Jonathan's Take

It had been the longest night I can remember in quite a while, and believe me, there has been many. I'm not only four minutes older than Drew, but thanks to my work ethic I look four years older. While I'm up at all hours swinging a hammer or installing tile, he's getting his precious beauty sleep. I'm sure our choice of facial hair style doesn't help either. While he is clean shaven and looks like a 12 year old boy sometimes with that goofy grin, I look like I haven't shaved in three days and just came off a bender. I get it, he has to look professional while trying his best to convince skeptical people a rundown house full of awful wallpaper and sagging ceilings is the way to go all after just playing Grinch by showing them a fabulous house he knows they can't afford. I'm surprised no one has kicked his ass for it yet. But at the moment, that's exactly how I felt.

In the many years I have been doing construction I have been very careful to abide by all rules and regulations no matter how inane. Rules are there for a reason and safety always comes first- that has always been my credo. I always wear all the appropriate protective gear when doing a demo and I never rush a job if it means cutting corners. That beautiful open-concept floor plan won't be so beautiful if one of the guys on my crew got crushed by the 300lb beam that's holding the entire upper floor in place. Yet sometimes no matter how carefully you plan, things happen and I wasn't sure how Drew would react. He had rules too, but to me they made no sense. Why his pen had to be exactly perpendicular to his cellphone and always to his left was well beyond me, but I would bet my last dollar that's what I would find when I got to the office- assuming he wasn't out getting some god-awful smoothie or doing yoga. I would rather eat grout than some of the stuff he claimed was healthy.

It wasn't like Drew was my boss or anything, but as a business partner I felt he had a right to know what happened. I could have just called him, but I know him well enough to avoid that mess. Drew and I couldn't be more different for having the same genetic make-up and this whole fiasco was a prime example. I often joke with him that he's a robot because he doesn't show emotion, but that couldn't be further from the truth. True, he's not one to get hysterical or cry, but under that disarming smile is a machine of absolute efficiency. People are often surprised by his playfulness and he really does play as hard as he works, but when it gets down to brass tacks he gets his game face on and it can be quite intimidating. I've seen that face many times, thankfully most often when he's driving a hard deal for clients, although he seems to feel he has to one-up me on as much as he can no matter how small. No challenge is beneath him which is why I have to constantly remind him of his ineptitude on a construction site. It's one of the few things that I can clearly claim as mine because I honestly don't think he knows the difference between a Philips and flat screwdriver.

I tried to keep my composure as best I could when I sat down in that stupid modern style chair he loved. It completely fit in with the design of his office which reflected his personality- direct and efficient with just a small punch of color for warmth- but it was probably the most uncomfortable thing I ever sat in. It was pretty typical of him not to look up when I came in and he looked pretty busy, but I instantly knew he was anxious. To the average person it may have looked like he was concentrating on his paperwork, but I knew better. While he was not one for hysterics, he essentially had three modes: fun, all business, and anxious. He was a math major in college and when he doesn't have all the data in any given situation, it makes him nervous and his eye twitches. As if I didn't already know it, when he finally did look up it was plain as day on his face.

I couldn't blame him, I probably looked like absolute hell and certainly felt like it. He's used to seeing me covered in sweat and drywall dust, but not cuts, scrapes, and bruises like I was thrown out the back of a truck going 50mph on the highway. Bad as it must have looked, it really could have been worse. I have seen some pretty shoddy DIY projects in homes I renovated, but what happened last night was a real piece of work that could have killed someone.

I was working with a small crew through the night finishing a demo because we got a late start that morning and I already have an incredibly tight timeline to get these things done. I found the usual suspects of knob and tube electrical, a small leak around a window that thankfully didn't seem too catastrophic, a mouse skeleton, and something I never like to see but invariably do in older homes, potential asbestos. I left that area undisturbed until it could be tested and resolved to take out the floor to ceiling brick fireplace before hitting the sack for a few hours. The homeowners were adamant they hated the old brick and wanted it all taken out no matter the cost. I couldn't disagree, it really was hideous but I could have saved them a ton of money by refacing it with slate tile even though it looked like the masonry was crumbling and would have to be fixed.

I gripped the handle of my heaviest sledge hammer and sized up the task. It was going to take a lot of energy and time to bust all that brick and I briefly considered dynamite. At the very least, I would sleep well for the few hours before I had to get up and start another day. The very first swing I took leveled the entire thing and it felt like a literal ton of bricks fell on me. I don't remember getting knocked out, although my crew said I did. Thankfully they were there to unearth me and made me go to the hospital even though I didn't think it was necessary. Come to find out, whoever installed the brick didn't use mesh backing so there was nothing for the mortar to adhere to. Essentially, the bricks were just stacked in a 12 foot pile loosely held together by crumbling adhesive.

I spent the night in the emergency room mostly waiting to be seen and lucky for me it seemed the worst that came of it was a mild concussion and general soreness from being pummeled. However, the discharge nurse told me I couldn't go back to work for a few days which was a bit of a problem and the reason I came to see Drew. In all my time on the job, I rarely missed work and never so many days in a row. But it was pretty clear to me he wasn't interested in that as he seemed to falter just a bit before asking "Are you ok?" He could play it cool all he wanted, but I knew exactly what he was thinking and liability aside, he was more worried about the here and now.

I had to look away because I was never a great liar, but I wasn't about to admit I felt like I'd been hit by a truck and angry that I was so tired last night I slipped up and didn't check it out like I should have. "I suppose" was the best half-truth I could come up with and wiggled in the uncomfortable chair. I wasn't sure he would buy it because the competitive side of him could smell weakness like a shark smells blood in the water a mile away, but he mumbled something about sushi and straightened up his desk to go home for the day even though it was only a little after 11:00. He placed his pen where he always did and I was suddenly overcome with an urge to reach out and turn it just slightly to see what would happen, but in the end I just wanted to go home and go to bed.

It took more effort than it should have to get up from that damned chair and he put his arm around me when I stumbled a half a step, which was a little embarrassing. I was so tired and sore I couldn't even walk straight. "The Canucks are on tonight." He said in that tone he used when he wanted to say more than he actually did. I knew Drew was a sports guy, but his thing was basketball and he only casually followed hockey because I did. I didn't know if that meant he was going to come over to my house or he was taking me to his, but in any event I knew I wouldn't be alone.