Urgently need electricians and helpers.
Commercial work, experienced only.
We Care About Your Future!
Dertz Electric 555-2892.

     Fresh out of work and hot on the trail for more, this is the ad I answered on a rainy, windy day in early April, dateline Dallas.  The woman who answered my call at Dertz told me to apply at the jobsite, a twenty-five story hotel-office development on the shores of the Trinity River, just east of downtown.  “Thank you, Ma’am,” I’m a courteous guy.

     “Don’t call me ma’am!” she barked.  “I’m not an old lady!”

     “Sorry,” but she’d already hung up the phone.  “Ma’am.”

     The job was a big one, metal and machinery, mortar and Mexicans, busy as bullfrogs in the rain.  The main structure of the building was complete, and the glaziers were just beginning to glass it in.  A typical job, window-wise, I mused, thinking of the searing Texas summer days ahead.  It was a construction fact of life: freezing in the winter with no glass to block the wind, and burning up in the summer, with the windows installed and the air-conditioning still inoperative. 

     Life is hard, I thought to myself, and then you die.

     I knocked on the door of the electrical trailer, opening it at the same time.  Two men stood over the blueprint table, one young and wearing an expensive suit, the other an old grizzly bear of a man, who looked out of place indoors and away from a mountain.  They both wore green hardhats with the Dertz insignia and the slogan, Safety Is Our First Job.

     “Damnit,” burst the young suit.  “I don’t give a shit if it’s pouring down rain or not.  Today is the day we fly the switchgear to the roof!  Just tell your men to be careful!“

     “That switchgear weighs ten tons, Mister Legurch.  Why don’t you try to lift it in the rain?”  Grizzly stomped his cigar out on the floor.

     “Because I’m your boss,” was the answer from “suit” Legurch.

     “Hello, gentleman,” I made my presence known.  “Hear y’all are needin’ electricians around here.”

     “We’ll probably be needin’ ambulances before the day’s over.”  Grizzly turned to squint at me.

     Suit harrumphed and left the room.  I squinted back at Grizzly.  “Sounds like you need some demolition electricians,” I smiled.                

     Grizzly kept squinting (was there something in his eye?)  “Damn sure don’t need comedians, boy.” 

     “Sorry, boss.”  I popped a sunflower seed into my mouth.  “Can I call you boss?”

     “Depends,” he glared at me.  “You a real electrician?”

     I pinched myself.  “Seem real enough.”

     “Got a license?”

     “Conroe license. Got it after my last divorce.”

     “How much?”

     “Fifty an hour.”

     “I’ll give you thirty.”

     “I’ll see you later.”

     Grizzly reconsidered.  “Can you wire a building like this?”

     Now I had him hooked.  Time to start reeling him in.

     I looked out the window at the structure towering beside us.  “This little bitch?  Give me a break.”  I popped another sunflower seed.

     “Forty,” offered Grizzly.

     “Sixty,” I countered.

     “Forty-five.”

     “Sixty-five.”

     “Fifty.”

     “Sold!”  I stopped the bidding.  “When do I start?”

     “You got your tools?”

     “Hell, I got my lunch,” I laughed. And a joint.

     “Start right now if you want.  Got a couple forms for ya to fill out.  What’s your name?”

     “Name’s Travis McKluskey.  Your’n?”

     “Barry.  Barry Randolph.  Folks call me Scary Barry ’cause I’m so ugly.  I don’t care what you call me as long as you don’t call me and and tell me you’re laid up in jail and can’t come to work.  Comprende?“

     “Yes, sir, Scary Barry.”  I gave a mock salute.

     Still squinting, Scary Barry gave me the forms and went back to the print table, lighting another cigar. I was in like Flynn.

2026 R.M. Reliable Electric