It was only a couple weeks with my cousin before I picked up the billboard gig. That family was such a blessing for me at that time in my life. Between college living and buying a place of my own would be a time to save some money but I didn't want to do it entirely on the charity of others. I didn't overstay my visit so the two weeks could be good for everyone. Once I had a job though I was ready to pay rent. It took some convincing to get an apartment to rent to me and I'm sure that's only more difficult with the current economy now, but with enough money down (3 of the 6 months I would be there), which I borrowed, I was able to get in to a modest one bedroom apartment. I just hadn't had enough rental history for them.
I felt like I was in over my head a little but with a lot of hard work would come out okay. I tried to remind myself of this as I stood on in between the billboards with the most bird poop all over them. I was covered in it too until I gained enough experience to put the canvas up without getting myself all over the inside of the boards. I learned that there were more than four seasons with billboards. Bird season: beyond the mess the mother birds dive bomb you if you disturb eggs in nests accidentally. Wasp season: I'd only been stung one other time in my life. I quit counting when I was averaging 2-4 bites a day. I wasn't going anywhere after a couple weeks, or a couple of months, because I needed the money and I was going to toughen up and stick in there, but I also didn't avoid the topic of wanting to apply to a different position. The whole crew was keeping their eye's open for new job positions out there. In fact, one kid left after the first month I was there with the parting words of, "see you suckers!"
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Part 2: How'd I get here?
Don't get me wrong: college rounded out my experience like no where else could, and in such a short amount of time, too. Professors mean well; but they test you according to their agenda--their interests. The reality is that the experience as a whole had many other advantages outside of any one class, but that just didn't really show up in my final overall grade. Or did it?
I worked 20 hours a week as custodial throughout my college years. There are some great people working hard to put themselves through school on top of working hard in school. I took pride in keeping up what could be claimed the cleanest campus in the world. I participated in the Juggling Club. There were many entertaining opportunities to be involved in, and to explore and observe in a university of talents. I also volunteered my service as a project leader, organizing people to help in maybe the most multi-lingual language facilities, the Missionary Training Center, a place technically part of the BYU campus. I loved and attended devotionals and family home evening and other unique programs that were part of the BYU experience. My biggest development of writing (my main skill), however, also came through a side project more than class experience. I was able to take a couple classes where writing a novel applied, certainly, but it was mostly an outside endeavor that progressed it. I even had a professor, acting as my agent, and with his help and mine, and others, writing we were wooing national publishers. Writing a novel while attending college, required staying up one night every week though, for two semesters. Still I felt I needed to give it a try given the possibilities of opportunities that had befallen me; it was also best sooner than later, to know whether that could be a viable direction or not.
The novel turned out okay and had a lot of promise according to the publishers. It was an historical fiction novel. Unfortunately, to appease publishers, fictionalization needed in tying together events, was too sensationalized for the man whose deceased father the story surrounded. He liked the early direction of the book. Taking notes from his accounts was like writing a biographical documentary. If his father's story ever gets published it will need to have life breathed into it that accounts for some dramatic events that actually occurred, and probably occurred in a more humanistic way then he let on. His words to me upon seeing the final product were, "if this gets published, I divorce myself from the project entirely." On ethics, knowing it isn't his generations' way to sue me or anything, I still dropped the work. There is no way I could satisfy both the researcher and the publishers, but I wanted to. They were at two ends of a spectrum and I was in between.
My grades suffered. I graduated one class short of a business minor. And English majors need a minor to prove they know some expertise to write about. Nine months looking for a position, interviewing with all the premier positions (and otherwise), in the small Marketing world of Utah, left me with lots of good advice, but jobless nonetheless. I needed work, and soon, my savings dwindled and my rent was up. I packed up my car with all of my belongings and moved to Salt Lake to live with a cousin. Not wanting to overstay my visit I found the only job in the Marketing field I could find (aka construction work as a member of the billboard rotary crew). And that's how I got here, stuck on billboards for a time until I could levy my skills elsewhere. More experience would come!
