Recovered Post: What I Learned from Roofing Houses

Recovered Posts: So I switched blogging software and haven’t managed to get the old posts back. While I may have the time to figure it out one day, I figured I would take the opportunity to reprint some of my favorite old posts. I apologize for those who have been around since the beginning. Ignore if you like.

This post was written as part of Middle Zone Musings’ group writing project “What I learned . . . “. This month’s assignment focused on what I learned from work. Check it out and join in.

A 50 pound package of shingles is a heavy thing for a 140 pound, scrawny teenager to carry up a rickety ladder. By the tenth trip the shingles had rubbed my shoulder raw, which was actually an almost pleasant relief from the sunburn that covered the rest of my body. My right arm was only semi-functional after hours swinging a hammer, and it was still buzzing with the dull, aching aftermath of several angry, homeless hornets. There was tar in my hair and at the peak of the day the roof was so hot it would melt to the bottom of my shoes. I was exhausted, unhappy and, I’ll admit, a little bit whiny. The men I was working with wouldn’t even play decent music.

Roofing, as you can tell, is remembered mostly for its misery, but I did take an important lesson or two away with me. I learned, from that experience, that no matter how bad your job seems, someone is doing something worse (unless you’re roofing). This helped me through a litany of less than exciting work situations. Long days did not seem so long compared to my time with the shingles. Tedious tasks were nothing compared to picking fallen nails out of the grass. Annoying customers didn’t bother me nearly as much as bees. I would always say, “at least it isn’t roofing.”

I also learned, much to my disbelief, that there were people who actually liked roofing. At the time it lead me to assume that these people must also like having red hot needles shoved under their fingernails. That they were, in a word, crazy. However, time and several other jobs where my unhappiness was not mirrored by all of my fellow workers, showed me that different jobs appeal to different people. Some  types of work, the kind that would make me want to pull my teeth out one by one just for a break in the monotony, would be the most exciting occupation in the world to someone else. Whereas, a job I found interesting would appeal to them about as much as nice, solid smack in the face. Hell, there are even people who actually enjoy a nice, solid smack in the face.

Now, I have a job I enjoy, and I don’t have to say, “at least it isn’t roofing” anymore, but I still remember the lessons from that time. I remember some of the guys I worked with on those roofs. They were smiling and laughing. They were happy up there. They had found something about roofing that I couldn’t see and, despite what I thought, it wasn’t crazy. It was simply different. At the end of the day I could imagine them at home. Their wife asks, “how was your day?” They reply, “It was alright. A little hot, but at least it isn’t marketing.”