At six o’clock that evening, the night crew came on shift, and I joined them, wearing one of the contractor’s T-shirts.
“You working late again, Mr. K?” Brian, a short, cute, African-American man who managed the crew at night, said after he doled out assignments to all of us. He grabbed the supplies he needed for his own floor.
“Oh yeah,” I replied. “You know inspections are on Wednesdays. We can’t afford to have any issues, if I can help it.”
“I get that,” Brian replied, “but you don’t have to be the one to fill in all the time. Don’t you have better things to do than spend it with these troublemakers?” He pointed a thumb backward at the ten people grinning behind him.
“It’s like he can’t get enough of us, or something,” Joel, one of the regulars, said with a smirk.
I rolled my eyes
