We have a concrete pumping machine. It is a very expensive piece of machinery, and the potential for very good income is definitely there.  However, there wasn't enough income, at the time we bought it, to make it a full-time endeavor, so my husband spent his time between his normal construction jobs and the concrete pumping jobs last summer, and he just wore himself to a frazzle.  So this year when the construction season really started, he had so much work to do, and we were beginning construction of our own house, and he decided that trying to work the concrete pumping jobs in again was just going to be too much for him, and we left the machine parked and put out the word that he wasn't available for concrete jobs.  

It's been a crazy busy summer, and at this point my husband has enough construction jobs pre-scheduled out to keep him busy for hopefully at least all of next year, and he is feeling comfortable enough in his own reputation and the word of mouth referencing system that he believes he'll not need to worry about finding work.  He eventually decided that the best thing to do instead of continuing to make the payment on the concrete pump was to sell it and invest that same money into some other type of machinery he can use in building houses.  So I put an ad in the local newspaper, and within a day or so got a call from a man named Andy.  Andy didn't want to buy the pump, but instead wanted to run it for us for a percentage of the profit.  He had spent several years pumping concrete in another state and had owned his own business, hiw own pumps, etc.  My husband meets with him, and they agree to the terms.  We put the word out that the pump is back up and running and immediately calls start coming in.  My husband and Andy, agree that they will work together for the first week, just to make sure he is comfortable with and understands this particular machine.

So Monday morning bright and early Andy is on the job.  He's a pretty good-looking man, neatly and appropriately dressed for work, has a very strong German accent, and he's very socially adept with the introductions and small talk niceties.  (He is from Germany, bought some property here that's so far out in the boonies that it makes my place look positively suburban, and his mother in Germany despairs that he will never find a woman who is willing to be Mrs. Andy and make small Andys with him, given the remoteness of where and how he lives.  And frankly, from the perspective of someone who *likes the boonies and doesn't mind a little bit of remoteness, I think she may be right.  But that's another story, I guess.)

Anyway.  They leave for the first job, come back and determine that something or other -- the hopper/the auger/the thingamajig needs to be taken off and monkeyed around with and then re-assembled. So by the time they finish this, they are both covered head to toe in grease with only the whites of their eyeballs poking out.  They go off to another job in the afternoon, return and again dive headfirst into the innards of the concrete pump, and emerge even dirtier (and honestly, who knew that was possible?) than the first time.

They discuss the schedule for the next day's jobs, and Andy leaves.  Next morning he shows up, once again, friendly as all get-out, still good-looking, and suitably early for work.  But he has on the same pants as he did the first day.    (Not laundered, and looking exactly the same as when he last crawled out of the inside of the pump)  I think to myself, well, he IS a bachelor and maybe he just didn't have any clean clothes for today.  Or maybe he figured they'd have to tear the machine apart again.  Or something.  I notice it, but it's not a huge deal.

Day two is over, and day three is scheduled.  Day three arrives, and so does Andy.  And so do his pants.  They're probably capable, at this point, of making the drive over all by themselves, but they're polite pants and obviously pretty close friends with Andy, so they just come with him.

Anyway.  All week, Andy wore those same pants.  HE himself looks and smells like he's showering on a daily basis, and his teeth are clean and hair seems clean and all. It's just those damn pants.

So this week he's on his own -- no more training and no more working with my husband.  Because the machine is so expensive, and because if something goes wrong on a job we have to buy the concrete, and that's expensive, my husband is, understandably, very worried and concerned.  He worried and dithered and fretted about it all weekend, and by Sunday evening he was really worrying and second-guessing whether or not he should send Andy out on his own or not becase it's a tough job for a man to do alone.

I told him not to worry.  Andy isn't alone.  He has his pants. 

Here is the were i found this story.

http://bigskyblather.livejournal.com/3247.html