I worked 20 hours a week as custodial throughout my college years. There are some great people working hard to put themselves through school on top of working hard in school. I took pride in keeping up what could be claimed the cleanest campus in the world. I participated in the Juggling Club. There were many entertaining opportunities to be involved in, and to explore and observe in a university of talents. I also volunteered my service as a project leader, organizing people to help in maybe the most multi-lingual language facilities, the Missionary Training Center, a place technically part of the BYU campus. I loved and attended devotionals and family home evening and other unique programs that were part of the BYU experience. My biggest development of writing (my main skill), however, also came through a side project more than class experience. I was able to take a couple classes where writing a novel applied, certainly, but it was mostly an outside endeavor that progressed it. I even had a professor, acting as my agent, and with his help and mine, and others, writing we were wooing national publishers. Writing a novel while attending college, required staying up one night every week though, for two semesters. Still I felt I needed to give it a try given the possibilities of opportunities that had befallen me; it was also best sooner than later, to know whether that could be a viable direction or not.
The novel turned out okay and had a lot of promise according to the publishers. It was an historical fiction novel. Unfortunately, to appease publishers, fictionalization needed in tying together events, was too sensationalized for the man whose deceased father the story surrounded. He liked the early direction of the book. Taking notes from his accounts was like writing a biographical documentary. If his father's story ever gets published it will need to have life breathed into it that accounts for some dramatic events that actually occurred, and probably occurred in a more humanistic way then he let on. His words to me upon seeing the final product were, "if this gets published, I divorce myself from the project entirely." On ethics, knowing it isn't his generations' way to sue me or anything, I still dropped the work. There is no way I could satisfy both the researcher and the publishers, but I wanted to. They were at two ends of a spectrum and I was in between.
My grades suffered. I graduated one class short of a business minor. And English majors need a minor to prove they know some expertise to write about. Nine months looking for a position, interviewing with all the premier positions (and otherwise), in the small Marketing world of Utah, left me with lots of good advice, but jobless nonetheless. I needed work, and soon, my savings dwindled and my rent was up. I packed up my car with all of my belongings and moved to Salt Lake to live with a cousin. Not wanting to overstay my visit I found the only job in the Marketing field I could find (aka construction work as a member of the billboard rotary crew). And that's how I got here, stuck on billboards for a time until I could levy my skills elsewhere. More experience would come!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Part 1: How'd I get here?
The best thing happened to me. My prayers were answered. I was off to college to the school of my choice. The worst thing happened to me. My prayers were answered. I was off to college to the school of my choice. It was hard there. Maybe too hard. More like a place to weed out rather than cultivate. I have no regrets. It all went according to plan. I promised myself and God that I would do my very best, and I did. It just wasn't good enough.
I loved college. It was a lot of fun. I especially enjoyed watching sports and spending time with friends. Dating was great fun when others just went with it.
I wasn't sure what I wanted to graduate with. Everyone wants a great paying job that you love. I could find courses for one or the other but not both. General business classes were not going so well so I turned to my love of writing. The only problem is that there isn't a degree for that that guarantees good pay.
No worries! I would go on faith. I would work hard and since I had a weakness in grammar I would earn an English degree, gaining practice in writing at the same time. Except my high school courses prepared me for English courses by skipping grammar lessons, and my college experience assumed we knew grammar from high school so it focused on literary analysis primarily, just as my high school teachers suspected it would. People with English degrees become English professors who teach about literature or take editing skills mostly gained in high school and become editors. I didn't want to become either. I do like posting on blogs though, with all my incomplete sentences, run-ons, and all. One of those equals failure on a paper, but cuts to the chase or explores more in depth on a blog post. I was going to be in the real world soon, whatever that means, so it felt like there would be limited chances to really chase my dreams. I had a decision to make in college about how much time I would spend on professor's agendas and how much I would spend on my own given an opportunity that presented itself in my Junior year.
I loved college. It was a lot of fun. I especially enjoyed watching sports and spending time with friends. Dating was great fun when others just went with it.
I wasn't sure what I wanted to graduate with. Everyone wants a great paying job that you love. I could find courses for one or the other but not both. General business classes were not going so well so I turned to my love of writing. The only problem is that there isn't a degree for that that guarantees good pay.
