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Defying Death, or Building a New Roof—in 95 Degree Weather
We actually signed the contract to replace our roof last October. It took six months for the manufacturer to make the tiles. They didn’t tell us it would take that long, and that the workers would be toiling in 90 degree-plus weather and afternoon thunderstorms.
Replacing a roof looks like really demanding work. I can’t say for sure, since I’ve never even been on the roof. I hold my breath as they move around up there, first with the underlayment, now with the tile. And the weather has been brutal.
I wonder who these men are. Most of them speak some English and are polite; others smile and wave. I always greet them, make eye contact when I can, and wave back, because I think there are plenty of people who see them “only as laborers”; they might see them simply as part of the landscape, a means to an end. But I wonder who they are.
I wonder, in spite of all the ice and water we give them, if they become weak and dehydrated. I wonder if they slip up there sometimes, trying to avoid dangerous, life-threatening falls.
I wonder if they have families. I wonder if they dream of doing safer work, more comfortable work, with air conditioning, instead of depending on warm breezes that barely cool them.
I wonder if they have other hopes and dreams: sending their kids to college, becoming a supervisor or manager, working a 9 to 5 job.
I wonder if they speculate on the lives of my husband and me. Do they resent our comfortable conditions? Do they speculate that although we may not have worked difficult jobs like theirs, we had to work for where we are?
Do they wonder about us at all?
Or do they have the good sense to be fully present to their work, paying attention to the placement of their feet and the next tile.
As difficult as their work and conditions are, I hope they know I respect the hard work they do. I respect their tenacity, their reliability, even their politeness.
I hope they know that.
Published in Culture
Not using felt under the shingles was a mistake, but you’re going to have to look pretty hard to find roofers that don’t use staples.
The “tiles” that were used on the Taco Bells I built were concrete with orange coloring on the top side.
Could be some of each.
Indians will joke with you about operating on Indian Time, which means they don’t tend to honor a clock or calendar too much. Most indigenous, pre-industrial people were like that, as are their cultural descendents.
But it’s not just them. Early industrialists had a hard time getting their workers newly arrived from the farm and village to live by the clock and calendar. But it seems to have been an easier adjustment for them than for most indigenous people.
I have these thoughts all the time with things like this. Thank you for writing it.
I only ended up on a roofing ‘job’ once, back in my poorer grad student days, when several starving grad/postdoc colleagues in our lab collaborated on fixing up each other’s fixer-upper houses. Once was enough, and much beer was required (after the job). Respect to those who tackle it day in and day out.
Been there, done a few. But my ladder days are over, so I only work on the flat(ish) roofs now. I love the technologies used, though.
Yes, this is what right looks like. Both of the roofers are wearing safety harnesses and attached to safety lines.
“In New England it can 120 degrees on a roof in the summer”
In AZ. I see roofers working when it’s well over 100 off the roof. And yes they all speak Spanish .
Every time I’ve had to work high up I rather enjoyed it. Falling isn’t really a concern because you’re not there to fall and you quickly learn how to operate safely. Accidents happen but you don’t fear them any more than you fear a car accident while driving to the grocery store.
Of course, boys are different. In our old house we had a good roof but one small section seemed to grow moss like crazy every fall. I’d go up there with the boys to scrape it off and treat it, which lasted a couple years. The boys got very comfortable on the roof as a result, often going up there when I was at work to drop things like parachutes off, or to retrieve toys.
One time I was inside and heard what I swear was something rolling up and down the roof. When I got outside I saw my sixteen-year-old’s and my ten-year-old’s rollerblades in the grass next to where we usually put the ladder.
They denied it of course, and I went back to my work praying for quick frontal lobe development.
This! ;-)
Update: the job is still not finished. We’ve had thunderstorms the last few days, which are not only dangerous, but the tiles have a colored mortar. It needs four hours to dry. And it runs if it’s not dry and gets wet. I think the weather is supposed to be better next week. So close to done! Sigh.