EPTThe other kid I work with is named Kyle. The second half of Steve's contrived “Two Guys Painting” mockup painting company. We call Kyle shoestock though. Cause that's what he's always listed on the schedule for afterall. If I haven't talked with him about torrenting movies before I'd swear he doesn't even own a computer. Apart from film the kid is culturally speaking off the map, and he swears he's never read a book in his life. I don't quite understand it but it limits our conversation to Bon Ton insanity, Star Wars, and life in basic training. He's in the reserves so he tells me about his experience with drill seargents. Which is comforting since I tend to sway between assured determination and trembling fear when I think about where I'm off to in April.
So we've been painting what I estimate to be around two thousand square feet of wall, maybe more maybe less. The wall itself is mostly white, with some colorful large flowers that Donna from visual painted on about three years ago. There are some solid purple and orange segments, a plethora of screwed in clothes fixtures to get in the way of your roller, more than a few small nooks and crannies, and a few pillars to make the architecture less aesthitically flat. I thought she did a good job with it but I guess management hates it. So we deflower the wall and void the color to replace its character with a wonderfully neutral egg-shell white. A fitting match for the music we play so people can bop while they shop. Most of it earning its playtime by thriving on cliches of love, personal empowerment, and the generic human quality of being human. “We're all blood” some chick sings over and over. Does the corporation play that stuff to remind shoppers you should buy more shit to become unique?
Sometimes a palpable song like Tracy Chapman's “Fast Car” comes on. That Colby Caillatt song from 07-08 about it starting in her toes and how it wrinkles her nose plays. I turn to shoestock and insist that the songs about orgasms but he doesn't believe me. Between Brush Strokes I hear a tune and remark “Ah Smashing Pumpkins” he doesn't know what I’m talking about so just I sing along however poorly as we paint.
Painting the juniors section of a department store's a daunting task. When we first started it felt impossible to accomplish. We were in the very deep crater of Bon Ton Hell. The mental state of facing a daunting amount of work, with little to no motivation to get it done aside from a meager paycheck and a thank you. Left with no option we climb the ladders and get it done. It's funny how easy it is to ignore the paint job of a room until you actually have to paint one. Immediately my critical lense turns on. Between the two of us we exclaimed a varyation of the sentence “This is gonna look like shit.” about twenty times in an hours worth of work. At some point i'm not sure when we just accept that it's not gonna be perfect and we list off excuses for why it's not our fault.
Eventually you just become more skilled with the brush and less critical about the outcome. It's about finding that balance that comes with reconciling your skill set with your expectations of a perfect result. And that's where the fun of it is. The process for me is refreshingly inspiring. Just the same as unloading the truck shipment or doing dishes in the most efficient way possible. The action sparks the place in my brain where creative problem solving happens. I run into flow, time stops, and I feel happiness. The wall grows high and I don't mind.
We've got one more section of wall to handle tomorrow. Another day of grabbing coffee from Jessie when I'm still in my groggy state. Then the commute down 84 through traffic on the bridge where people reject the notion of any sort of courteous driving habits. I expect it and laugh. Another slow start filled with empty complaints between the two of us. One more cheap lunch from Mcdonalds. Where the taste of chemicals in the sweet-tea and dollar menu ingredients are just barable enough to pinch a few extra pennies for the toll ride home. Another day to explain to management we need more paint if they want it to look decent. If all goes well I can leave for the week with the immense satisfaction knowing that the jobs done, and that I tried the best I could. For now, that's all I need.
