Right about this time of year, a man comes to appreciate a smooth and efficient furnace. Never being particularly handy around the house, I like to know that when I move that dial on the thermostat, heat will stream effortlessly through the vents and the dog won’t keel over due to carbon monoxide issues.
As limited as my handyman skills have always been, there was an ironic period of my life when I was in the commercial heating and ventilating business. I spent several years as a budding apprentice sheet metal worker. Never bloomed, but I still have all 10 fingers so I wasn’t entirely a bust.
Bearing in mind that I have absolutely no mechanical aptitude, it is funny to reflect on the years I spent bluffing my way through a career. I’m not sure my former employers were laughing, but it always struck me as just a little on the humorous side.
I started out as a general helper. This involved sweeping floors, making deliveries to the various jobsites, and most often, running across to the little cafeteria across the street to pick up lunches for the real sheet metal workers. I could only glance longingly from my post sweeping the shop floor as these professionals worked their magic with galvanized steel.
One of the worst aspects of the job came on beastly hot summer days. Without air conditioning in the shop (how ironic is that for a ventilation company?), as temperatures soared above 40 C, some of us would wrap paper towel headbands to catch the sweat as it poured off. I thought a little more creatively than my co-workers and wrapped my T-shirt around my head, tying the sleeves at the back. With the balance of the T-shirt hanging down, I looked like a poor man’s pirate.
Back then I also smoked a pipe, which furthered the buccaneer illusion. Adding my dark, aviator-frame sunglasses, wandering around shirtless and profusely sweaty, I looked like the kind of hired pirate you might come across at a really economical Caribbean resort, during a low-budget Happy Hour promotion. The type of poser pirate who self-respecting parrots refuse to be seen with.
One summer day, dressed exactly like that, I took a load of metal fittings to a job site. I will also confess that I have never been accused of taking the necessary time to think out a situation before acting. I much prefer to dive in. Wanting to make a good impression on the jobsite, I hoisted a stack of duct work on my bare shoulder, took a deep puff of my pipe and strolled right into the front of that new apartment building.
Right onto the freshly laid tile in the foyer, where the Italian craftsman was putting the finishing touches on his beautiful and intricate design.
I’m not very light at the best of times, but add a few pounds of sheet metal and I was able to make those tiles move around a great deal in the grout and adhesive. What I didn’t disturb with my body when I fell, the stack of metal managed to rearrange as it slid across the floor.
I had an Italian friend in elementary school, so based on the body language and general phrasing of the craftsman, I felt it would be a wise move to leave the duct work where it lay. Exit, stage left – hastily.
Humour columnist and author Dan St. Yves was licensed with Royal LePage Kelowna for 11 years. Check out his website at danstyves.com.
