Carpentry: The Next Level
January 4th, 1988
Snow began falling in Woodbridge on New Year's Day and continued throughout the weekend into my Monday morning drive down SR 123 to Fairfax Station. Somber stratus clouds, spawning endless flurries, created heavy snowdrifts along the two-lane road—perfect weather to fuel a broken heart. And there I was, dismally optimistic, cruising cautiously on the icy highway to my first carpentry project of the year.
I was the first to arrive at the Miller residence; however, it appeared Aaron had been there earlier to plow the driveway. Aaron, whose entrepreneurial mother owned a baskets-and-bows shop directly beneath Bob Well's office, worked part-time for Bob as a gofer—I thought—I never saw Aaron do anything except deliver materials and supplies to project sites. However, one day, Aaron's enterprising parents bought him a snowplow attachment for his pickup; that was when Aaron found his calling as a heavy equipment operator. He soon developed a reputation around Clifton for his masterful snowplowing skills and was in high demand on snow days. Everyone knew Aaron.
Mrs. Miller saw me walking up the drive from her kitchen window and met me at the front door.
"Matt! You made it back; come out of the cold and have some hot coffee with me."
"Thanks, Mrs. Miller, coffee sounds mighty good," I said.
"It is good to see you, Matt; how was your trip to Texas?"
It looked like Mrs. Miller had given birth to her baby while I was away; by that, I mean she was considerably thinner, but I didn't want to be the first to bring it up; there might have been complications with the pregnancy. Who knows. I thought it best to keep quiet and let her tell me when she was ready.
"You look a little thinner than the last time I saw you," I blurted, despite my hesitancy, wondering if my comment about her size was impolite, if not outright inappropriate.
"Well, yes, there have been some changes to our family since we saw you last," Mrs. Miller said as she picked up a baby from a small crib parked near their breakfast table. "His name is Matthew Steven Miller."
"Wow, you had your baby; that's great; it is nice to meet you, little guy," I said as I shook his tiny hand with my thumb and forefinger.
"My father-in-law's name is Matthew," Mrs. Miller added.
"Well, I hope your father-in-law is not too upset that you named your new son after me," I said, smiling.
"You're pretty funny, Matt."
"I'm kidding, of course. I'll bet little Matthew keeps you busy."
"He's a handful, as most newborns are. Tell me about your vacation?"
"It was a long, tiring road trip, but it was awesome visiting with my friends and family again after being away from them for the past six months. You know, I never had a chance to say goodbye to many of them before moving out here last May. The trip back to Texas was what I needed to pick up more of my personal items and say proper goodbyes to folks back home before I returned to Virginia for another long stretch. There's no telling when I will see them again. Everyone is moving on with their lives."
"That must have been hard moving someplace so far away from your family and friends," she said. "I can't even imagine."
"It was, but I am happy to be back in Virginia now and back to work."
"Well, we are glad you're back, Matt. You know, last week, I drove to Bob Wells office in Clifton and told him, 'I only want Matt to run our basement finish-out project.'"
"What did he say?" I asked, smiling.
"He didn't say anything, just nodded, but the girl at the front desk snickered a little."
"Tracey?"
"Maybe she knows something we don't," Mrs. Miller said.
"Perhaps so," I said.
"Do you know her well?"
"Not as well as I thought," I said, suddenly wanting to change the subject.
At that moment, Doug Johnson pulled into the driveway in his old, faded blue state-trooper-like vehicle.
"Well, it appears ONE of our workers showed up on this snowy day, Mrs. Miller," I said, delighted about the timing of Doug's arrival.
"Okay, I'll let you get to work. We can chat later. It sounded like you had something more to say."
"Nothing worth discussing," I said. "I'd better grab Doug and get to work."
"Okay, Matt. Let me know if you need anything."
Doug was sitting in the front seat of his car, snuffing out a cigarette, as I strolled down the driveway; he had already shaken out another from a soft pack and lit it before I arrived.
"I never thought I would see YOU again," Doug said with a crap-eating grin.
"What do you mean?"
"I figured once you saw your old friends and family again, you would want to stay in Texas, but I'm pleased that you came back."
"There's no work in Texas, Doug, not for carpenters anyway, although if I really wanted to move back, I could probably figure out some way to make a living, but that's not what I want to do. Besides, I have obligations here."
"Tracey?"
"No. I was thinking about the Miller's basement finish-out, for one," I said, "Let's get to work."
