Joe 2: How I Accidentally Didn’t Have a Summer Vacation and Was Okay With It

This past summer posed an interesting set of challenges that I’d never been faced with before. Basically, with the bright orange car sitting in my garage, I had to find a way to get myself the money with which to pay for it. A lot of money.

My dad had the idea for me to ask my neighbor across the street for some work at one of the houses that he rents out and manages. I expressed an interest in the idea. So, my dad did me the solid of emailing him, and he responded quickly with a 3-day job of “clean-out” at a little house that’d he’d recently purchased. Naturally, I accepted. 

The task was simple. Be there by 8AM sharp and take out all of the random furniture and garbage littering the floors of the quaint little split-level home. I arrived slightly early with the hope of making a slight impression. Judging how the rest of the job went, I guess it worked. 

My now-boss walked over to the door, unlocked the latch, and walked in. As soon as I followed, only one thought crossed my mind.

Oh lawd. 

The house, for lack of a better word, was an utter disaster. Apparently at some point before my arrival, someone else had been doing work on the property. Carpet was half-ripped off the floor, couches and chairs were situated in wild locations just about everywhere, and there was a disgusting wallpaper lining every. Single. Wall. 

Without breaking pace, my boss showed me around, pointing out all of the little tasks and details I had to tackle. Soon I realized three days was a comically low number. Once my orientation was complete, he walked out the door with a cheery “you got it?” and left me with my thoughts and a hideous workload looming behind me. So, I composed myself and strode into the house ready to take the job on.

I worked at that house almost every day for three months. 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. 

I did every obscure job you could think of. I pulled hundreds of staples out of the floor. I demolished walls and tile floors. I obliterated an entire shower with only hand tools. I even scraped every square inch of that god awful wallpaper off the walls with a scraper the size of a putty knife. Mold, bugs, and asbestos galore. And looking back, it was one of the best experiences of my life. 

Sure, sweeping rat poop out of tight corners and almost getting killed by a live electrical outlet was less than a walk in the park. But coming home every day, tired and self-satisfied with a day’s work? All with the knowledge that it was all for a goal that I would reach with my own two hands? That is the takeaway that really made me realize it was all worth it.