"Crawl
Space, Architectural Definition: a shallow, unfinished space with a dirt floor
beneath the lowest level of a building. Created
especially for access to plumbing and wiring. This space is accessible by crawling, its clearance being less than human
height."
It was just a job like many others; an old, abandoned
public school near downtown Buffalo. Even only a couple of blocks away from
City Hall, Buffalo could be a pretty desolate place in winter, almost a ghost
town. The City was going to turn this old school into an office building and they
needed updated floor plans.
'Everything,' said Laura on the e-mail. 'Plans of
every floor, roofs, basements, attics, and crawl spaces.'
Frankie had been freelancing for Laura as a building
surveyor for years now. After 9/11 many Architecture firms went down and
Frankie had been laid off like thousands of young architects. He was fast and
accurate with CAD though; so he scored this opportunity to do free lance
building surveys for Laura. She charged handsome fees for these jobs, and paid
her surveyors good money, and on time. Frankie enjoyed the freedom, the
traveling, and the pay check. Flight to a city for three or four days, sketch
and measure, flight back home to draw the whole thing on CAD, e-mail it, get
paid.
As he got off the car, the frozen wind cut through
his face. 'Nice fucking weather for a roof survey today,' he thought. He was
getting older now and would often think that surveying was not the glamorous
Architecture career he dreamed about during his senior year in college; but, the
money was too good to reject in times like these. A job which could be done in
two or three weeks provided comfortable income for a month and a half.
It was the fourth and, hopefully, last day on site.
Frankie had to finish the roofs and then one last area at the basement. As he
walked the long main corridor, to get to the back staircase, he had the feeling
that there was someone else in this building, that he wasn't alone. But, this
250,000 sq. ft. abandoned public school had broken windows; the wind howled
through the openings and, old hanging maps and charts fluttered with the draft.
Not to mention cats, rats and birds. He eventually got used to all these noises
and stopped paying attention to them. Besides, if there was someone else there,
it wouldn't be the first time he found a homeless person living in a place like
this. They would always stay away from him, hiding, out of fear of being
"evicted".
To access the section of roof he needed to survey
that morning, he had to walk out a window on the top floor. He then took two
steps on the ledge and climbed an old exterior ladder. Once on top, he had to
climb over a section of sloped copper roofing which was covered with ice. When
he was about to grab the ridge, one of his pens fell off his jacket pocket and
he slid down back to the ladder as he tried to catch it. His body was stopped
by the old ladder, but he could see the pen falling into the abyss and finally
hitting the ground four floors below in the inner courtyard. The whole thing
lasted a few seconds, but he felt the sweat pour out throughout his body even
in the cold.
He finally made it to the flat section up on top. The
wind was strong, and ice was all over the roofing membrane, very tricky. After
a few minutes, sketching became painful and difficult. He couldn't work well
with the gloves on, so he took them off and the cold penetrated his fingers. Long
dimensions were difficult to measure. It was becoming hard for him to see the
laser mark across the distance with all the glare on the ice. 'You better get
me a big fucking job down in Florida next month, Laura, or I'll kick that irresistible
cute little ass of yours,' thought Frankie.
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