As carpentry goes, basement finish-outs were the easiest, especially during the winter months. The concrete slab, external walls, and roof structure are already in place, and the work environment is climate-controlled, making the Miller's basement project an ideal carpentry job for the winter season.
The plan was straightforward: build partition walls to create two new bedrooms with a hallway between them, which would connect to a newly remodeled bathroom and a new stairwell enclosing the rough-finished wooden stairs that extended to the first floor. The scope of the work would only finish about a third of the unfinished basement, leaving plenty of climate-controlled space for us to store materials and build partition walls far from the wind and snow.
While Doug gathered tools from the trunk of his car, I headed to my truckbed toolbox to do the same. I tried to insert the key into the padlock, but was unsuccessful. The keyhole was frozen.
"Hey, Doug, I have a problem here. The locks on my toolbox are frozen."
"No problem, Matt, I have the answer right here."
Doug removed a propane torch from his trunk and, without uttering a word, lit it and heated the outside of both padlocks.
"Try it now," he proudly said.
The key slid right in.
"Wow, that worked like a champ, Doug!"
"I'm going to mark this day on my calendar," Doug said, "I finally got a chance to show YOU something you didn't know!"
"You did. A dumb Texan like me wouldn't have thought of heating the locks with a torch."
Doug and I unpacked our tools and went to work. He had a cheery attitude the rest of the day. I knew Doug had experience to share; I tried to encourage it, but sometimes his self-consciousness would win out. I never gave up, though. Yes, it felt good to be back on the job again, cutting wood and pounding nails. Hard work is good medicine for a broken heart.
By the end of the week, we had erected all the partition walls but had to wait for an electrician to run the electric wire and install receptacles before we could cover the walls with drywall.
While we waited for the electricians to finish their work, Bob dispatched Doug and me to the Ford project, a sizeable home addition in Clifton, next to the railroad tracks that ran through town. Another one of Bob's crews—probably Chris—had already framed the walls and roof and dried in the new structure using 4x8 sheets of insulating board. Our job was to install board-and-batten siding over the insulating board to mimic the architecture and build of the existing home.
Unlike the Miller's climate-controlled indoor basement finish-out, the Ford addition was outdoors, in the elements. Heavy coats and long johns were all that protected us from the relentless subfreezing temperatures of that wicked Northern Virginia winter.
Bob met Doug and me on-site the first morning.
"Hey Matt," Bob said, "I haven't seen you since you got back from Texas. I thought you might come by the office to visit. Is everything going well, I mean, besides this cold weather?"
"All is well, Bob," I'm just trying to get back into work mode.
"How are you, Doug," Bob said. "Is Matt treating you well?"
"Matt treats everyone well," Doug said.
"I'm sure he does, Doug," Bob said. "I see Manassas Lumber delivered the siding and nails. Is there anything else you guys need?"
"Yes...uh...Do you have a copy of the plans for this job?" I asked.
"There's probably an old copy inside the building, but I have a new set in my car. Let me get them for you. You need your own set."
Bob came back from his vehicle with a clean set of blueprints and handed them to me.
"Anything else?"
"No, I think we're good, Bob. Thanks."
"Okay, let me know...oh, and Tracey said to tell you hello."
"Thanks, Bob."
Bob hopped in his Mercedes and left.
"That was weird," Doug said.
"What was weird?"
"You know what I'm talking about. Did something happen between you and Tracey?"
"Yes. We broke up...I think...that is, if we were ever together."
"Aw, man, sorry about that dude, I thought you made a good couple."
Each night, the muddy ground surrounding the Ford addition froze solid and was as hard as a rock until mid-afternoon, when it thawed just enough to turn our work area into sludge that, by the end of each day, was all over our clothes and tools. For the next two miserable weeks, every workday was the same; the ground never stayed unfrozen long enough to dry out.
On Friday afternoon, at the end of the second week, I stopped for pizza on the way back to Woodbridge. My roommates, who had embarked on their winter arts-and-crafts trip to Key West the last week of December, would not return home for at least four more weeks. It was quiet when they weren't around. I grabbed my pizza, a six-pack of beer, and the blueprints for the Ford job and stepped into their warm house.
I took off my muddy clothes as soon as I walked in the door and jumped in the shower. The hot water felt good after being chilled to the bone all day, and I didn't get out of the shower until my skin pruned.
