Back in the 1990s rednecks were already listening to songs like Welcome to the Jungle and developing their own senses about "public" and encroachment.
"In Denver we call it Urban Sprawl," a tight-jeaned and high-top sneaker 'dude' caught part of the conversation running room to room. He was collecting up the loaned painting supplies. Some of the sober-for-the-dayworkers reached for laid down five-in-ones and adjusted rags on pant loops.
"And the Valesters try and keep it within the city limits?"
"No honey. Turned out to be a bunch of hipster environmentalists who were more interested in microbrews and having foreigners run their dope errands."
"They were cool?"
"Cold as snakes."
"Not good people."
"So, doing the dirty work?"
"A whole class of stagnated workers."
"Easier to rope in beaten mules."
"White people."
"Not just white people Tan Man."
"I'm not tan. I AM LATINO."
"I'm Native American but I don't go around announcing it like it's one of those uptighter's labelmaker's things to box."
Conversations with more than five people in a room were rare at the time between "clean" and "dirty" in the social scene; workers investing in the companies they were working for and so avoiding "insider trading" accusations; and the sometimes volatility that doing therapy and working can bring into group dynamics. And once a bunch of people start chit-chatting it can turn into a train wreck for crew. It just gets going and can be like an organ adding more and more sounds to what was rally and workmode.
Usually it takes one or two people to suggest or example....keep working, keep working....and a wiseass to ask or imply, Or? Some crew chiefs are quick to let it be known: Or....
Or we don't make as much? Someone may ask.
Then the "boss" has to employ a style if it hasn't been predetermined or if there were some other variables involved. The best have the numbers worked out in their heads (and as "estimates") before taking the job and over/underhiring. All professionals have "scripts" about certain things. Actually talking business with co-workers helps people stay on message and navigate consumption flow and image.
A cologned business-shirted and pressed slacks man came hurriedly into the main room. He picked up a bag of jerky sliced in half and a can of mandarin oranges, unopened. Another well-dressed man came downstairs. "Why did you call for me?"
"They'll be here soon."
"Oh?" He popped open the oranges and slurped the juice. "And who praytell are these they?"
"They've been all over the country and bring news of
"BECAUSE YOU'RE A HOT FUCKING MESS," A door that had been slammed, opened, saying.
Another door closed firmly but wasn't slammed.
"His mother's in from Atlanta."
"And who's coming?"
"The retail sluts."
Nobody laughed. A person raised bushy eyebrows. "Are they also going to tell us how to do our jobs?"
"Like the designers?"
"Maybe some input."
"It's supposed to be just social."
"Social?"
"Professional."
A youngish looking older man came down the stairs in boxers, dress socks, and starchy smelling dress shirt. Plucked up the other half of the beef jerky, snagged a can of pineapple, and didn't seem to notice the nine others in the room. Walked towards a window, checked time on watch, looked out window. Watch this, a worker in a yellow tank top mouthed. A dog resting between an armoir and a side table lifted its head as the worker went into the kitchen. Worker came back with a baby carrot. Bit it in half, gave the bite in his mouth to the dog who took it gently and laid it in front of where it rested its head back on paws. The worker placed the other half carrot on the steps going upstairs. Then rejoined the quietly prepping.
After about three more minutes as the half-dressed man went to go back upstairs we heard an appalled intake of breath and sound. "Did you creatures eat the whole Veggie Platter?"
Dios mio, someone said and backed off a ladder.
"Am I talking to the walls here?"
"Good going sparkie. Loose us another one why don't you?"
Oh shit. Did somebody?
The man in the boxers reappeared in the main room holding the piece of carrot between thumb and forefinger like it was a shell casing. "Anybody know what this is?"
"A care-rote," a worker said and then smoothed the edge of painted door trim.
A painter woman snapped her gum, twirled a dripping brush over a can of primer, and asked in a New York accent, "Are you gonna hold us over this? Or can I go smoke?"
"Depends."
"On what?" She carefully dripped the paint down the side of the can but not on the tarp.
"The Veggie Platter is or was for the Reps." The man sighed.
"What about the starving store people?" Asked the man who'd put the carrot on the steps. "WHO HAVEN'T HAD PROTEIN IN who knows how long?"
"OH, you care?"
"Guess we know who's sleeping with who now."
Bull fight?
The painter woman wiped the rest of the drips on the tarp. "Do we now?"
"Pah-lease,"
"I guess I'll call and get another Platter for Retail." The man put the piece of carrot on the coffee table and held out a hand, palm up. Four well-dressed men pulled large cell phones from various pockets. The painter woman rolled her eyes, shook her head, quipped must be nice, and went out a sideyard door.
Tsk, tsk, shame on you, the mother said of the boxers style when the man went back upstairs. And, "I'm going to meet your father and, and some sports buddies of his for dinner. Which dress should I wear?"
"Like it matters mother." The man felt his forehead for fever. He came back down when the doorbell rang. "That'll be the Veggie Platter."
"Do weggies even have protein?" A worker asked looking at the sleeping dog who hadn't touched the carrot.
The now fully dressed man opened the door. "Pizza!" A delivery person said. "But I didn't
"I did." A worker flexed his arm muscles as he passed the money out the door.
"Did you get the wings too?" Another worker called from behind hanging plastic. His dark hair crowned with sheetrock dust when he got no answer and poked his head into the main room.
People wet ragged paintbrushes and followed the aroma of hot meal into the kitchen. In the kitchen were already like eight girls working on two footlong subs. Some with mouths full of food kept talking. People hadn't seen each other in a while. A few were in a debate about what food and drink might fuck up their singing voices. "Cha, if I eat that I'd have to just play guitar in the first set."
"Who are you?" Someone asked while opening a bucket of wings.
"Just playing guitar if I eat that." She didn't let go of the pick as she waved her hand at all of it.
"Poor ting. So skinny." A larger woman said. "More for me."
One woman had put a hand over another's mouth when asked, who are you? And another adding a piece of pizza crust to a quick-forming pile in one of the box tops, swallowed hard, and announced to no one in particular, "She's Josie and we're the Retail Sluts."
"Really?"
"How many jobs do y'all have?"
"Between us? Like fifteen." A woman sat on a stool and spokespersoned.
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