The builder turns in uncertain angles, scuffing the ball of his foot, as he talks on his mobile. The phone is crushed into one ear, his finger jammed into another, as he struggles to hear the voice on the other end over the sound of drilling. As he turns, the sunlight bounces off his silver-and-yellow protective vest; squinting, I lower my eyes back down to my computer screen.
“All right I’ll wait…” he says loudly, striking the floor with his foot again. He looks at his watch. This call is obviously on the clock. “Hello!” he says. His chin lifts; as does his mood. He stops pacing. “Buddy! How are you! I missed you this morning. What are you doing? Having lunch? What are you eating?”
A pause.
“That sounds yummy. Are you dressed yet?” Pause. “You got wet?” Pause. “At the park?” A longer pause, followed by a laugh. “That’s no good. Best stay inside this afternoon, eh? Better put your mum back on the phone. See you tonight.”
This conversation has lasted mere minutes, but when he returns to work, he takes the stairs two at a time.
Happily.
*
A mother and her two young sons later walk past as he is about to slide the retractable door shut between the public area outside and the building site. The builder stops, feigns exhaustion, and says, “I don’t know if I can do this all by myself! Can you help me?”
The boys run forward, and together they pull it closed; the builder looks at his helpers from the opposite side and sticks his hand out through the metal framework.
“Thanks boys, give me five!”
Palm slaps enthusiastic palm. The mother smiles and thanks the builder before ushering her boys away. He lifts his hand in parting and turns around to go back to work.
The mother and I exchange a quick look as she passes. I believe we have had the same thought:
We like the builder.
