Caring about details

Will I ever get the sanding powder out of my hair?

Tonight was the very last of the sanding. It was the third layer of light-topping mud and as the sanding sponge goes over it, layers sluff off like talcum powder. In this evening’s production, Troy is cranking away with the sanding sponge on a stick. Every couple lurches the sponge he lets out a vague grunt. There are beads of sweat rolling down his face and at the base of each ear, a layer of dust has settled.

Me? I get to stand by looking like the Statue of Liberty holding the halogen work lights up over my head. In Troy’s presence I feel downright lazy tonight, but I remind myself while a fairly simple, my job is still important. Troy won’t succeed at his job in the dark corners of the house if I don’t do my job.

We work our way around the last two rooms of the house that require final sanding: the future master bath and the master closet. As we get to the master closet I can’t help but think we could get away with just quitting. Call it a night. Really. By the time my bureau is in there and clothes hanging poles with clothes on them, who will ever see the wall? Besides, my arms are tired from holding up the blazing hot lights. How much worse Troy must feel sanding in front of those blazing hot lights. I keep quiet and think to myself that my willingness to cut this corner is exactly why this isn’t my day job and I’d never do this in another person’s home.

From the hightly-observed wall beside where a future bathroom mirror might be to the completely out of view dark back corners of the closet, Troy gave equal care and equal attention. No one will likely ever see the closet’s back corner, but Troy can be proud. If you were to see it, you’d see he cares about details.