Work Ethic Exemplified
On our way up to the ravine trailhead one day last week, my husband stopped, had a close look at the work being done by a man in one of our furthest neighbour's driveway. Several weeks earlier a university student, hired to represent a driveway paving and resurfacing company had knocked on our door and offered a "special price" of $180 for having our driveway sealed by the company he was representing. My husband declined the offer, deeming it to be too expensive for the kind of work he felt would be done. He'd previously seen the kind of work that resulted from such offers.But this! This slightly-built, muscular older man had prepared our neighbour's driveway in a manner we'd never before seen. His work was so obviously meticulous, so carefully planned and executed that my husband stood watching in sheer admiration before finally approaching the man, introducing himself as a nearby home-owner, and asking if he would kindly have a look at our driveway, evaluate its condition and the work required to improve it, and give us a price. To which the man agreed; he would do just that, leaving his card and his offer in our mailbox.
Then off we went for our ravine walk. An hour later, ambling down the street toward our house after our walk, we saw the man's truck just pulling away from the curb in front of our driveway. It was soon evident he had seen us in his rear-view mirror, as he backed up and parked his truck, then exited it, awaiting our arrival. He explained the work that needed to be done, how he would go about doing it, and that since our driveway was considerably wider than the others he'd done on the street he would have to charge more.
The price he quoted was $145. This would be for carefully cutting away all the detritus and growth right next and alongside the driveway, which impinged on the drive itself. It included cleaning the driveway, preparing the driveway by patching up irregularities such as cracks and holes with coldpatch material, and finally spraying the driveway with sealant. My husband couldn't believe the price, and immediately agreed, anxious to have this deliberately careful man do his magic with our tired old drive.
This man, who informed us that he was a local resident, was interested in continuing the conversation. He was personable, bright and cheerful - and, best of all, conscientious to a fault as we were to learn later. He told us that he had been a car painter for 30 years, had owned his own garage for a while. He was fascinated with older cars, and currently owned a 52-year-old Oldsmobile which he maintained in immaculate condition. He showed us the photographs that he had in his truck.
And his truck, a glistening metallic vehicle that looked brand new was itself 12 years old, a General Motors product which, he told us, had caused him no end of misery due to its mechanical failures for the first ten years of ownership, but that he was now satisfied with its condition and meant to conserve it. He was sick of working in a garage, he said, wanted to do something different. He sought training in just what he was doing, and was actually licensed to perform the work - to perfection.
This kept him busy during the spring, fall and summer months, and through the winter months he takes a break. He is, he told us, fascinated with archery and in the winter practices his archery skills in the basement of his home. His wife, he said, at one time was also interested in archery and practised alongside him, but she has since lost interest although that has not deterred him from pursuing this passion of his.
He takes obvious pride in his work, and what's more and far better both for himself and for his clients, he enjoys the work he does, he told us. When he returned a week later he more than amply demonstrated just what he meant. He arrived before eight one cool sunny morning and worked relentlessly until almost one in the afternoon. He refused offers of fresh fruit juice, said he had no need to use our bathroom facilities and worked without stop, relenting now and again just to chat light-heartedly about the beauty of the day and how perfect it was for his work.
When it came time for us to set off on our ravine walk we asked if he would like us to leave the door unlocked should he require the use of anything inside and he demurred. Before leaving on our walk, my husband handed this working man the money in cash that he had asked as recompense for his work, and he stuffed it into his trouser pocket without checking its amount. Which he would have find slightly increased from the amount agreed upon.
When we returned from our walk an hour later, he was still there, carefully using a hand-held tool he had obviously himself devised, to ensure that the oil-based spray he was using would not blemish our garage doors. Again, he refused refreshment, laughing that he had more than adequate supplies in his truck. When it appeared he was finally close to completion my husband asked if, given the length of time he had worked and the difficulty of the operation, he would like to alter his payment, but he refused, saying that he was satisfied with it as it was. And handed my husband a carefully itemized receipt for payment.
Interesting to think of what things might be like if everyone took such pride in their work, if everyone enjoyed as this man does the work he does. Extraordinary to say the least.
posted by Pieface @ Wednesday, August 16, 2006
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