to settle. Needless to say, I was covered in the white dust.

One day of womanual labor was enough for me, I'll return to the working world tomorrow.