Bob the Builder

Bob the Builder

“Robert, please respond.”

Bob looks out. Nothing but clouds. But clouds that stretch out far past the construction site, far past the city, the hills in the distance. Right up to the horizon. Probably won't rain.

A red light flashes, a buzzer sounds. He looks down at the controls. The load is ready.

“Robert, cut the meditative crap and respond now.”

Bob sighs, and casually pinches his walkie talkie on his jacket: “Yes Ed.”

“So I see that you were out sick last week.” says the head contractor Edward McMahon.  Crisp white shirt and tie. Unsullied hard hat. Only workouts he’s ever had were in a gym.

Bob grasps the crane controls and starts to move the payload up: a uniquely bent I-beam headed to the top floors. Since the building is tapering off, and the structure demands more unusual embellishments, the steel has become more contorted since he was last on the job.

“Yes I was.”

“For all of last week.”

Bob does not respond, his concentration narrowing on lifting the metal beam, gently rising. This may actually require more concentration than normal.

“Robert answer.”

He reaches for the walkie talky “Yes Ed, I was out all of last week.”

“With what?”

“With the flu. I reported it. With a doctor’s report.”

“But the week before, you were out on vacation.”

“Yes I was.”

“So, correct me if I’m wrong, you used all of your vacation days to go to Hawaii. Then you conveniently get sick after a vacation, and you use all of your sick days.”

A gust picks up and the load starts to sway. Bob instinctively reaches for another control to steady the load. A bead of sweat rolls down his brow.

“Robert respond.”

Bob responds testily: “Ed, can’t you see I’m busy here?”

“Unlike the last two weeks. Which, as I’m sure you know, were some of the most important lifting days on schedule. We needed a replacement.”

“Ed, I needed a break. And right now I need to focus.”

“Don’t give me that crap. You’ve been doing this for 10 years. You can talk, and you certainly didn’t need to go to a goddamn luau.”

The gust picks up again, much more powerfully than before, and swings the beam dangling right over the welders. Bob swiftly takes full control.

“Do you know how much a young, non-union, contract crane operator costs these says?” Ed asks.

Some of the workers see 20,000 pounds of death hovering right over them. Confusion and commotion begin, soon giving give way to hardhats pouring down the scaffolding like water. The wind does not help.

“Turns out your replacement saved us quite a bit of money. And did just as good of a job as far as I can tell.”

Bob can’t believe what he’s hearing. He grasps for the walkie talkie “Ed, sir, I...”

A sudden weight is gone. The crane sways back. In adrenaline soaked slow motion, the beam drifts forcefully through scaffolding to the ground.

A few seconds later, a muted bang, and a crunch, is heard. Then a second later, the echo, reverberating up through the whole site, up the frame of the building, the crane, and finally, to Bob’s ears.

Silence. Bob looks out. Nothing but clouds. The horizon is clear. Still probably won't rain.

Edward breaks the moment on the walkie talkie. But Bob doesn’t hear it. Just the wind.