The street was blocked off with dingy orange cones and at least a dozen guys milling around. Several big trucks bore the label of Denver Water Department. A hole had been dug in my neighbor’s yard and in the street in efforts to remedy an apparent water problem.
Boys and their big equipment. While one guy would wheel some enormous contraption around, others would wave directions. One worker jumped into the eight foot hole to dig some more while others lined up around the rim, smoking and inspecting the deed. At any one time, more workers seemed to be simply watching than actually doing anything related to this job. Various machines sat scattered in the yard and street, as the guys waited to see what would be next. I felt the beginning of a bad joke coming on: How many city workers does it take to dig one hole in the road?
I left for an appointment, and on my return hours later observed the job still in progress. Holes were being filled, but no one was in a sweat. With a surplus of workers, the job of standing around and looking at the progress seemed to always be open. Maybe they rotated.
The next day my morning stillness was once again interrupted. Another large truck stopped out front, only this one was unmarked. Finally a lone female hopped out, walked over to the day’s previous work, and gave it a close eye. She strolled back to the driver’s side and stood in the street while she pulled her long blond hair back and whipped it into a working pony tail.
Slamming her door shut she proceeded to the back of the truck and moved this lever and that to open doors and make a tailgate incline. Soon she was guiding a gigantic machine down the back of the truck into the street. She stopped, looked both directions, arranged her head gear, put in some ear plugs, and snapped on work gloves. With the flip of a switch the huge machine roared into action and she began guiding it effortlessly along the perimeter of the hole filled in from the previous day. I couldn’t tell you what she was doing or why, but she was alone smack in the middle of the road, cutting the pavement with the speed and efficiency of a skilled surgeon.
Work done, she flipped off the machine, removed her protective gear, and proceeded to roll that big baby back up in the truck. Jumping down, she closed the tailgate, snapped the gloves off, and cast a glance back at a job well done. She was out of there before a car had even come down the street. I don’t think the entire endeavor had taken her 20 minutes. A one woman job. She made it look so easy. Too bad all those guys from the day before hadn’t been around to observe her example. They might have learned something.
Boys and their big equipment. While one guy would wheel some enormous contraption around, others would wave directions. One worker jumped into the eight foot hole to dig some more while others lined up around the rim, smoking and inspecting the deed. At any one time, more workers seemed to be simply watching than actually doing anything related to this job. Various machines sat scattered in the yard and street, as the guys waited to see what would be next. I felt the beginning of a bad joke coming on: How many city workers does it take to dig one hole in the road?
I left for an appointment, and on my return hours later observed the job still in progress. Holes were being filled, but no one was in a sweat. With a surplus of workers, the job of standing around and looking at the progress seemed to always be open. Maybe they rotated.
The next day my morning stillness was once again interrupted. Another large truck stopped out front, only this one was unmarked. Finally a lone female hopped out, walked over to the day’s previous work, and gave it a close eye. She strolled back to the driver’s side and stood in the street while she pulled her long blond hair back and whipped it into a working pony tail.
Slamming her door shut she proceeded to the back of the truck and moved this lever and that to open doors and make a tailgate incline. Soon she was guiding a gigantic machine down the back of the truck into the street. She stopped, looked both directions, arranged her head gear, put in some ear plugs, and snapped on work gloves. With the flip of a switch the huge machine roared into action and she began guiding it effortlessly along the perimeter of the hole filled in from the previous day. I couldn’t tell you what she was doing or why, but she was alone smack in the middle of the road, cutting the pavement with the speed and efficiency of a skilled surgeon.
Work done, she flipped off the machine, removed her protective gear, and proceeded to roll that big baby back up in the truck. Jumping down, she closed the tailgate, snapped the gloves off, and cast a glance back at a job well done. She was out of there before a car had even come down the street. I don’t think the entire endeavor had taken her 20 minutes. A one woman job. She made it look so easy. Too bad all those guys from the day before hadn’t been around to observe her example. They might have learned something.
I sure love this piece, Patricia. You have inspired me to consider whether or not I may have been better off being a construction worker rather than pursuing my former profession of school principal (although these two vocations do share much in terms of their use of muscle and power tools, not to mention a required willingness to dig large holes). Yet, another part of me knows I could not do (in my past life or present) what this brave and strong young woman was able to do in the street by your house. I am, however, so pleased that powerful women (in both body and spirit) are able to transcend the gender barriers to help construct our world with grace and competence.
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