A Tale of Two Butt Cracks and a Deck

When the guys from "Deliverance" show up to work at your house

I opened the door to a bedraggled toothless man with such a severe stutter I could barely understand what he tried to say. I did get the word “deck.”

This was one of the guys who was going to replace my aging backyard deck, the deck through which my foot went right through, causing me to fall and break a rib? The guys who were two and a half days late showing up? What happened to the slick well-dressed guy who sold me this $15,000 job? 

The guy with the stutter was staring at me. “Where is the deck?” 

“In the back,” I said. I directed him to move his truck, an ordinary blue pickup, closer to the back gate. He grunted to another guy in the truck, who looked just as bedraggled.

Guy number one—Mike?—stumbled along, moving like I do in the morning, stiff, barely keeping his balance. Guy number two—Brent?—wasn’t much better.

I went through the house and met my team in the back. Brent looked like Mike’s twin, graying, stiff, speaking in a hoarse whisper through which I made out very few actual words. 

I shouldn’t judge by appearances, but how did I get the toothless guys from the movie “Deliverance” for this deck job? What happened to John, all well-dressed and well-spoken? 

Oh my gosh. From my office, I watched them stare at the cracked, discolored two-level deck. They started prying at boards with a crowbar. What, no power tools? I had expected noise and dust and flying boards. If they were going to pry the old boards off one by one, it was going to take a loooong time. Eventually, Brent brought out a power saw, but it was still mighty slow work.

I tried to write but couldn’t focus. I looked out again to see two sets of butt cheeks above falling jeans. Brent wore black underwear with the words Boxer Joe on the waistband. If Mike wore undershorts, I didn’t see them. Studying those rosy white cheeks caused me to wonder whether they got sunburned.

Next time I looked, Mike was sitting on the upper deck, resting. His back clearly hurt worse than mine does. Brent also appeared to be in pain. I honestly wanted to go help them as they toted boards and lattice out to the dump pile by the fence.

“Do you have a wheelbarrow?” Mike asked me. 

“No, it died,” I said, looking at the wheelless yellow remains I have been planning to turn into a planter. The frame rusted away years ago.

Mike had black electrical tape wound around one finger in lieu of a bandage. I asked him about it. Apparently, he had gotten wood or something under the skin, and it was infected. He had been to the doctor, and he was taking antibiotics. He pulled the tape off and showed me. The tip of the finger was white. “What’s that look like to you?” 

“No circulation,” I said. 

He nodded.

I went back to my desk, still not getting any work done. I mean, come on. A big show was happening outside in the yard where robins are usually my only companions. 

I looked out again. Mike was sitting on the deck. Brent was moving a section out. He was smoking. Regular or pot? Should I complain? To whom?

They finished taking the lower deck apart, leaving black plastic, cement piers, and weeds. It reminded me of a graveyard. When I wasn’t looking, they drove away.

I didn’t have a chance to ask when they were coming back. I suspected it would not be at the (butt) crack of dawn. 

They arrived at 11:05 the next morning. Mike and Brent brought a third guy, a huge monster of a man with a massive belly and suspenders holding up his pants. 

I ducked out to say, “Good morning.” They glared at me. Well, all right then. Back to my desk. 

The big guy was strong. He lifted entire sections of deck and carried them across the yard as if they were made of paper. By 12:30 p.m., when I had to leave for a meeting, the old deck was just about gone. I asked Mike if they were taking the rubble to the dump. He said they didn’t have the big trailer. He didn’t not elaborate on how or when the trailer would appear. 

I stood by the gate, looking at the remains of my yard and wondered if I really needed a deck. But it was too late. I signed the contract. I paid the deposit. 

My meeting ran long. I didn’t get home until 4:00. The men and the truck were gone. The rubble remained. I had no idea when or if they were coming back. 

I walked through the area to see what might have been hiding under the deck all these years. I found two tennis balls, two paper clips, a long-lost dog license, two bedraggled bookmarks, a small plastic thermometer, and a beaded necklace I had forgotten all about. Also a well-gnawed dog bone. 

Now it’s 11:15 a.m. on Saturday, and I have many questions? Are they coming back? Did the guy who sold me on this project actually take out a permit? Will these guys take the mountain of boards and lattice piled at the side of my yard to the dump? Do they actually know how to build a deck, complete with the steps I requested?

Have I been snookered? 

I posted about the deck guys on Facebook. Got some laughs about butt cracks. Some sympathy about workers on the Oregon coast. The best advice came from banjo-playing writer Mitch Luckett: Don’t watch. Take a vacation and come back when it’s done. 

Yep. This is a case where I don’t want to see how the sausage is made. 

Lessons learned:

• When company reps come out to bid on a job, ask a friend to join you for safety and to ask questions you might not think of.

• Ask about the crew, who they are, how much experience they have, and what equipment they will bring.

• Ask the guy, “Will you be there?” 

• Get more than two bids.

• Don’t watch and don’t help. Your job is to write the check.

• If they give you the “I don’t talk to chicks about this stuff look,” stare back and say your piece.

This story is not over. Since my last post, when I was dealing with the flood from the ice maker, my smoke alarm died, and I burned up my favorite cooking pot by forgetting to turn down the heat on the rice while I was watching the deck guys. 

Can I do it alone? Sure, but nobody said it would be easy.

Feel free to share your experiences and advice in the comments.

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How did I end up alone? I didn’t have any kids. After my husband and I retired to the Oregon coast, far from family, he died of Alzheimer’s. You can read our story in my new memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.