The duo marvel at the irony of repairing weekend DIYer's repairs.
The dream job: A small commercial project with light-gauge steel perfectly framed with 8-foot ceilings. Untarnished board delivered at 2 cents a square. Your ridiculously high bid is welcomed because there wasn't another contractor for hundreds of miles around. You can take all the time you need. It's early May; the temperature's perfect, you're working next door to a Victoria's Secret model training center. Maybe located in a quiet section of town with little traffic, ample parking and a sports pub across the street with 24-hour NASCAR coverage on TV and 10-cent draft beer with free popcorn.
Then your partner slaps you. It's a cold rainy morning in March with fiercely whipping winds. You just pumped your last $2 into your rusted-out, overloaded pickup at the 7-Eleven, so you'll have to go without the putrid cup of coffee and rancid sausage biscuit you were going to call breakfast. You have a hangover that would make Dean Martin blush and you're on your way to repair a basement for a slumlord in a section of town that even the cockroaches avoid.