Jesus Was a Painter

A couple of years ago I was working for a painting company in Colorado and it was both my best and worst experience working for a company. I learned more than I could have ever imagined about the trade and honed and incredible skill set, but often had to overcome adversity in the workplace. There were fights between employees, the owner of the company would skim money off of people's paychecks, there was heroin being sold in the workplace; my daily routine became much more than prepping or painting a building - it became a struggle of morality within the workplace.

The owner of the company was hardly present in dealing with inter-workplace affairs and with management essentially out the window, employees were left to manage themselves. I quickly learned that there's a fine line between minding one's own business and speaking up about an issue. Should I tell someone that an employee is selling heroin to other employees? Will the problem even be addressed if I say something? Will I create friction between myself and another employee if I do so? Is it really worth it to say something? The west had never seemed so wild.

Each day I was asking myself these kinds of questions and it became incredibly taxing on an emotional and psychological level. Twice I quit because of issues on the job site when I thought I couldn't take it any more. Twice I was rehired because it was the best paying job I could find and I had bills to pay. Is this sort of an uphill battle the reality of the workforce in our current day and age? Maybe it's just me. Maybe I need to just put my head down and work.

During the culmination of my final summer working for the company, before I finally left once and for all, I wrote the following:

Jesus wasn't a carpenter;
Jesus was a painter.

Should I find comfort in that?

Jesus wasn't a carpenter;
Jesus was a painter.

I'd know - I'm a painter myself.
Painting doesn't take much,
but there's a lot that goes into being a painter.

Once you've learned the basics,
well that's about it.

It's a repetitive task;
after you've cut and rolled a wall
or painted a sash or railing,
you've done it all.

It's at this point things become second nature
and the task requires little to no thought.

Which is when your thoughts go elsewhere.

Jesus wasn't a carpenter;
Jesus was a painter.

You could end up your own best friend,
or your own worst enemy.

You have all the time in the world to think about
all the mistakes that you've made - and by the way,
while you were thinking about them,
you've made another - just there.
See it?
Where the soffit meets the fascia?

You have all the time in the world to think about
the things you could have done.

Aren't you going to join us tonight?
It's gonna be a blast!

Oh, I've got work in the morning,
I should save my strength.

It was your brother's birthday yesterday,
you should give him a call.

Maybe if I hadn't said what I said we'd still be together.
Or maybe it was okay that I said that,
but I should have wrote her a letter when she moved.
She never calls back or answers when I call,
maybe if I am patient and wait for her to call -
maybe that's the right thing to do and if I just wait long enough,
she'll call me back.

But that hurts.
Can that be right?
But if I call her it might drive her farther away.
So I guess I'll just wait.

Jesus wasn't a carpenter;
Jesus was a painter.

It amuses me that half of the word,
the first syllable is pain.

I try to brush it off, but it follows me around.

Especially up the ladder.

Every rung step is preparation,
it begins to creep in,
I'd try to brush it off again,
but my hand's are filled with a roller and paint bucket.

And once I reach the top,
there is no up or down until the deed is done.

Trapped,
30 feet up with the pain I carry,
my arms stretched wide,
like I've nailed myself to my own crucifix.

Jesus wasn't a carpenter;
Jesus was a painter.