I have written a collection of stories, of lessons I have learned from my experiences in the workplace. I have posted a few of them over the last year, together with stories from my childhood. Here is a confession of misdeeds, all in the past, you know.
There is an assumption with most people, that painting is a messy business. It can be, but anyone who is organized, is neat and clean by nature, and takes a few basic precautions, should have no excuse for making a mess. There are many experienced and inexperienced painters who can paint in almost any circumstance and never spill a drop. When I hear about those homeowners who have paint running off their elbows by the end of the day, I have to scratch my head and wonder how they do that. With proper equipment, correct technique, and good quality paint, the need for drop sheets can even be eliminated, and as a rule, I seldom have use for them.
Having said all that, the odds of having an unfortunate accident rises, as the amount of time spent working with paint increases. Experience is also another key. A lack of experience is a detriment because one has not developed a technique that is conducive to safety. On the other hand, too much experience is also a drawback as it creates a sense of cockiness and carelessness and at that point an accident is just waiting to happen. I have had both kinds, and some in between. My paint spills have been minor, relatively speaking, but a great inconvenience and embarrassment nonetheless.
My very first experience with paint was as a young boy of ten and does not really count. I was staying on an Uncle’s farm in Saskatchewan and one of my projects for the two weeks I was there was to paint a granary. I was given a gallon of red paint and a big four inch paint brush and was simply instructed to paint the walls red. It was fun for a while, but being a hot day and running out of shade made finishing the job pure drudgery. Swinging the big heavy paint laden brush became a two handed job and at the end of the day my wrist was useless. I doubt the building was properly protected against the winter elements that year, but portions of the soil surrounding the granary were.
The next time I had a run in with paint was when I was in my late teen years and I was on a Saturday job with my dad, who was a builder at that time. He was building single family dwellings and would do a lot of the work himself, such as the painting. It was a warm spring day and it was time to paint the trim boards on the roofline of the house. On this particular day, it was decided that a solid colour stain would be used instead of paint as the colour was right and it would require only one coat, if applied properly. The viscosity of paint can be thick and often has a slightly coagulated texture to it, making it relatively drip less when rolling or brushing or pouring from one can into another, or from the can into a paint tray. A first time effort on this is a no brainer.
Stain is a different animal altogether. It is more liquidy than water and as a result, more volatile. My dad stood over me as I opened the can, stirred the stain with a paint paddle, and then informed me that if I poured too slowly, the stain would only run down the side of the can and dribble into the dirt. To prevent this, I was told to tilt the can in a quick surge and thus facilitate the pouring of the stain into the paint tray and no dribbling would occur. Being entirely unpractised, I did as I was told to the best of my ability and the stain surged full force into the sloped tray, with plenty of volume and momentum to slosh over the edge of the tray and gush right onto and into my dad’s shoe. It resulted in a 'multiple choice' trauma. Which is worse, spilling expensive Oxford Brown stain into the dirt, not being competent enough to even pour a little paint into a tray, a ruined pair of shoes, a father’s wrath, or the sheer embarrassment of having the homeowner just happening to be there to witness the incompetency of his builder and his son. Already having feelings of inadequacy, I chose all of the above.
My first real paint job, which is a story all in itself, was in newly constructed apartment buildings with unfinished floors and it did not matter how sloppy or not a painter was. It still bothered me to drip and spill so I made an effort to train myself to avoid bad habits. This paid off later when I specialized in repaints, or redecoration, working in finished homes, around people, pets, furniture, and over sometimes very expensive carpets and hardwood flooring. I concluded that it was easier to clean a drip here or there than to trip over a bulky drop sheet and clean up a big spill. It always made the customer very nervous to see me roll and brush without a drop sheet, but I always told them that they did not have to pay me for the job if they found even one drop of paint on any furniture or any floor. That made them look all the harder, but not one person ever called me on that guarantee. But that does not mean there was no spilling.
