It was a hot summer morning and in the days leading up to this, the young Grunt had crossed his Foreman. The boss hadn't done much to show it, but as they rode to a job site alone together the awkward silence was quite telling.
The Foreman's truck came to a stop in a desolate campground and they both got out to tailboard. The Groundman found it odd he was out there without the crew, but wanted to get back on his Boss' good graces so he followed instruction.
The Foreman pulled a few pieces of paper out of a large envelope and showed the kid where the pole hole needed to be. He marked it out for him, handed him a shovel and left with promise of returning with more help. In agreement, the young man got to it--- wanting to dig himself out of the hole he was already in.
The shovel bit into the rocky soil with resistance, it's operator laboring in anticipation of promised relief.
And he cussed.
And he dug.
And he dug.
And he cussed and he dug....
Hours later he finished to the required depth of 6 feet. Caked with dirt and sweat, he sat down hard on his pile of dirt and admired his depth of personal accomplishment.
As he sipped the hot water from his bottle he heard the familiar rattling of the Foreman's truck approaching. Picking up his shovel & his sore, blistered body he walked toward the cab.
The window rolled down and a blast of cold air hit his caked, salty face. The truck idled blankly--enveloping the Groundman with hot diesel exhaust.
From the truck, the Foreman looked over at the pile of dirt and nodded with approval.
"Wow, Kid, You dug that whole damned thing by yourself!"
He paused to spit a few spent sunflower seeds into a cup, and looked up at the Groundman who was expecting praise:
"Now fill it in."