We the People: Showering After Work

Recently, Xcel Energy needed to replace one of their poles. Since the project would require time, they gave notice that we’d be without electricity for about eight hours. But complications set in. Eight hours turned into ten then nearly twelve before power was restored. A little over an hour later, it went off again. By that time, it was pitch dark. A moonless night without a street light to break it. The affected area was silhouetted. If I weren’t exhausted after a long day that began with a seven-mile hike, I would’ve poured a Scotch and soaked in the stillness. Instead, I turned in thinking it is what it is and they’d eventually get it restored.

I awoke about two hours later to see the lamp in the front room shining. Gauging from the flashing digital clock on my nightstand, I estimated it took them about an hour to completely restore power.

Afterward, Xcel asked me to evaluate the crew’s performance. Initially, given the longer-lasting inconvenience, I thought they hadn’t earned a good grade. But then I wondered if I were being fair.  

As is my wont, I began thinking about people elsewhere without power. Ukrainians and Gazans, for example. Closer to home, those in the paths of destructive storms and forest fires where homes, communities, and lives were ravaged. I thought about folks who, in this land of plenty, have theirs shut off because they’re unable to pay their bills. The list went on.

Then I thought about how much I take for granted. Light, for example, at the flip of a switch. My refrigerator keeping my perishables fresh, a stove to cook on, and a washer and dryer. This computer that provides me the means to compose and share this with the world. The list went on.

During the outage, I twice visited the worksite and talked to a couple of the workers. The first was a flagman who guided traffic past the site. By then, minus a few minutes for breaks, he had likely been standing on a hot, hardened surface for ten hours.. He had a good attitude though, saying he was grateful that he was up where it was cooler rather than down in the metro area. I thanked him for what he was doing because it was essential too.

On the second trip, I spoke with another while he scarfed some noodles. By that time, the crew had been on the job for close to eleven hours. I looked around and didn’t see a porta-potty. Perhaps there was one, but still. He assured me that they’d stay on the job until everything was absolutely up and running. And they did. Assuming they’d need at least an hour to get back to town and then some to get home and get showered, it’s likely they put in an eighteen-hour day.

So when the company asked me to complete their survey about how they did, I thought maybe I could answer, “Great!” But I didn’t know the specifics about why it took considerably longer than expected. Was it due to a snafu on their part? Or perhaps a glitch given the age of the infrastructure? I didn’t know nor did it matter because I knew the workers had put in an incredibly long, tedious day and probably got up the next morning and started all over again. And I had power unlike countless others who were enduring far greater inconveniences and hardships.

Throughout my life I’ve worked only one job that called for showering after work: summer construction between college semesters. In addition to it being hard work, oftentimes in sticky heat or bone-shilling rain, it was an incredible learning experience. Atop earning enough to pay the next year’s tuition, I was developing life skills along with my muscles. I got to know and work with a range of characters from pikers who talked big but did little to solid, down-to-earth guys who nicely contrasted with my professors and fellow students whose heads, like mine, were up in the clouds. Together they helped form the lens through which I see the complexity of life.

If I could talk to that Xcel crew, I wouldn’t ask about their beliefs, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. Nor would I care if they were Broncos fans, although they’d rise in my esteem if they were. No, I’d have only one question for them: Did you do your best? I assume they did just like millions of laborers, skilled and unskilled, do day in and day out.

So to that crew and all who shower after work, a hearty Labor Day thank you for a job well done. You’re the ones, not the hoity-toity ones whose mugs are splashed incessantly across the media, who keep America running.