Tar-Baby Tuesday
I arrived to work to discover that I was the lucky person that gets to coat the back side of a support wall with tar. The wall was about 50 feet long and eight feet tall, so it wasn’t a small job by any means.
Our multitude of snow melting into the ground and refreezing at night worsens the damage caused by water so we have to be extra diligent in waterproofing where possible. The tar is being applied to the backside of the foundation wall prior to backfilling to improve the water protection.
After preparing the area, I began applying the tar with a paint roller. The surface of the concrete was riddled with tiny air holes that were the primary reason for applying the treatment in the first place.
After completing the wall, we realized that the roller hadn’t really provided the kind of coverage we were looking for. In fact, the tar had pulled back from the opening of the tiny holes, thus thwarting our attempt to waterproof them.
The foreman explained to my boss that we, and by we, he means me, had applied the first coat with mediocre results. We, again me, would try to apply a second coat with a brush to see if we could get a thicker coverage.
As we, oh wait, I went back into the trench to blackwash the wall, I could only look forward to scrubbing the tar from my arms with the scratchy pumice filled worksite hand cleaner again when the job was complete. I was pretty sure I had taken most of my skin off scrubbing tar from my arms when I thought I was done the first time, but now I would have a chance to prove myself wrong.
The brush did a much better job of filling the air holes. I slapped on a really thick second coat of tar just to make sure there wouldn’t be a third time. We were pleased with the final outcome of the brush endeavor so I’m cautiously optimistic that my tar experience is over.
Thankfully, the boss had bought some mineral spirits to wash up with the second time around, so my flesh didn’t have to be rubbed to a complete rash. However, I did end up using the pumice cleaner to take off the mineral spirits, so roughness was not completely avoided.
Early in the morning, my boss had dubbed me, “The Tar-Baby” in honor of my coveted task of the day. The term was thrown around throughout the day, and eventually, I had to point out that it was a good thing that we live in Tahoe where there are virtually no black people. I said, “You know, if we were in a lot of other places in the country, we could get shot for yelling something like Tar-Baby.” I’m not saying I’m happy for the lack of African Americans or anything, but that we probably wouldn’t be bold enough to throw that term around in a more diverse environment.
I finished the day at 176 pounds. When I went to the bathroom to take my after work shower, I saw that I had a spot of tar on the end of my nose. I can only wonder how long the guys let me wear that around today.
As I reflect upon the day, I can say that tarring that wall definitely sucked. However, I’m still pretty sure it was better than cleaning out porta-crappers all day.
Our multitude of snow melting into the ground and refreezing at night worsens the damage caused by water so we have to be extra diligent in waterproofing where possible. The tar is being applied to the backside of the foundation wall prior to backfilling to improve the water protection.
After preparing the area, I began applying the tar with a paint roller. The surface of the concrete was riddled with tiny air holes that were the primary reason for applying the treatment in the first place.
After completing the wall, we realized that the roller hadn’t really provided the kind of coverage we were looking for. In fact, the tar had pulled back from the opening of the tiny holes, thus thwarting our attempt to waterproof them.
The foreman explained to my boss that we, and by we, he means me, had applied the first coat with mediocre results. We, again me, would try to apply a second coat with a brush to see if we could get a thicker coverage.
As we, oh wait, I went back into the trench to blackwash the wall, I could only look forward to scrubbing the tar from my arms with the scratchy pumice filled worksite hand cleaner again when the job was complete. I was pretty sure I had taken most of my skin off scrubbing tar from my arms when I thought I was done the first time, but now I would have a chance to prove myself wrong.
The brush did a much better job of filling the air holes. I slapped on a really thick second coat of tar just to make sure there wouldn’t be a third time. We were pleased with the final outcome of the brush endeavor so I’m cautiously optimistic that my tar experience is over.
Thankfully, the boss had bought some mineral spirits to wash up with the second time around, so my flesh didn’t have to be rubbed to a complete rash. However, I did end up using the pumice cleaner to take off the mineral spirits, so roughness was not completely avoided.
Early in the morning, my boss had dubbed me, “The Tar-Baby” in honor of my coveted task of the day. The term was thrown around throughout the day, and eventually, I had to point out that it was a good thing that we live in Tahoe where there are virtually no black people. I said, “You know, if we were in a lot of other places in the country, we could get shot for yelling something like Tar-Baby.” I’m not saying I’m happy for the lack of African Americans or anything, but that we probably wouldn’t be bold enough to throw that term around in a more diverse environment.
I finished the day at 176 pounds. When I went to the bathroom to take my after work shower, I saw that I had a spot of tar on the end of my nose. I can only wonder how long the guys let me wear that around today.
As I reflect upon the day, I can say that tarring that wall definitely sucked. However, I’m still pretty sure it was better than cleaning out porta-crappers all day.
posted by fuqstik @ 7:18 PM
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