Curb my enthusiasm

Isn't this just lovely? Not the Japanese maple, silly. The curb! We're finally done painting the fire lane. When I volunteered to check into the cost of having someone come out to repaint our townhouse complex curbs, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. And I was getting into it myself. I could have gone with the painting company that wanted something like $1,500 to paint a couple of hundred feet of curb, but instead, I volunteered to do it myself, thinking it might be fun way to spend a pleasant Saturday morning. Oh, and I volunteered Robert to help.

Our complex has just 12 units, so when things have to get done, one of us has to step up and coordinate. Normally, it involves calling a company out to take care of the job--cleaning the gutters, repairing a fence, hiring a new landscaper. Rarely does anyone actually do the work themselves. I figure that such a visible job as painting these curbs and saving my neighbors some dough would score me at least two years until it's my turn to take on another project.

Having inherited a bit of my dad's perfectionism, I decided to scrape off as much of the old paint as possible. This, I found, was most effectively done by hand with a metal scraping tool and a wire brush. Once I started, I couldn't stop. Well, I could stop. I got tired frequently and stopped. It rained for 40 days and 40 nights and I stopped. But I couldn't stop what I had started and admit that I had made this harder than it needed to be.

Neighbors walked by and saw me hunched over, scraping, dripping with sweat and proposed various methods that might be easier. One neighbor brought his electric sander out and tried it out on about 50 feet of curb. While a few flakes flung off, I'd describe it as more of a buffing than paint removal. At best, he created smooth, shiny, flaking paint. I thanked him for his contribution to the job, and later scraped his section again when he wasn't looking. Another neighbor pitched in, using a razor blade. His method was fairly effective, but after about two hours, he remembered he had somewhere to go.

The job was left half done for weeks because it rained nearly every day in April. If we had hired a company to do it, no doubt my neighbors would have been up in arms to see scraped curbs left unpainted for weeks. Yesterday, I had the day off, so I put in another four hours and today we finished the job. I have a whole new appreciation for the term "curb appeal."

I've been noticing how poorly maintained many fire lane curbs are. Even in our local swanky mall, the curbs are blackened with tire marks, chipped and flaky. The required 3-inch-high markings of "FIRE LANE" and "NO PARKING" in white lettering which are to be placed at intervals of no less than 50 feet are faded and illegible.

Last night, I dreamt of paint scraping. Paint was flaking off in large strips. I peeled and peeled until an entire wall of paint came off in one piece, giving me the kind of pleasure one gets in peeling an orange and ending up with one solitary piece of orange peel. You don't get pleasure from that? Oh. Maybe it's just me.

While I scraped, I tried to remember the last time I'd really had a hard day of back-breaking work. We don't have much of a backyard and what we have is really Robert's baby. It's been awhile. A masseuse recently commented on how smooth my feet and hands are, completely free of calluses. I recall as a kid that hands like that would be hidden in one's pocket for fear of being ridiculed by classmates who were up with the cows every day. I took pride in having summer jobs that gave me blisters, a farmer's tan, and a reason to wear cowboy boots without looking like a poser. Those days are long gone. I have a masseuse, for Pete's sake.

I also thought about going down to the local Home Depot and hiring one of the dozens of day workers who loiter in the parking lot, waiting for a job. I probably could have had the job done in one day. Unlike me, whoever I had hired probably would not have taken 30 minute breaks every 45 minutes. I'd probably have to pay less than $100. What a strange world we have created where I can pay a guy $100 to work under the hot sun for hours, while I made more than that sitting in a climate-controlled conference room on Thursday afternoon for a quarterly business review meeting where my primary responsibility was to sit and listen.

And I thought about the people who think that it is those willing workers outside of Home Depot who are ruining our economy. And all the people--including me--who take for granted all the hard working immigrants who mow our lawns, clean our dishes, mop our floors and paint our fire lane curbs. We have forgotten how hard a hard day's work really is, if we ever knew at all.

This most recent wave of anti-immigrant sentiment seems to have popped up out of nowhere. All of the sudden, "illegal immigration" has lurched into the top position of social concerns. With the president's ratings down and the Republicans fearing they'll lose one of the three branches of government they dominate, they're pulling out all the stops to create another wedge issue. No surprise. It's worked for them before (Look for the anti-gay marriage amendment to rear its ugly head again soon in a big way).

On May 1, an unknown number of immigrants are planning to skip work to protest proposed federal immigration policies. One of our local business owners is worried that he'll be left bussing tables at his restaurant, A.P. Stump's Chop House in San Jose. In the Mercury News, Mr. Stump said, "I told them I'd terminate them. If they strike, they'll shut me down. I'm loyal to them, giving them two weeks off if they have a baby or something, and that's not showing loyalty if I've got $30,000 in lost business.''

Wow. Two weeks off if they have a baby or something. What a prince. Never mind that the Family and Medical Leave Act requires larger employers to give 12 weeks of unpaid leave for having a baby or something. And how's their medical plan, Mr. Stump? They do get dental and vision, don't they? Do you contribute to their 401(K)? I didn't think so. But you are loyal, not firing them for having a baby and all.

While I plan to be at work on Monday, I'm glad I spend my day off doing some hard work, reminding myself how it is mostly luck that I have the opportunity to choose whether I ever want to work that hard again. Most of the people who will skip work on Monday are doing the best they can with the cards that they've been dealt. While I cringe at the way our economy exploits them, I am awfully glad they are here. In a couple of years, the curb is going to been to be painted again.