The first time it happened to me, my first thought was that all the profit from the job would be designated for a carpet replacement. I had bumped a pail of oil paint and just caught it before it spilled its complete contents. There was very little paint in the can to start with, but cleaning it up was tedious and time consuming. It was a different colour than the carpet and try as I might I could not get the stain completely out. There is a point in rubbing the nap of a carpet, where the strands of fibre begin to unravel and it gives the carpet a different texture and general appearance. I had reached that point and so I just left it alone. I put a chair over the spot and hoped when it was dry, it would not be as noticeable.
I was partly right in that it had improved by the next morning, and only looked bad from certain angles. What really saved my bacon was when the lady of the house decided to rearrange her furniture, and, wouldn’t you know it, she placed a lamp table right over the once exposed area, where the now almost invisible stain was. I never heard anything more about it.
Of the few spills that I have had, only one was witnessed by the customer. She was one of those who was nervous about me working without a drop cloth. She interrupted my work by asking me if I was sure I was using the right colour. I assured her I was, and to prove it, I put down my pail of paint and got my colour chips from my tool box. I selected her colour, showed her how the numbers on the can matched, and then held the chip to the wall where the paint had now dried. As I was telling her how the surrounding existing colour effects the appearance of the new colour, I backed into my pail and kicked it over. It was a pail I had been dipping my brush into and had very little in it, fortunately. It was latex, or water based paint and with copious amounts of water, I did get it all out. I was embarrassed. The incident apparently had no long term negative effect because to this day she remains my customer.
A more recent incident was probably my worst spill, not because of the amount of paint but because of the damage produced. I was rolling the walls in a bay window and as I stepped back from doing the small ceiling, the edge of my foot caught the corner of the paint tray. The tray flipped and I reached down to prevent the tray from going completely upside down. In so doing, I dropped my roller right onto the carpet. Why was it the worst? The carpet was white as the driven snow, and the paint was ‘Sundried Tomato’, a very deep rusty red, heavily pigmented colour. I knew I was in big trouble but went about trying to clean it up anyhow. Keeping the stain wet and flooding it with water is the only hope of ever getting it out and I did that for hours, alternately flooding and mopping up. The carpet slowly turned from dark red to a light bright pink. I went to the paint store to purchase a new product that was especially designed to take paint out of carpets, and tried, to no avail, to remove the stain. By this time the paint was all out, but the stain remained.
I kept it wet and the next morning when the customer came to the house, I confessed. I told her I would pay for a carpet cleaning specialist to tackle the problem, and a few hours later, he came. He tried several different chemicals and techniques, but the pink did not lessen in degree. I was given a lesson on carpet technology and discovered that nylon carpet fibres have microscopic pores that are designed to take in the dye at the factory. A white carpet has vacant pores and apparently I had filled them with red pigment. It was a done deal. I apologised profusely and offered to buy her a new carpet. She did not think that would be a good idea because then she would have to replace all the carpet in her townhouse to match the new one. Because the problem was only in the bay, I suggested we just replace the carpet in that area. No, old against new would not look good. She finally came up with the perfect solution. She had a bookshelf that fit perfectly in the space and perfectly covered the stain. She insisted that I not compensate her and being very gracious, suggested that I just forget about it, like she would. I have liked her very much ever since. *
The funniest incident, resulting from a spill, happened in a very expensive and fancy home. These people were new clients and we were recommended to them based on our neatness and cleanliness. My son, Andrew, had recently started working for me and we were sorting out our division of responsibilities and I was getting used to working with a partner. One thing we always do, when there are multiple cans of the same colour paint, is to open all of them and test the colour, to see if they are identical.
Andrew did this and declared everything ready to go. We worked out of the same can and when we were ready for the second one, I did what I always do. I grabbed the can to give it a quick shake before opening it and pouring from it. I did not know that he had not hammered the lid on tight, something I always do with full paint cans standing around. Fortunately it was on and over the kitchen countertop, where I executed this manoeuvre. Unfortunately, when I twisted the can to give it a shake, the lid flew off and half of the contents flew across the countertops and did its thing according to the laws of gravity and physics. There were cookie jars and canisters, cutlery and dishes, and a gorgeous silver tea service, complete with cream pitcher and sugar bowl, and fancy spoons with which to stir the paint, ..er, tea. Had it been latex, we would simply have rinsed everything off in the sink, dried it off, and it would have been as if nothing had happened. But it was alkyd (oil) paint.