After getting into some clean clothes, I opened a beer, grabbed a slice of pizza, and sat down with the Ford blueprints at the kitchen table. I began thumbing through the pages until I found the plans for the bay window I had to build before we could continue with the siding. The plan left nothing to the imagination; the architect provided all the elevations, details, and specifications required to build the bay window exactly as designed. I took a step back and examined the blueprints as a whole; they were a work of art: well-organized and neat, with impeccable hand-drawn lettering. This architect CARES about his work.
The phone rang. My stomach sank. It could be Tracey, and I wasn't prepared to talk to her. Not yet, anyway.
"Hello?" I said.
"Hey, Matt! This is Jeff! What the hell are you up to?"
"Hey, Jeff, just ate some dinner and now relaxing after a long frozen Virginia work week."
"I hear ya. Hey, do you want to hit the club in Rockville tomorrow night?"
"That sounds good to me! Let's do it. What time?"
"How about we meet there about 8 o'clock?"
"That'll work for me. I'll see you there."
After we hung up, I put the rest of the pizza in the refrigerator and popped open another cold one. The phone rang again. What did Jeff forget to tell me?
"Hello?"
"Hi, Matt, it's Tracey."
A lump developed in my throat.
"Are you still mad at me?"
I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts.
"No, Tracey, I'm not mad. Just disappointed."
"I'm sorry, Matt. I miss you. Do you think we can be friends?"
"Are you still seeing your old boyfriend?"
"Yes," she said gently, as if it might somehow soften the blow.
"Tracey, before I left for Texas, you were worried that I would meet someone else and not come back. Well, it seems I was the one who should have been worried about you. 'Can we be friends?' you ask. I don't even know who you are anymore."
"That's mean."
"Mean?! Would you want to be friends with me if I had cheated on you?"
"It wasn't cheating, I was with my boyfriend."
"Your boyfriend?! A month ago, you told me I was your boyfriend. What the hell, Tracey? Shit."
She hung up on me. I guessed that's not what she wanted to hear. I didn't like the way things ended, but whose fault was that? If she still had feelings for her old boyfriend, I had nothing more to say to her, and she shouldn't have had anything more to say to me. It was time for me and her to go our separate ways.
I woke up the next morning feeling melancholy, but I was determined to shake it off. I made a pot of coffee, fried some bacon, eggs, and toast for breakfast, then sat down at the kitchen table. The blueprints for the Ford addition were still open where I had left them. "Ah! Drafting! Why didn't I think of that before?" I said aloud. "I could learn how to draft blueprints and create all my own architectural drawings."
Taking carpentry to the next level meant being in business for myself. I knew that, and it was time to start working toward that goal, so I pulled out a notepad and began making a list of tasks and skills I needed to complete to achieve my self-employment objective. I knew how to read blueprints, but I didn't know how to draw them. It should be easy. Shouldn't it? I could recognize a quality set of blueprints when I saw them. I understood the level of detail to expect when I read blueprints, but it isn't the same when you approach the process from the other perspective. You're not reading the instructions, you're writing them. It's your plan with all your own ingredients. As a general contractor, I needed to provide the complete recipe—the blueprints—with all the details and specifications necessary for the construction authorities to visualize the finished product and issue building permits. Here goes:
- Learn architectural drafting and design.
- Purchase a drafting table and drafting tools.
- Obtain a copy of the National and Local Building Code.
- Register Bray Building & Design as a DBA with Williamson County.
- Resign from Wells and Sons Builders.
There were additional items to add to the list, but that was the high-level plan.
I needed books. I wasn't sure which ones to buy, so I visited the Fairfax County Library to find textbooks on architecture and drafting. I found two—Architecture: Drafting and Design and Architectural Drawing—and checked them out. That afternoon, I read the first few chapters of Architectural Drawing while eating the rest of Friday night's pizza. Learning how to draw blueprints was going to be fun, I thought. Learning something new always is. As I plunged further into my new books, I began making a list of drafting tools I needed to get started.
Learning architectural drafting wasn't going to be an overnight thing. I would need extensive practice and study before I could provide the service confidently. I was familiar with the construction process but not as familiar with the design end—i.e., converting my ideas into working drawings. However, I was fortunate to have an approved set of blueprints—the Ford addition for reference. From that day forward, anything I wrote by hand was Helvetica-style architectural lettering.
