Back in my previous life as a librarian, I quickly got a reputation as "the nice one," and it stuck with me for years. I don't know whether I really was that good at customer service, or just came off like a pushover, but I felt like I wore a big sign that said, "will hold your hand through your entire library experience." Sometimes it was a curse to be the nice one, when I really didn't feel like living up to my motto "it's not my job to give someone else a bad day." Lately, I have found it handy to channel that customer service queen who knew well how to smile sweetly and ask for exactly what she needed. I could have shown up on this job site, and been a difficult and demanding homeowner. The contractors would have hated seeing me coming. It's just not in me to be that jerky guy. I'm having a lot more fun being easy-going and flexible. And it seems to be working in my favor. My project is rising on the priority charts. The subs are not only tolerating having me around in the middle of their worksite, one appears to have all but adopted me. I pulled all the lower cabinet doors off, and took them to a back bedroom to sand and paint, out of the way of the kitchen and bath sink installations. When it suddenly clouded over outside, and got really dark in that room (without an overhead light fixture), the plumbing contractor showed up with an industrial lamp to keep my project going. He also volunteered an orbital sander and just enough spackle to patch two gouges in the cabinets (saving me from having to buy a new tub of it when all I needed was a tablespoon's worth). I'm still working myself into oblivion, but I've now got the tools I need to make it go faster and easier, and I have a companion who is making it fun.
I skipped out of work a little early this afternoon for the one evening of play time that I had scheduled for this trip. My BFF out here invited me to go to a ladies night at a nearby shooting range, and naturally I said yes. It was an opportunity for stress relief and entertainment, and it was only the second time ever that I have gotten to fire a 9mm. I had been sticking with little girly .22s, and now I think I'm finally ready to level up, so to speak. The .22 jammed several times, and the range monitor suggested that it was probably an issue with the flimsy little ammo rather than the weapon. Now that I have a tiny bit more experience, I'm less intimidated by the more powerful weapon. But don't worry, mom, this is not to say that I'm ready to spend a whole bunch of money I don't have on buying one for myself. Renting and borrowing are still where it's at for me, and even that is a rare treat. (And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the person in the next lane over from me, who had some gigantic cannon of a gun. I don't know what it was, but it was BIG and it sent shock waves through the room as it fired. And we were all fascinated by it...from a distance.) As I drove back from my friend's house this evening, a radio station devoted to comedy was playing a bit from Eddie Izzard in which he discussed how emotionally satisfying it is to blow things up, either by shooting guns or even just watching explosions in film. He said you fundamentally change the energy of the thing you shoot/explode. Yeah. It was a lot like that. Completely changing my energy, and that of my surroundings. It felt good. But it felt better to know I was doing it in a controlled environment where it was all in good fun. Now I think I can go back and tackle the big project with fresh eyes and a good attitude. I just might get this done on time after all.
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