I jumped in my truck and ran for supplies. I had to drive twenty minutes to the nearest store and purchased several large rolls of paper towelling, garbage bags, and a bag of sugar, and then to the paint store for an extra gallon of solvent. It was a three hour job. After my initial reaction, which had been one of anger, I realised it was as much my fault for shaking a can with a loose lid. Andrew felt guilty because he had broken protocol, so between the two of us, we laughed as we hurriedly tried to get things in order before the owner came with her kids from school. I had just topped off the sugar bowl and had thrown my bag of sugar into my tool box, when she walked in the door. If she ever found out, she did not tell me. I often thought that if I had told her, she probably would have thought it a good explanation for the lingering odour of paint thinner at her tea parties.
I have learned from paint spills that nobody is perfect. We all make mistakes. But mistakes can also be corrected, with time, patience, and know how. When we get proud and over confidant, we are setting ourselves up for a bit of humbling, and that can happen very quickly.
* There is a footnote to this story. Since I wrote this, there has been a new development. A few days ago, we came home late and found a message on our answering machine. The person leaving the message took great pains to identify herself but I recognised her voice immediately. She started talking about the pink carpet and I was getting nervous. I had visions of replacing the carpet at my expense and began to feel foolish that I had thought I had seen the end of this incident. Then she mentioned that she had rented a carpet steamer and had been cleaning her carpets. She had found the container of special paint stain remover that I had purchased and tried and found wanting, and she had soaked the carpet with it prior to steam cleaning. At this point I was getting hopeful. And then a minor miracle happened. The stain came completely out, as she put it, 99% clean. She was thrilled and just had to phone and tell me. She was thrilled? As my heart rate returned to normal, I realised I could finally put this incident behind me.
There is an assumption with most people, that painting is a messy business. It can be, but anyone who is organized, is neat and clean by nature, and takes a few basic precautions, should have no excuse for making a mess. There are many experienced and inexperienced painters who can paint in almost any circumstance and never spill a drop. When I hear about those homeowners who have paint running off their elbows by the end of the day, I have to scratch my head and wonder how they do that. With proper equipment, correct technique, and good quality paint, the need for drop sheets can even be eliminated, and as a rule, I seldom have use for them.
Having said all that, the odds of having an unfortunate accident rises, as the amount of time spent working with paint increases. Experience is also another key. A lack of experience is a detriment because one has not developed a technique that is conducive to safety. On the other hand, too much experience is also a drawback as it creates a sense of cockiness and carelessness and at that point an accident is just waiting to happen. I have had both kinds, and some in between. My paint spills have been minor, relatively speaking, but a great inconvenience and embarrassment nonetheless.
My very first experience with paint was as a young boy of ten and does not really count. I was staying on an Uncle’s farm in Saskatchewan and one of my projects for the two weeks I was there was to paint a granary. I was given a gallon of red paint and a big four inch paint brush and was simply instructed to paint the walls red. It was fun for a while, but being a hot day and running out of shade made finishing the job pure drudgery. Swinging the big heavy paint laden brush became a two handed job and at the end of the day my wrist was useless. I doubt the building was properly protected against the winter elements that year, but portions of the soil surrounding the granary were.
The next time I had a run in with paint was when I was in my late teen years and I was on a Saturday job with my dad, who was a builder at that time. He was building single family dwellings and would do a lot of the work himself, such as the painting. It was a warm spring day and it was time to paint the trim boards on the roofline of the house. On this particular day, it was decided that a solid colour stain would be used instead of paint as the colour was right and it would require only one coat, if applied properly. The viscosity of paint can be thick and often has a slightly coagulated texture to it, making it relatively drip less when rolling or brushing or pouring from one can into another, or from the can into a paint tray. A first time effort on this is a no brainer.