No worries! I would go on faith. I would work hard and since I had a weakness in grammar I would earn an English degree, gaining practice in writing at the same time. Except my high school courses prepared me for English courses by skipping grammar lessons, and my college experience assumed we knew grammar from high school so it focused on literary analysis primarily, just as my high school teachers suspected it would. People with English degrees become English professors who teach about literature or take editing skills mostly gained in high school and become editors. I didn't want to become either. I do like posting on blogs though, with all my incomplete sentences, run-ons, and all. One of those equals failure on a paper, but cuts to the chase or explores more in depth on a blog post. I was going to be in the real world soon, whatever that means, so it felt like there would be limited chances to really chase my dreams. I had a decision to make in college about how much time I would spend on professor's agendas and how much I would spend on my own given an opportunity that presented itself in my Junior year.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Laughing it off
A few things had been a given for me in the billboard business from the get go: 1) I would need to be careful in order to survive; 2) Construction was not my dream job, but necessary to survive for now; and 3) I wasn’t going anywhere else, having survived the first two weeks, but really short on money. I did keep my eyes out for other positions, but I wasn’t really finding anything readily available that paid as well, at least not for someone with an English degree. Life was difficult so I resolved to simplify it. The main goal was to survive the workday for four days a week, and then enjoy three days off over the weekends. It was like I was living two completely different lives depending on the day. Since I love writing I started on a novel, but that was more for fun than it was for salvation. Who pays writers what we’re worth? Exactly!
I earned myself a couple new nicknames while working on billboards. “Pokey” for how much slower I was than the other three on the crew (at least in the first six months) and “giggles” for how I laughed about everything. I was officially in survival mode. Others began helping me more as it became more evident to others that the three things I mentioned above were realities for me, and things got easier on everyone once it was apparent that: 1) Preserving my strength by helping me learn how to more effectively do the job was safer for everyone; 2) I wasn’t a threat to their job anyway; 3) I wasn’t going to quit no matter what because I needed the work. I had gone a few months now just laughing it off. Life was one day at a time.
I earned myself a couple new nicknames while working on billboards. “Pokey” for how much slower I was than the other three on the crew (at least in the first six months) and “giggles” for how I laughed about everything. I was officially in survival mode. Others began helping me more as it became more evident to others that the three things I mentioned above were realities for me, and things got easier on everyone once it was apparent that: 1) Preserving my strength by helping me learn how to more effectively do the job was safer for everyone; 2) I wasn’t a threat to their job anyway; 3) I wasn’t going to quit no matter what because I needed the work. I had gone a few months now just laughing it off. Life was one day at a time.
Getting up and falling down
On one particularly tiring day I had to laugh at myself when I tried to climb down a metal ladder that went nowhere. Most the time we got onto the billboards by way of a ladder atop the boom of our truck’s crane, as was the case this time. Each billboard has an access ladder attached, but—to prevent just anyone from climbing up—it generally takes at least an extension ladder to access. I was in such a rush to keep up with the other members of the crew that I didn’t even realize I was climbing down to a dead end. I’m sure it looked pretty amusing. I found multiple reasons to laugh at myself on any given day while learning a construction job, which has to rank near last place on my desired jobs’ list.
In fact, in my disoriented haze I got down without bringing my wallet along. Actually, it had pushed itself free of my back pocket as I scooted along the deck—strapping the billboard vinyl in place. How’s that for not taking accountability for my actions. It’s as if I’m blaming the wallet. I didn’t even notice it was gone until a few boards later. So we made a detour back to the board and to make things quicker (not setting up the truck’s crane and footing) I got my chance with an extension ladder returning to the hanging access point I had visited earlier.
My body was sore and not adjusting well to the four ten-hour-day’s schedule. Later that same morning, I misjudged how far I had climbed down the ladder on the boom. With about twelve feet remaining I let go, my right ankle twisting under the weight of my body crashing to the bed of the truck. Luckily, I was able to walk off the pain and the swelling was minimal. That woke me up for the rest of the day. I’m not sure how funny it was, but I laughed it off, like everything else.
