Eligible?

When women find out I’m an electrician, more often than not the first question they ask is either: “Did you do it to meet men?” or “Do you meet a lot of eligible men?” The answer to both questions is, “No.” I did it because I needed a change from sitting behind a desk all day, because I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands and because I get a kick out of doing unusual things.

I like men. In my life I have just as many close male friends as female ones. I’m very comfortable talking to and working with men. I also like men in “that” way, but to make a career choice based on the potential to meet men? Puh-leez. I suppose there are women out there who might make that choice, but I don’t think they’d last very long. Let me tell you, it ain’t a fashion show.

Most days are spent underneath the ugliest of hard hats and behind the nerdiest of safety glasses. Any make-up such a princess might choose to wear would be quickly sweated off or buried under layers of dust and dirt. Since most functional work pants are made for guys, they aren’t the most flattering to the female form. Footwear consists of clonky work boots day in and day out…enough to send any shoe diva screaming. Jewelry is a hazard when working with electricity. Hairstyles, if long, are boring ponytails or braids. Any shirt soon has holes from snagging on the sharp edges that abound on construction sites. Also, these sharp edges cause many gashes and scratches on exposed arms, leaving scars that make a girl look like she’s gone ten rounds with the pet cat from hell.

Of course, this assumes that the woman is actually trying to do the work and will get dirty, sweaty and bloody. I recently witnessed a chicklet on the jobsite who was happy to be there hanging out with the boys but who barely did any work. She was (supposedly) a framer, but spent more time giggling and standing around than she did working. She was quite attractive and the guys on my crew definitely noticed THAT right off the bat, but within a week or two they were referring to her as “The Beauty Queen” and commenting almost exclusively on how little she actually did during a day. Pretty soon, the boys were all atwitter with the gossip that she got fired. No one was really surprised.

Even if a gal is doing the job with legitimate motivations, there’s still the question about eligible men. Despite being single and surrounded by men on a daily basis, I’ve been too focused on doing a good job and learning the trade to pay more than cursory attention. It’s not that I haven’t noticed physically attractive men – c’mon, I’m a red-blooded female surrounded by hot, fit construction guys – it’s just that the opportunities to find out if there’s anything of substance beneath the muscles are few and far between. Any preliminary chat-while-you-work conversations usually lead to the discovery that the guy a) is married or in a relationship, b) is way too young or, c) has no substance. I guess if I was just interested in sex any available b) or c) would do, but those days are over and now I kind of prefer someone who can stimulate me mentally as well as physically. It’s not too much to ask that the guy has actually read a book in the past year, is it?

And then there’s me. I don’t think I’m exactly the type that appeals to construction workers, either. From sitting in on lunch conversations about their spouses and girlfriends, it seems that the overwhelming majority of these guys are quite traditional and take a bizarre kind of pride in having a woman who relies on them to do “manly” things. Oh, sure, they “complain” that their women don’t know how to check the air pressure in tires, don’t earn very much, if any, money yet spend lots on shoes, handbags and clothes to add to their already overflowing closets, and can’t undo a pickle jar without help (okay, that’s a wee exaggeration) but they all seem pretty happy with these women so there must be some kind of appeal. When I think about what I’m like in relation to those kinds of women, I often have a song from Annie, Get Your Gun running through my head:

I’m quick on the trigger
With targets not much bigger
Than a pinpoint, I’m number one
But my score with a feller
Is lower than a cellar
Oh, you can’t get a man with a gun

…or in my case, a Hilti gun.

Since my life is very much taken up by working long hours and being too tired to do much after work, the opportunities to meet men in other settings are pretty limited. So, for now I guess I can enjoy the eye candy that flits in and out of my field of vision during the day and hope than someday a single, interesting, educated and somewhat sophisticated guy who appreciates a self-sufficient woman will walk into my life. It could happen, right? Or, it might be easier to win the 6-49.

I think I’d better buy a ticket.

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Today’s Treasure: Frozen hamburger patties. Seriously. I came home tired and hungry and didn’t feel like cooking. Tossed ‘em on the BBQ right out of the freezer and, voila, instant supper. It’s the small things that make me happy sometimes.

On Call

I hate cell phones. I’ve hated them for a while, but my hatred has been taken to a higher level this week by what seems to be a disturbing new trend. Bald guys wearing those little earpiece thingies. I mean…seriously. Who do they think they are? Captain Picard?