Stain is a different animal altogether. It is more liquidy than water and as a result, more volatile. My dad stood over me as I opened the can, stirred the stain with a paint paddle, and then informed me that if I poured too slowly, the stain would only run down the side of the can and dribble into the dirt. To prevent this, I was told to tilt the can in a quick surge and thus facilitate the pouring of the stain into the paint tray and no dribbling would occur. Being entirely unpractised, I did as I was told to the best of my ability and the stain surged full force into the sloped tray, with plenty of volume and momentum to slosh over the edge of the tray and gush right onto and into my dad’s shoe. It resulted in a 'multiple choice' trauma. Which is worse, spilling expensive Oxford Brown stain into the dirt, not being competent enough to even pour a little paint into a tray, a ruined pair of shoes, a father’s wrath, or the sheer embarrassment of having the homeowner just happening to be there to witness the incompetency of his builder and his son. Already having feelings of inadequacy, I chose all of the above.
My first real paint job, which is a story all in itself, was in newly constructed apartment buildings with unfinished floors and it did not matter how sloppy or not a painter was. It still bothered me to drip and spill so I made an effort to train myself to avoid bad habits. This paid off later when I specialized in repaints, or redecoration, working in finished homes, around people, pets, furniture, and over sometimes very expensive carpets and hardwood flooring. I concluded that it was easier to clean a drip here or there than to trip over a bulky drop sheet and clean up a big spill. It always made the customer very nervous to see me roll and brush without a drop sheet, but I always told them that they did not have to pay me for the job if they found even one drop of paint on any furniture or any floor. That made them look all the harder, but not one person ever called me on that guarantee. But that does not mean there was no spilling.
The first time it happened to me, my first thought was that all the profit from the job would be designated for a carpet replacement. I had bumped a pail of oil paint and just caught it before it spilled its complete contents. There was very little paint in the can to start with, but cleaning it up was tedious and time consuming. It was a different colour than the carpet and try as I might I could not get the stain completely out. There is a point in rubbing the nap of a carpet, where the strands of fibre begin to unravel and it gives the carpet a different texture and general appearance. I had reached that point and so I just left it alone. I put a chair over the spot and hoped when it was dry, it would not be as noticeable.
I was partly right in that it had improved by the next morning, and only looked bad from certain angles. What really saved my bacon was when the lady of the house decided to rearrange her furniture, and, wouldn’t you know it, she placed a lamp table right over the once exposed area, where the now almost invisible stain was. I never heard anything more about it.
Of the few spills that I have had, only one was witnessed by the customer. She was one of those who was nervous about me working without a drop cloth. She interrupted my work by asking me if I was sure I was using the right colour. I assured her I was, and to prove it, I put down my pail of paint and got my colour chips from my tool box. I selected her colour, showed her how the numbers on the can matched, and then held the chip to the wall where the paint had now dried. As I was telling her how the surrounding existing colour effects the appearance of the new colour, I backed into my pail and kicked it over. It was a pail I had been dipping my brush into and had very little in it, fortunately. It was latex, or water based paint and with copious amounts of water, I did get it all out. I was embarrassed. The incident apparently had no long term negative effect because to this day she remains my customer.
A more recent incident was probably my worst spill, not because of the amount of paint but because of the damage produced. I was rolling the walls in a bay window and as I stepped back from doing the small ceiling, the edge of my foot caught the corner of the paint tray. The tray flipped and I reached down to prevent the tray from going completely upside down. In so doing, I dropped my roller right onto the carpet. Why was it the worst? The carpet was white as the driven snow, and the paint was ‘Sundried Tomato’, a very deep rusty red, heavily pigmented colour. I knew I was in big trouble but went about trying to clean it up anyhow. Keeping the stain wet and flooding it with water is the only hope of ever getting it out and I did that for hours, alternately flooding and mopping up. The carpet slowly turned from dark red to a light bright pink. I went to the paint store to purchase a new product that was especially designed to take paint out of carpets, and tried, to no avail, to remove the stain. By this time the paint was all out, but the stain remained.
