Shelve That Thought...

My office has been in disarray since, well, since I started the job.

I spent the first part of last week in orientation, and figuring out what my job is.

I spent the last part of last week clearing out my desk – and my file cabinets, and my book shelves, and everything else. So that on Saturday the studio building services elves could take away all my furniture. And on Monday they could paint the office.

And today they could bring in the new (used, but different) furniture.

Slower process than it was supposed to be (you’ll be able to use your office by Monday afterno… Tuesday mor.. after… Wednesday, for sure!).

I watched the guy putting up the shelf that runs half the length of the room. I thought it would be a standard, book size, dainty shelf. This thing is a beauty -- sturdy and studly – the kind of shelf that no bully shelf would dare kick sand on at the beach.

I admired the craftsmanship of the shelf, and more so the craftsmanship of the craftsman installing it. He cared about where it was in relation to the desk (for utility) and to the room (for esthetic).

He cared about having enough anchoring for the shelf to last, and covered up the holes and screws to make the unit look like a natural part of the wall.

I’m probably overstating the glory of putting up a shelf, but I think we’ve all had workmen, whether the cable guy or the plumber, who were just there for a job and got by on the least effort. I was expecting that.

This guy has probably been on the lot for forty years, and still he takes pride in the work. (Couldn’t care less about me; but the work!)

Then I thought that my brother Chris would’ve liked this job.

It was an odd thought, because if you knew Chris, you know that he would have hated Hollywood. The image of the fancy car, the hundred dollar haircut atop the thousand dollar suit, the nightclub where you have to be “in” to get in – nah, Chris would’ve hated that scene.

But that is only a veneer floating on the top of this town – albeit, the veneer that catches most of our eyes.

But there is another layer here, the guys like my shelf guy – those that value a sturdy pickup truck, barbershop cuts on the head and boots that have worn in comfort on the feet, and bars that regularly sweep the peanuts from the floor.

The number of craftsman on the lot have to outnumber the suits by a large margin.

I could picture Chris fitting in with these union guys, those who look at a shelf stacked with Oscars, and only notice the quality of the wood and the workmanship.

There’s some comfort to be had in that, especially in a place that can be so easily distracted by the weightlessness of glitter.

I’ll try to keep my eye on the quality of the wood and the workmanship.

Just my thoughts,

-Sean