I remember when my dad got home from work one day when I was quite young (ten years old or so). A naturally reticent man, he never really said much at all, but this day was different. He was more sombre than usual. He had just seen one of his apprentices die in the most useless and stupid ways imaginable.
He and the apprentice were working on a roof somewhere, one of those big warehouse roofs that slope down, with a small wall around the edge. Brick work and rubble and bits of shit needed to be taken from the top of the roof to the edge, and thrown down into the skip below. The apprentice was given this job.
Filling a wheelbarrow, taking it to the edge and throwing all the rubbish over the edge by hand was too boring for him, however. So he filled the wheelbarrow, turned it to go straight down the slope of the roof, and let it's momentum as it hit the wall tip it over, emptying it into the skip below. After seeing this once, my dad told him to stop it. Advice which was ignored.
The next time the apprentice did it, his shirt sleeve got caught on the handle of the wheelbarrow. When it tipped over, it kept on going. Right over the edge, bringing him with it.
My dad heard the cut off yelp as the guy fell over the edge, and heard the disgusting crunch as he landed in the skip forty feet below, filed with bricks, bits of metal and chunks of rock. He died immediately.
When I was told this story, I started laughing uncontrollably. I laughed so hysterically, I started to cry. I cried so much, I started to scream.
Then my dad clipped me upside the head, muttered something about respect, then went off to call the idiots parents, to offer his sympathies.
I was still giggling about it later in the week when he wore his suit and black tie and headed out for his apprentices funeral.
He and the apprentice were working on a roof somewhere, one of those big warehouse roofs that slope down, with a small wall around the edge. Brick work and rubble and bits of shit needed to be taken from the top of the roof to the edge, and thrown down into the skip below. The apprentice was given this job.
Filling a wheelbarrow, taking it to the edge and throwing all the rubbish over the edge by hand was too boring for him, however. So he filled the wheelbarrow, turned it to go straight down the slope of the roof, and let it's momentum as it hit the wall tip it over, emptying it into the skip below. After seeing this once, my dad told him to stop it. Advice which was ignored.
The next time the apprentice did it, his shirt sleeve got caught on the handle of the wheelbarrow. When it tipped over, it kept on going. Right over the edge, bringing him with it.
My dad heard the cut off yelp as the guy fell over the edge, and heard the disgusting crunch as he landed in the skip forty feet below, filed with bricks, bits of metal and chunks of rock. He died immediately.
When I was told this story, I started laughing uncontrollably. I laughed so hysterically, I started to cry. I cried so much, I started to scream.
Then my dad clipped me upside the head, muttered something about respect, then went off to call the idiots parents, to offer his sympathies.
I was still giggling about it later in the week when he wore his suit and black tie and headed out for his apprentices funeral.