Mr. Constuction Fraud, Esq.

 

I dreamed I'd been unable to work for some time, but my company was loathe to let me go. I'd been out on family leave, and now it was time to return to work, only my position had been filled in my absence. Technically, they couldn't fire me for taking the leave, but instead, they offered me a position that I was in no way qualified for. I suppose the plan was to let me flounder for a bit and then fire me for incompetence. 

I never was told exactly what my job title or description was. I surmised that I was a construction supervisor, architectural consultant or customer liaison. I was to oversee the projects brought to us by famous people who didn't know exactly what they wanted but had boatloads of money to make their dreams a reality. 

I wandered around the facility, which looked like a lumber mill but also had a functioning automotive repair facility inside of its sprawling structure. Silva, my ex-coworker, ever the archetypal worker drone, was deconstructing some pallets to reclaim the wood for a future project. I thought I'd build a table to set parts on, so I asked about the status of the stacks of wood he had piled up against the wall.

"Can I rob you of a few pieces of lumber?" I asked politely.

"Rob all you want," he said. "You're the boss, right?"

It still hadn't sunk in that I was actually in charge of anything. I was just looking for some busy work, in case the real boss showed up. I grabbed a few scraps of wood and began laying them out. 

"I don't guess you guys need a table right here, do you?" I asked. We were right outside the men's washroom.

"Probably not," he said, "but take all the wood you need."

I realized that I was completely deficient in even the most rudimentary carpentry skills, so I put the wood back and wandered around some more in search of a purpose. 

 

That's when I spied my first customer. It was Goran Visnjic, an actor who seems to always play Frenchmen or Europeans of indeterminate descent. He was a big deal, and when he arrived, I was supposed to assure him that his project, however extravagant, was in safe hands with our company. I had no such confidence.

"Hello, sir," I said, trying to conceal the fact that I didn't even know his proper name. Everybody just referred  to him as "Frenchie."

"How do you do, sir," he said, returning my vague politeness tit for tat. "Have you ever seen Japanese rice paper art?"

He pulled a red leather pocket organizer from his trenchcoat pocket and opened it. He handed me a small calendar, with pictures and fancy calligraphy, printed on the thinnest of translucent rice paper. It was so delicate, I hardly wanted to touch it, for fear of tearing the paper.

"I can see you are a man of refined taste," I told him, a bit obsequiously, but not too over the top, I hoped.

I showed the calendar to my co-workers and they all agreed, but in a less tactful fashion:

"He's a pansy," one of them said under their breath.

"He's the boss. Got it?" I whispered harshly in my underling's ear. "We're going to have to give him whatever he wants, so you'd better tool up for whatever kind of production he wants -- pansy, fancy-doodle-do or whatever. " I was still getting used to the idea that I was in charge of anything or anybody.

My co-workers hustled to make themselves look busy, leaving me alone with the client. I figured now was as good a time as any to come clean.

"I'll be honest with you Mr...." I still didn't know his name. I wanted to call him "Mr. Depardieu" because I always mistake anyone even slightly French for the famous 70s actor. "I'll be honest with you, sir, I don't know why they hired me for this position. I have zero experience in construction, or management, for that matter. I am a retired auto mechanic."

He looked at me quizzically. I wasn't selling myself, that's for sure, but I felt honesty was the best policy. 

"You'll do fine, Andrew," he told me. "I researched your firm, and I think your company is the best suited to make my vision a reality."

I still didn't know what his vision was, but looking around at my ragtag crew and our scant inventory of wood scraps, I had my doubts. I woke up soon thereafter, never having even begun to grasp the nature of his project or my role in it.

It would seem that's the way of things. I escape the responsibilities of life by retreating into a dreamworld, but as soon as there is the vaguest hint of responsibility, I wake up and return to my regularly scheduled routine of minimal and mostly procrastinated obligations.