Fat Man on a Ladder
Well, I've made it through to Thursday. My feet are so sore, it’s ridiculous. I've been busting the double pair of socks to avoid blisters, but there's not much cushion in those boots. Guess that's what I get for buying boots for $22.93 at a certain horrible-paying, small-town killing, union-busting, cheap retailer that we all know and love. I'm convinced that it's a plot on their part to get me to come back and buy some of those gel inserts. It's all about the up sell with that place.
I crawled my fat rump up the extension ladder to sand those outriggers. It was delightful, let me tell you. I was only able to sand two out of the three though, because one is at the peak and we need a longer ladder to get to it. My boss keeps promising me that he is going to bring over a longer ladder so that I can get to it, but I wouldn't be heartbroken if he keeps forgetting.
After I finished sanding the two that I could reach, he informed me that I would also need to stain them. So, I got to set up the ladder and once again take that oh so fun first trip up the ladder, you know, the one when you're not quite sure how well it is set on the ground because you haven't tested it yet.
Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with heights at all. I like working up in the air, but from a boom lift, not an extension ladder. I absolutely hate extension ladders because you never know when one is going to give out on you until it happens. The feet of the ladder skid, and you're on the ground, it's that simple.
That brings me to the true reason that I hate those things. It happened in high school when my father and I were doing an exterior rehab on my grandmother's house. We were near the end of the job, so a lot of finish work was already done. We had an extension ladder in the carport leaning up against the side of the house, which thankfully was only one story. I was on the roof, and stepped onto the ladder to go to the ground. As soon as I got all my weight on the ladder, which was only like 150 pounds back then, the feet of the ladder skidded and I found myself in a freefall.
As I plummeted towards certain death, ok certain pain at least, I quickly tried to grab something, anything to catch myself. The only thing I found was the gutter, so I grabbed it in a desperate attempt to stop my descent towards the concrete below. As I fell through the air, still holding the gutter, I realized that grabbing it did nothing but bring it down with me, and I was still going to hit the ground.
A lot of my body hit the concrete, and a lot landed on top of that evil ladder that had just decided to skid out on me. As I lay there hurt and confused as to what just happened, my father came running around the side of the house having heard the commotion. His first words were, "What the hell, you f-d up the gutter?" Not, are you ok, or do I need to call an ambulance, but, "You f-d up the gutter." I slowly got up, made sure nothing was broken, and told him, "On that note, I'm done for the day." I then drove home full of teen angst and a newfound fear of extension ladders.
I think about that painful event every time I'm asked to step on an extension ladder, not because of my father's reaction, that's just funny, especially if you know my dad, but because it hurt like hell. The other thing was that it was just totally random. I walked up the same ladder to get on the roof, yet when I tried to go down, it tossed me. On an extension ladder, you never know for sure, and I hate them.
I did make it through the current outrigger sanding and staining ordeal so far. At one point, as I was leaning over to try to stain the backside of one of the beams, the ladder started to slide along the wall. It just moved a couple of inches, but it was enough for me to come very close to adding color to my shorts. Afterwards it was kind of fun cause that slip was a little bit of an adrenaline rush, but I'm still not looking forward to messing with the peak beam on an even longer ladder.
Weight of the Day
I finished the day out at 181. The longer I sit on the couch and type, the less fun it is to stand up and walk. I'm only really sore at night when I stop moving and my muscles tighten up...it's great.
I crawled my fat rump up the extension ladder to sand those outriggers. It was delightful, let me tell you. I was only able to sand two out of the three though, because one is at the peak and we need a longer ladder to get to it. My boss keeps promising me that he is going to bring over a longer ladder so that I can get to it, but I wouldn't be heartbroken if he keeps forgetting.
After I finished sanding the two that I could reach, he informed me that I would also need to stain them. So, I got to set up the ladder and once again take that oh so fun first trip up the ladder, you know, the one when you're not quite sure how well it is set on the ground because you haven't tested it yet.
Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with heights at all. I like working up in the air, but from a boom lift, not an extension ladder. I absolutely hate extension ladders because you never know when one is going to give out on you until it happens. The feet of the ladder skid, and you're on the ground, it's that simple.
That brings me to the true reason that I hate those things. It happened in high school when my father and I were doing an exterior rehab on my grandmother's house. We were near the end of the job, so a lot of finish work was already done. We had an extension ladder in the carport leaning up against the side of the house, which thankfully was only one story. I was on the roof, and stepped onto the ladder to go to the ground. As soon as I got all my weight on the ladder, which was only like 150 pounds back then, the feet of the ladder skidded and I found myself in a freefall.
As I plummeted towards certain death, ok certain pain at least, I quickly tried to grab something, anything to catch myself. The only thing I found was the gutter, so I grabbed it in a desperate attempt to stop my descent towards the concrete below. As I fell through the air, still holding the gutter, I realized that grabbing it did nothing but bring it down with me, and I was still going to hit the ground.
A lot of my body hit the concrete, and a lot landed on top of that evil ladder that had just decided to skid out on me. As I lay there hurt and confused as to what just happened, my father came running around the side of the house having heard the commotion. His first words were, "What the hell, you f-d up the gutter?" Not, are you ok, or do I need to call an ambulance, but, "You f-d up the gutter." I slowly got up, made sure nothing was broken, and told him, "On that note, I'm done for the day." I then drove home full of teen angst and a newfound fear of extension ladders.
I think about that painful event every time I'm asked to step on an extension ladder, not because of my father's reaction, that's just funny, especially if you know my dad, but because it hurt like hell. The other thing was that it was just totally random. I walked up the same ladder to get on the roof, yet when I tried to go down, it tossed me. On an extension ladder, you never know for sure, and I hate them.
I did make it through the current outrigger sanding and staining ordeal so far. At one point, as I was leaning over to try to stain the backside of one of the beams, the ladder started to slide along the wall. It just moved a couple of inches, but it was enough for me to come very close to adding color to my shorts. Afterwards it was kind of fun cause that slip was a little bit of an adrenaline rush, but I'm still not looking forward to messing with the peak beam on an even longer ladder.
Weight of the Day
I finished the day out at 181. The longer I sit on the couch and type, the less fun it is to stand up and walk. I'm only really sore at night when I stop moving and my muscles tighten up...it's great.
posted by fuqstik @ 5:22 PM
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