I kept it wet and the next morning when the customer came to the house, I confessed. I told her I would pay for a carpet cleaning specialist to tackle the problem, and a few hours later, he came. He tried several different chemicals and techniques, but the pink did not lessen in degree. I was given a lesson on carpet technology and discovered that nylon carpet fibres have microscopic pores that are designed to take in the dye at the factory. A white carpet has vacant pores and apparently I had filled them with red pigment. It was a done deal. I apologised profusely and offered to buy her a new carpet. She did not think that would be a good idea because then she would have to replace all the carpet in her townhouse to match the new one. Because the problem was only in the bay, I suggested we just replace the carpet in that area. No, old against new would not look good. She finally came up with the perfect solution. She had a bookshelf that fit perfectly in the space and perfectly covered the stain. She insisted that I not compensate her and being very gracious, suggested that I just forget about it, like she would. I have liked her very much ever since. *
The funniest incident, resulting from a spill, happened in a very expensive and fancy home. These people were new clients and we were recommended to them based on our neatness and cleanliness. My son, Andrew, had recently started working for me and we were sorting out our division of responsibilities and I was getting used to working with a partner. One thing we always do, when there are multiple cans of the same colour paint, is to open all of them and test the colour, to see if they are identical.
Andrew did this and declared everything ready to go. We worked out of the same can and when we were ready for the second one, I did what I always do. I grabbed the can to give it a quick shake before opening it and pouring from it. I did not know that he had not hammered the lid on tight, something I always do with full paint cans standing around. Fortunately it was on and over the kitchen countertop, where I executed this manoeuvre. Unfortunately, when I twisted the can to give it a shake, the lid flew off and half of the contents flew across the countertops and did its thing according to the laws of gravity and physics. There were cookie jars and canisters, cutlery and dishes, and a gorgeous silver tea service, complete with cream pitcher and sugar bowl, and fancy spoons with which to stir the paint, ..er, tea. Had it been latex, we would simply have rinsed everything off in the sink, dried it off, and it would have been as if nothing had happened. But it was alkyd (oil) paint.
I jumped in my truck and ran for supplies. I had to drive twenty minutes to the nearest store and purchased several large rolls of paper towelling, garbage bags, and a bag of sugar, and then to the paint store for an extra gallon of solvent. It was a three hour job. After my initial reaction, which had been one of anger, I realised it was as much my fault for shaking a can with a loose lid. Andrew felt guilty because he had broken protocol, so between the two of us, we laughed as we hurriedly tried to get things in order before the owner came with her kids from school. I had just topped off the sugar bowl and had thrown my bag of sugar into my tool box, when she walked in the door. If she ever found out, she did not tell me. I often thought that if I had told her, she probably would have thought it a good explanation for the lingering odour of paint thinner at her tea parties.
I have learned from paint spills that nobody is perfect. We all make mistakes. But mistakes can also be corrected, with time, patience, and know how. When we get proud and over confidant, we are setting ourselves up for a bit of humbling, and that can happen very quickly.
* There is a footnote to this story. Since I wrote this, there has been a new development. A few days ago, we came home late and found a message on our answering machine. The person leaving the message took great pains to identify herself but I recognised her voice immediately. She started talking about the pink carpet and I was getting nervous. I had visions of replacing the carpet at my expense and began to feel foolish that I had thought I had seen the end of this incident. Then she mentioned that she had rented a carpet steamer and had been cleaning her carpets. She had found the container of special paint stain remover that I had purchased and tried and found wanting, and she had soaked the carpet with it prior to steam cleaning. At this point I was getting hopeful. And then a minor miracle happened. The stain came completely out, as she put it, 99% clean. She was thrilled and just had to phone and tell me. She was thrilled? As my heart rate returned to normal, I realised I could finally put this incident behind me.
2 comments:
Reading this post brought back some memories of my own "incidents" with paint. I'm just fortunate that it was my own house that I was painting. I kept cleaning supplies nearby just in case, LOL.
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