Now, I don’t care if a guy has hair or not. Earpiece thingies are equal opportunity idiot makers. I only mention the bald thing because “Picard wannabes” was the first image I got when I saw them. I’m not a big Star Trek fan. Did Picard even ever wear something so stupid hanging off the side of his head? My gut says no, that he had the sci-fi chest communication thingy, but I could be wrong.

Anyway, equal opportunity idiot makers. The guys without hair look like they’re trying to be Picard. At least it’s pretty obvious that they’re talking on the phone because it’s extremely noticeable on the side of their bald heads. The guys with hair walk around looking like they’re talking to themselves and should be given a wide berth. You can’t really tell they’re on the phone unless you look carefully. And who wants to look carefully at a madman? That just spells T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

This is just the latest in my ever-growing list of reasons to hate cell phones. But I have many others.

First off, is anyone really that important that they need to be in contact with others 24/7? Ok, maybe if you’re a doctor or other people’s lives are depending on you a cell is necessary, but for the vast majority of warm bodies out there it’s just an annoying and rude little toy that mistakenly elevates the sense of self-importance. People think that the world will fall apart if they can’t be reached by phone. Newsflash: It won’t.

Manners have gone by the wayside where cell phones are concerned. I recently went out on a first date with a perfectly nice fella who seemed alright until he answered his cell phone and yakked for a good ten minutes to the guy on the other end about almost nothing while I stood around trying not to eavesdrop. It wasn’t an “escape-route-in-case-this-first-date-sucks” call because he wanted to hang around with me for another couple of hours but also took another 5-10 minute call during that time. These weren’t “I’m-so-busy-and-important-I-can’t-be-away-from-a-phone” calls, either. They were more “I-have-a-cell-phone-and-I’m-afraid-to-miss-any-call, even-the-ones-from-phone-solicitors” calls. It didn’t make a great first impression on me and pretty much tarnished his appeal from the get-go. Dating tip for dummies: Shut it off. (guys and girls!)

You can’t have dinner in a restaurant without some annoying ring tone going off or someone yakking while waiting for friends. Although most people turn off the ringer in movie theatres, they still peek at their phones if they vibrate to see who’s calling and the annoying little screens shine away in the dark. Going to the movies is supposed to be about ESCAPISM. How can you frickin’ well escape if you are a slave to your phone? And speaking of slavery, don’t get me started on text messaging…the decline of proper spelling, people hunched over their little screens and keypads…illiteracy and physical abuse…sure sounds like slavery to me. Liberate yourselves, people!

I recently read Stephen King’s book, “Cell”, in which an insidious signal is broadcast via cell phones and everyone who has one becomes a raging zombie. Only a few phoneless people escape and the future of normal people depends on them. Amen, brother!

I think my hatred of cell phones is rooted in my past. Years of answering phones on the job. At that time, I would hate the sound of a ringing phone when I went home because I was tired of answering it. In addition, it was often just my workaholic boss phoning me for some minor thing that could have waited until then next day but because he thought of it at that precise moment, he had to call me. When call display came along it was a great invention and I still love it. The same goes for voice mail. These are phone tools that allow me to decide if I’m available on the phone or not.

And that’s the crux of the matter. I don’t like the assumption cell phones create that I’m at the beck and call of anyone who wants to dial my number.

Surprisingly, I do actually own a cell phone. I load it up with a paltry amount of minutes every couple of months. I keep it in the car. I have it for emergencies or for my convenience. I only turn it on when I want to use it or if I’m waiting for a call from friends. It’s a tool and I use it when it’s useful and necessary to me. I use lots of tools everyday. I don’t carry a screwdriver with me into stores and everywhere else just in case a screwdriver emergency arises, but when I need one I have one available. The same goes for the cell phone. My beef is not with the tool itself, but with the tools users.

Whoops, gotta run. My screwdriver just rang.

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Today’s Treasure: Actually, it’s a weekend treasure. My friend Wayne was home from Toronto and passed through town. He, his mom and I had Friday dinner & a movie and Saturday lunch. The two of them picked Saskatoon berries earlier in the week and brought me a bucketful. Time spent with friends is very precious, especially when they live far away.