At about 10AM in my hotel room in a lovely commercial/industrial strip in The Old City I stood up to do a little light yoga. I suppose I should be grateful for the opportunity to do this, as a middle aged guy who should be working but isn't, in the middle of a Monday morning, but I'm really not. I figure it's my birthright to have nice things given to me with no effort on my part. "Sweat of thy brow" my ass.
Across a 100 yards of cracked asphalt I watch a crew from a roofing company clamber up a bouncing ladder to a flat third story roof. It's cold here -- about 30F - and the wind is blowing hard. I'm assuming it's cold on the roof. I could be wrong since it's 72F in my nice hotel room, but I don't think so. They are using shovels and adzes and pitchforks and mattocks and a whole assortment of Medieval looking tools to rip up roofing material that doesn't look to be coming off too easily.
During one of my early Inventories I was bitching mightily about my work life. My sponsor pointed to another crew installing shingles on a pitched roof in 100 degree heat.
"You don't work," he suggested. "Those guys are working."
I saw his point, begrudgingly.
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