Jul 2019
As we await the arrival of our concrete truck,
jovial, trivial, almost painful small talk is being made.
But then we hear and can visually see our concrete
truck largely coming down the road.
The uncomfortable, insignificant chatter has ceased.
A more serious tone has overcome the crew.
I point to my bottom (my ****) to signal to the driver that I want him to back in.
Truck has been backed in..
Now the driver steps from his cab with the loud roar of the mixer mixing, almost similar to the sound of a jet preparing to take off.
The driver asks, "how many chutes" ?
I reply, "all of them please, and then lets look at your slump".
My crew now begin an almost involuntary impatient pacing.
Its what we do when concrete arrives.
Some light cigarettes.
Some tap their floats or brick trowels on steel pins to clean them.
Some like me begin to stretch.
As I see the concrete come out of the back of the mixer I say to the driver " 9 gallons of water please ".
As the mixer mixes the pacing almost becomes an annoyance but has to be done to expend the nervous energy.
The driver now back in the cab of his truck,
I say to him "okay, back her up".
We begin our pour.
The concrete slides down its 4 chutes.
I say to my crew "pull up that wire mesh,
raise that expansion joint,
knock that concrete down, please".
The crew,
although friends always talk about me,
the foreman,
its part of concrete life.
They utter to each other "why is he dumping so fast,
why is he dumping so high" ?
"I'll make him shovel this concrete back if he keeps dumping this way".
Mind you, they all think they know more than you apparently,
but they don't have,
want,
nor can they do
your job.
Organized,
respected,
money making foreman
do not grow on trees.
They are unique and
hard to find.
Half way done with our pour I gesture to the driver in a drinking motion ,
"more water please driver, 4 more gallons please".
The mixer roars once again.
My crew catches their breath during this final chance of doing so.
I say to the driver, "okay, lets go, pull up and begin discharging".
We finally get to the end of our pour.
Sweat pouring off of every brow...
every chin.
T-shirts saturated in sweat, we gather ourselves to now provide the finish product, "the finishing process".
After the finishing is done we all stand in the street at the foot of the driveway and commend one another on a job well done.
I say "looks good men , a job well done" !
That uncomfortable trivial painful chatter begins once again till we depart for home.
Till tomorrow when we do it all ,
all over again but only this time with a new ...story for
annoying chatter,
a few more aches and pains....
a few pounds lighter....
and a few more blisters and callouses.
written by yours and everyone's "concrete poet"
jovial, trivial, almost painful small talk is being made.
But then we hear and can visually see our concrete
truck largely coming down the road.
The uncomfortable, insignificant chatter has ceased.
A more serious tone has overcome the crew.
I point to my bottom (my ****) to signal to the driver that I want him to back in.
Truck has been backed in..
Now the driver steps from his cab with the loud roar of the mixer mixing, almost similar to the sound of a jet preparing to take off.
The driver asks, "how many chutes" ?
I reply, "all of them please, and then lets look at your slump".
My crew now begin an almost involuntary impatient pacing.
Its what we do when concrete arrives.
Some light cigarettes.
Some tap their floats or brick trowels on steel pins to clean them.
Some like me begin to stretch.
As I see the concrete come out of the back of the mixer I say to the driver " 9 gallons of water please ".
As the mixer mixes the pacing almost becomes an annoyance but has to be done to expend the nervous energy.
The driver now back in the cab of his truck,
I say to him "okay, back her up".
We begin our pour.
The concrete slides down its 4 chutes.
I say to my crew "pull up that wire mesh,
raise that expansion joint,
knock that concrete down, please".
The crew,
although friends always talk about me,
the foreman,
its part of concrete life.
They utter to each other "why is he dumping so fast,
why is he dumping so high" ?
"I'll make him shovel this concrete back if he keeps dumping this way".
Mind you, they all think they know more than you apparently,
but they don't have,
want,
nor can they do
your job.
Organized,
respected,
money making foreman
do not grow on trees.
They are unique and
hard to find.
Half way done with our pour I gesture to the driver in a drinking motion ,
"more water please driver, 4 more gallons please".
The mixer roars once again.
My crew catches their breath during this final chance of doing so.
I say to the driver, "okay, lets go, pull up and begin discharging".
We finally get to the end of our pour.
Sweat pouring off of every brow...
every chin.
T-shirts saturated in sweat, we gather ourselves to now provide the finish product, "the finishing process".
After the finishing is done we all stand in the street at the foot of the driveway and commend one another on a job well done.
I say "looks good men , a job well done" !
That uncomfortable trivial painful chatter begins once again till we depart for home.
Till tomorrow when we do it all ,
all over again but only this time with a new ...story for
annoying chatter,
a few more aches and pains....
a few pounds lighter....
and a few more blisters and callouses.
written by yours and everyone's "concrete poet"