On Saturday night, I met Jeff at the country-western club in Rockville, Maryland. It felt good to get out of the house, slam a few beers with Jeff, and dance with pretty girls. I exchanged looks with a cute blonde sitting at the bar, but her partner returned from wherever he had been, grabbed her lightly by the arm, and guided her toward the exit. But before she was completely out the door, she gave me one more look. Damn, she's gone.
I walked up to the bar where she was sitting and asked for another brew.
"Her name is Candy," the bartender said. "She sometimes comes here Sunday evenings."
"That's good to know," I said with a smile.
Well, that certainly took my mind off that girl in Virginia. You know, the one with the boyfriend? What was her name again? Funny, even though she gave me the shaft, it didn't make me feel better to think negatively about her. Puzzling.
I showed up at the club the following two Sundays, but no Candy.
The nightclub diversions helped me relax and process the idea of starting a general contracting business. I knew there would be a learning curve; much would come from experience, but I was excited about the challenge. 'Bray Building and Design?' I'm not sure, but it feels right.
"Matt, this club has country western dance classes on Tuesday nights. We ought to sign up."
"I already know how to dance, Jeff, but I guess I could always learn something new."
"What are you talking about, Matt? It's not about learning new dance moves, it's about meeting new women!"
"Ah! Yes, Obi-Wan, I forgot I was in the hands of the master!" I said, "Hell, Jeff, I'm gonna hit the head and grab another beer. Are you ready for a cold one?"
"Does a bear sh*t in the woods?"
"A bear sh*ts anywhere he wants."
Monday morning, Bob sent Doug and me back to the Miller project to hang drywall on the walls we had built two weeks prior.
"I thought you guys were gone for good," Mrs. Miller said.
"No. Bob put us on another project while the electicians ran wire and installed the recepticles in your new walls," I said.
"You were gone for two weeks, the electrician and the HVAC people did all their work the day after you left."
"There hasn't been anyone from our company working here since Doug and I left?"
"No, and I'm not happy with Bob Wells. You and Doug probably wouldn't be here today if I hadn't complained," Mrs. Miller said. "I meant it when I said I would be your first customer if you went into business for yourself."
"Thank you, Mrs. Miller. I am working towards that goal, but it might be a few months."
"I'll be waiting to hear from you," she said with a smile.
"It's great to have a first customer already when I don't even have a business yet," I chuckled.
In three days, Doug and I hung the drywall and installed bead on all the outside corners, all ready for the painter to do his work.
"The rooms sure take shape with the drywall installed," Mrs. Miller said, looking pleased with our work.
"Yes, they do," I said. "Our painter, Roy, should be arriving soon to tape, float, and texture the walls," I said. "I don't know if that means tomorrow or the next day."
"It probably means sometime next week," Mrs. Miller said sarcastically.
"When Roy has completed his work, I will be back to install the crown molding, cut the baseboards, and hang the doors. Then Roy will return to paint it all. When finished, Robert will likely install the flooring and the newly painted baseboards."
"Where are you and Doug going now?"
"We're heading back to Clifton to finish some siding work."
"On the Ford's house?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I drove through town the other day and saw Bob Wells talking to Mr. Ford in front of the Clifton Store. Here's a little history not many people know: the house the Fords live in used to be the town brothel."
"A brothel?" Doug chimed in.
"Relax, Doug, it isn't a brothel anymore," I said, chuckling.
Mrs. Miller turned a shade of red and cracked a smile.
That evening, I studied the plans for the bay window. It wasn't difficult, but it had many parts, and some of the dimensions didn't add up.
Thursday morning, I arrived at the Ford job thirty minutes early. The temperature was below freezing, but the ground was no longer frozen and had dried out. No mud. A man I didn't recognize, wearing a suit and an overcoat, was on site, examining the construction.
"Are you the architect?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, extending his hand. "Tim Reeko. Are you the carpenter?"
"Yes, well, one of the carpenters, Matt is my name. It is good to meet you, Tim."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Matt. Did you frame this project?"
"No, it was already built when I arrived. My job is to install the board and batten siding, that is, after I build the bay window."
"Have you looked at the plans for it yet?" Tim asked.
"Yes, I was studying them last night, and if you don't mind, I have a few questions," I said.
"Not at all," Tim replied.
I unrolled the blueprints for the bay window section.
"Some of the dimensions didn't quite add up, but it was late. My lack of sleep may have compromised my math."
"Well, let me have a look," Tim said, studying the details.
"You are right, Matt. I will update this section and drop it off at Bob's office before lunch. Will that work for you?"
