In November of last year I had been working with Jack of Most Trades for about a month. He hired me on for some office safety responsibilities and we got to hang out like best buds almost every hour of every day. Cool, huh? We are still working together and although it has been close, we haven’t filed for pre-divorce . . .yet.
Jack and I are the first to admit we don’t “fit in” with the main floor crowd at the shop. Maybe it’s our fault, maybe it’s theirs. To strengthen the downstairs employees’ case against us (Jack specifically), one day Jack needed a hole punch and he didn’t have one, so he body checked a locked door to retrieve someone else’s. When questioned about the incident, he told me he just really needed the hole punch. To this day, there are little round pieces of paper scattered on the stairs leading to our office – a reminder of Jack’s grand theft hole punch “WTF moment”.
But there is more to the story, of course. Jack is a patient man when it comes to my obsessive cleaning and random crying fits; when he gets to work he transforms into a militant hot mess. He will lose his shit on a weekly basis. Where he rarely yells at me at home, he completely makes up for at the office.
He always scream -asks me all these hard questions like:
“WHY DO YOU GET HURT ALL THE TIME?”
“WHY ARE YOU CRYING (AGAIN)?” and
“WHO THE F CARES?”
In the construction industry swearing is acceptable. You can even call someone an “F’n A-hole” and they won’t be offended. I don’t like it when Jack scream questions me with swears. And I don’t think I’m alone.
Back to November . . .
I was having a conversation about Windows 8 with a lady from the aforementioned main floor crowd, when Jack walked in.
MF Lady: “We were just talking about you.”
Jack (jokingly): “Why, what the f#cked I do?”
While speaking with the main floor lady, I had noticed a mild mannered, grey haired lady sitting on the couch in the waiting room. After Jack threw out the F bomb, I instantly felt very awkward and motioned my eyes from him to the lady sitting in the waiting room. She wasn’t just any little old lady. . .
MF Lady: “There’s a sister behind you.”
Jack: “So there is.” Turning to the nun sitting on the couch he said apologetically, “I’m very sorry about that”.
Jack quickly turned on his heel and mentioned something about “going to go pray”.
You see, Jack was raised a good Catholic boy and had he known a nun was sitting behind him, he would have never peppered us with profanity.
Jack is a good man; hole punches are hard to come by, and sisters just don’t dress like they used to.