It’s a universally known but unwritten law among tradies that no working day is complete without one thing.
I call it the Jukebox.
You call it the radio.
While just about every tradie in every corner of the planet will have the latest Hits blasting from their Jukebox, every now and then you meet the odd one out.
He’s called The Boss.
The Boss likes the meditational. The soft and sweetly gentle on the ears. The relaxing. Something he can hum along to without raising the blood pressure and developing a headache.
Recently, we’ve been working with Len, the plumber, who like every other normal Joe Blog tradie, likes something that ‘gets the blood pumping’ as he puts it.
Both men’s music preference has become a running joke over the last few weeks and a point of jovial conflict which I wisely stand on the side lines off.
Two days ago, the day started with the Boss’ usual Jukebox tuning ritual. He is forever trying to find a non-blood-pressure-rising radio station.
There is only one non-blood-pressure-rising station on the planet with the Boss’ stamp of approval.
When he found the station he wanted, there was a big grin on his face which I knew spelled trouble.
‘Hey, Len!’ he called. ‘I’ve decided to play your station this morning.’
The Jukebox’s volume was down low, but I could hear what was playing. Though it isn’t very tradie-like, I started to giggle.
‘Len! It’s your favourite music, mate.’
From under the house, I heard a muffled enquiry.
‘Yeah! Listen to this.’
The Boss positioned the Jukebox near a hole in the wall and turned the volume up high. Bone-jarring opera music blasted out of the speakers.
That was it for me.
I was crying with laughter.
So was the Boss.
Because over the noise of an opera singer’s expanded lung power, there was a distinctly heard and clearly distressed wail from Len, the plumber.
I think the Boss won this round.
xx The Girl in Trousers