"That's fine, Tim, no rush. You don't even have to update the drawing, if you don't want; I already know how to build it."
"Thank you, Matt. Not many carpenters find miscalculations in my plans. I'll be updating them," he said.
"Speaking of plans, your blueprints are impressive, well-organized, and coherent. When I first saw them, I thought, 'This is how I want my blueprints to look someday.'"
"Well, thanks, Matt. Are you thinking about a career in architecture?"
"I am interested in the field, but mainly want to learn drafting to expand my knowledge toolbox with new construction skills. The more you know, the more marketable you are."
"That's a good plan, Matt. If you have any further questions about this project or architecture in general, my office is located on Main Street, just a short walk away."
"Thanks, Tim."
Just then, Doug rounded the corner in his copmobile while Tim strolled through someone's backyard garden on the way back to his office. It felt good talking to a bona fide architect about architecture. It was like I had already taken the first step toward learning the trade.
"Before we get started today, Doug, let's treat ourselves to some hot coffee at the Clifton Store. I'm buying." "I can't turn down an offer like that," Doug said.
We walked about half a block through the chilly air down to the store. As we entered, I smelled fresh-brewed coffee and heard sizzling breakfast sausage. Holly, the woman from Texas whom I met on my first day in Virginia, was standing behind a grill, cracking eggs onto its hot surface.
"Hey there, Holly!" I said.
"Hi, Matt. It has been a while!"
"Too long," I said. "I have been working on jobs too far away from Clifton to stop in and say hello."
"I thought as much. Well, I'm happy to see you again. Do you want some breakfast?"
"No. Doug and I are just getting coffee this morning."
"Are you sure?"
"Wait! Is that chorizo I smell?"
"It sure is, Matt," Holly said with a big grin. "We just got some in yesterday. Would you like a chorizo and egg taco to go with your coffee?"
"You already know the answer to that question, Holly. Can you make another one for my buddy, Doug?"
"I don't need one, Matt," Doug said.
"Yes, you do," I said. "You haven't lived until you've tried Holly's authentic Tex-Mex."
Truth be known, I hadn't tried it either, but Holly ran a deli in Central Texas before relocating to Virginia. It couldn't be anything but heavenly.
"You twisted my arm," Doug said.
"You won't regret it," Holly said. "We will have you hooked on breakfast tacos before you know it. It's a staple in Texas, you know."
When Doug took the first bite of his taco, his eyes bulged, and his face warmed as he savored every mouthwatering morsel of Holly's south-of-the-border cuisine.
"Holy moly!" Doug said.
"That's what I'm talking about, Willis!" I said.
Holly laughed.
"Are you and Doug working on the Ford's house?" Holly said.
"Yes. I don't know how long we will be there; until we complete the siding, I expect."
"Good, then we will see you again tomorrow?"
"Yes!" Doug said, with a chuckle. "I'll be here, even if Matt isn't."
Doug and I refilled our coffee cups, walked to the job site, rolled out our tools, and went to work. It was another cold-as-hell morning in Virginia. Around mid-morning, Aaron pulled into the Ford's driveway with his snowplow still attached to the front of his truck.
"Hey Matt," Aaron hollered without shutting off his engine. "Bob wants you to come by the office around lunchtime today. He has something for you." "Thanks, Aaron. Tell him I'll be there."
Bob's office was close enough to walk, but the cold wind would be unbearable, so I drove. I thought Tracey might be at lunch, but her car was in the parking lot. If she were there, it would be the first time I had seen her since we shared a long goodbye kiss back in early December. Weird.
She looked pretty sitting at her desk when I walked in. She looked at me, almost fearfully, as if she was afraid I might say something mean, or bite her head off. Bob and Clint were also in the room.
"Hey, Matt," Clint said. "We haven't seen you in a while. How's it going down the street?"
"All is well, Clint. Doug and I are making good progress on the Ford addition's siding, and should have it completed sometime tomorrow afternoon. Just in time for the weekend."
"By the way," Bob said. "Tim Reeko dropped off an updated elevation for the bay window. He was quite impressed that you found a problem with the dimensions on his plan."
"He was," Tracey added with a hint of pride.
"Tim is a stickler for accuracy," Clint said. "To my knowledge, no one in our company has ever found a single flaw with any of his blueprints."
"I wasn't looking for errors. I was just trying to figure out how the pieces went together. Anyone could have caught that mistake."
"I doubt that," Bob said. "Most carpenters wouldn't even have cared."