In fact, in my disoriented haze I got down without bringing my wallet along. Actually, it had pushed itself free of my back pocket as I scooted along the deck—strapping the billboard vinyl in place. How’s that for not taking accountability for my actions. It’s as if I’m blaming the wallet. I didn’t even notice it was gone until a few boards later. So we made a detour back to the board and to make things quicker (not setting up the truck’s crane and footing) I got my chance with an extension ladder returning to the hanging access point I had visited earlier.
My body was sore and not adjusting well to the four ten-hour-day’s schedule. Later that same morning, I misjudged how far I had climbed down the ladder on the boom. With about twelve feet remaining I let go, my right ankle twisting under the weight of my body crashing to the bed of the truck. Luckily, I was able to walk off the pain and the swelling was minimal. That woke me up for the rest of the day. I’m not sure how funny it was, but I laughed it off, like everything else.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Hanging in there for dear life
When working on billboards you have to be cautious. You are always keenly aware of terminal velocity. And you are told to tie off at all times, or at least that's what you had to sign to in order to have the job in the first place. Somehow that document appeases OSHA more than safely built structures do, apparently.
There I was dangling 70 feet in the air wondering how life had come to this. It was generally understood that with enough time on billboards everyone got hurt, it was just a matter of when and how badly. The first two weeks you stay on the ground and observe while listening to all the stories of things that could go wrong, like the guy who broke both ankles from a 35 foot fall, or the guy who lost use of his arms from electrocution tapping a live telephone wire with a Plexiglas rod--a feat I nearly duplicated later on myself on the same billboard. If you still wanted the job it was yours. Yeah, swinging my feet to gain enough momentum to hook my leg safely back into the billboard at 70 feet, was not my first close call and would not be the last, so no, I wasn't surprised at all by this latest predicament, nor was I rattled, until the angle bar I was holding onto shifted down 4 inches. My heart was pounding. The whole of the old structure swayed and creaked in the wind. Trembling I carefully released one hand down to where I could reach my lanyard clipped at my waste, then thrust that arm back up clipping it securely into the hole of a sturdy brace. Arm over arm I moved across the angle bar to where I could swing my legs up into the board. Reaching back to untie myself was as difficult and as dangerous as it had been to tie off in the first place, but I managed.
What stymied me most wasn't the particulars of this day's events but my circumstances altogether. Did I really need this job? Unfortunately, the answer was yes. It paid decent. And I hadn't gotten a better position in my nine months since attaining my college degree, credentials I ironically had to downplay when I interviewed to hang billboards, or hang from them, as it were. Every day plans for obtaining a different job and a better life were becoming more urgent every day.
There I was dangling 70 feet in the air wondering how life had come to this. It was generally understood that with enough time on billboards everyone got hurt, it was just a matter of when and how badly. The first two weeks you stay on the ground and observe while listening to all the stories of things that could go wrong, like the guy who broke both ankles from a 35 foot fall, or the guy who lost use of his arms from electrocution tapping a live telephone wire with a Plexiglas rod--a feat I nearly duplicated later on myself on the same billboard. If you still wanted the job it was yours. Yeah, swinging my feet to gain enough momentum to hook my leg safely back into the billboard at 70 feet, was not my first close call and would not be the last, so no, I wasn't surprised at all by this latest predicament, nor was I rattled, until the angle bar I was holding onto shifted down 4 inches. My heart was pounding. The whole of the old structure swayed and creaked in the wind. Trembling I carefully released one hand down to where I could reach my lanyard clipped at my waste, then thrust that arm back up clipping it securely into the hole of a sturdy brace. Arm over arm I moved across the angle bar to where I could swing my legs up into the board. Reaching back to untie myself was as difficult and as dangerous as it had been to tie off in the first place, but I managed.
What stymied me most wasn't the particulars of this day's events but my circumstances altogether. Did I really need this job? Unfortunately, the answer was yes. It paid decent. And I hadn't gotten a better position in my nine months since attaining my college degree, credentials I ironically had to downplay when I interviewed to hang billboards, or hang from them, as it were. Every day plans for obtaining a different job and a better life were becoming more urgent every day.
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