It only gets bad when your feet are wet. When you're in danger of losing a boot to the mud pit you're trudging through. Bad enough you've got a 150lb beam on your shoulder, you might as well roll your ankle too. Even better, when you get three hours sleep the night before, and have been here since eight and haven't eaten at all.
Somewhere into that rain drenched 10th hour you decide to hulk the fuck out. You start picking up large pine blocks, which you would normally handle gingerly and with caution in order not to break yourself, and start overhead heaving them into the swelling current of the river, you probably appear to be "a little upset", shoulders tense, neck bulging, eyes wide and glowing underneath the filthy brim of your ball cap, stalking the grounds looking for more large objects large to throw. That's about when your co-worker suggests that you both take five underneath the beer tent.
That's right the fucking beer tent.
Someone's having a party in the rain. Well, actually no one is having a party because it's coming down like fucking bullets, but there is a beer tent, and a guy dispensing beer, so you bitch with him about the weather and you throw four or five back. It's amazing the affect alcohol has on the overworked body, you relax like you've been injected with liquid cool and your perspective immediately changes. You get warmer and you don't notice the squish in your boots, you a bit more amicable and decide to patronize all the other caterer's tents smiling at the damp teenagers handing out grilled foods, roasted peanuts and cookies. All the people are hiding under the available shelter and the rain starts coming in sideways. Now with a mouthful of food and a belly full of beer you walk around like a kid at a carnival, smiling, yelling, loudly retelling wildly inappropriate stories and generally having a good time, you watch the place completely flood and laugh at all the suits who are bumming out big time.
It's a nice day, they should come out and play with us.
Those prissy fucks in their Lands End chinos and Northface parkas. I'll stab them in their cold, black, yuppie, hearts with a hundred year old leather punch and be exalted by the ghosts of a thousand dead workers as I'm dragged off to the Electric Chair. No one is buying condos today boys, I'm going home.
I'm drenched, filthy, and beat tired. If it wasn't for the peanuts, It would have been a waste of a perfectly good saturday.
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