Tracey nodded.
"Thanks, Bob. Well, I better get back to work."
"Bye, Matt," Tracey said.
I acknowledged with a tip of my cap and left the office. Tracey was making an effort, but I wasn't ready.
Doug and I built the bay window from the updated plan, installed all the siding, and cleaned up the job site by 4:00 p.m. on Friday.
"Have a good weekend, Doug. We'll be back at the Miller residence on Monday, so I'll see you there at 8:00 a.m."
"Sounds good, Matt. I'll see you then."
It had been a good week, and I was more fired up than ever to continue learning architectural design and edge closer to my self-employment goal.
On the way home from Clifton, I stopped at a Swedish furniture store in Potomac Mills to shop for a small, collapsible desk for my drafting work. I thought that if I were to move back to Texas someday, I wanted something I could fold flat and tote in my truck. I found one with a 30" x 48" white laminate desktop and folding black metal legs that I could adjust, if I wanted, to create an angled tabletop for drafting or sketching, etc. I found one that was in an unopened box, purchased it, and loaded it into the bed of my truck.
When I got home, I cleared out a space in my room and assembled the desk, with the top level, in minutes. I plugged in my architect's desk lamp, which I brought back from Texas, along with my desktop calculator and electric typewriter. Until I found the right desk chair, I used one from the kitchen table. It was a comfortable setup for continuing to study the architecture, drafting, and design books I checked out from the library.
Around 10 p.m., the phone rang. I didn't answer, thinking it might be Tracey and not wanting to spoil my mood.
On Saturday morning, I drove to a nearby office supply store to buy drafting tools. The store was small, but well-stocked for aspiring architectural drafters. I purchased a T-square, an assortment of pencils, two standard stencils (one for lettering), a 31x24 drafting board with parallel bar, a triangular scale, a package of translucent white vellum drafting paper with border and title block at the bottom right corner, drafting tape, an eraser pen with refills, an eraser shield, a grey metal desk lamp, and finally, an adjustable-height swivel desk chair. That was all my weekly budget would afford, but it was more than enough to get started. I would purchase more tools as needed.
On the way home, I bought another buy-one-get-one-free pizza so I could have one for dinner on Saturday and Sunday. I didn't want to go anywhere; I just wanted to stay home, arrange my new drafting tools on my new Swedish desk, and spend the weekend studying the art of architectural drawing without interruption.
For my first project, using a half-inch scale (where 1/2 inch on paper represents one full-scale foot), I drew the floor plan, elevations, and details for a 12-foot-diameter octagonal gazebo with a cupola. My second drafting exercise was to create all the handrail details for some decks I had built. These were projects I had built in the past from a sketch or a design I had in my head, not from actual blueprints. I was learning how to draft by drawing blueprints for construction projects I had already built.
Easy enough, perhaps, but that wasn't all there was to it. There was a whole chapter on lettering that I needed to practice, an organizational workflow I needed to master, and a specifications section that I could only grasp completely with a better understanding of international building codes.
Monday morning, while driving to the Miller residence, the new drafting skills I learned over the weekend coalesced in my mind. There was a lot of new information to process: geometric construction, orthographic projections, perspectives, isometrics, obliques, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. I had lots of work to do.
I slid into the Miller driveway unnoticed. Mrs. Miller was protecting some plants for an upcoming freeze, and our painter, Roy, was reading a newspaper in the front seat of his car. I parked my vehicle behind his and moved stealthily toward him.
"You know there's nothing in that paper but pure crap," I said, as I approached his open window.
"Matt! You bastard! How the hell are you?" Roy said, startled, as he stepped out of his car.
"I'm doing great. What have you been up to, Roy? Screwing up another paint job?"
"Yes. Try not to make it any worse with your crappy carpentry."
Mrs. Miller, who had been listening to our banter, said, "How can you talk to each other that way? You both do excellent work."
"We're just ribbing, Mrs. Miller, Roy and I are good buddies. If we don't criticize each other, then who will?"
"I should have known," she said, smiling. "You guys are too much!"
When Doug arrived, he and I installed the crown molding, cut the baseboards, and installed the pre-hung doors, while Roy continued painting. By the end of the day, Doug and I had completed our work, and the next day we were assigned to other projects.
"I guess this is bye for now, Matt," Mrs. Miller said. "But when you're ready, I have a project for you." "Thanks, Mrs. Miller, I will see you again soon."