throwaway because this is… odd, and i don’t want it tied to my business.
i’ve worked in electrical maintenance and commercial wiring around the st. louis area for a little over 21 years. started young, right out of high school. i’m licensed, bonded, own my own small operation now, and have three guys working under me. i pay my taxes, go to my kids’ soccer games, grill on sundays, and complain about traffic like everyone else. i’m not a strange guy. i blend in just fine.
but for over two decades, i’ve been leaving messages behind walls. not graffiti. not anything destructive. little folded slips of paper, sometimes laminated, sometimes sealed in plastic or tucked into conduit, junction boxes, above drop ceilings, behind breaker panels — places that will be sealed up and forgotten the moment i walk away.
i started in 2003 on a hospital renovation job. we were sealing up a wall that nobody would open again unless something went wrong. i wrote “someone stood here once” on a scrap of paper and tucked it behind a cable run. it felt harmless. funny. private. i never stopped.i’ve worked thousands of jobs since then — office buildings, schools, churches, grocery stores, luxury condos, strip malls, data rooms. there are messages of mine sealed behind drywall all over the metro. missouri side. illinois side. suburbs, city core, industrial parks. i don’t know the exact number anymore, but it’s in the thousands. most of them will never be found. that’s part of the point.some are simple: you’re not the first one herethis room used to be empty toocheck your footingsome are more elaborate. once, during a corporate office build-out, i left three notes on different floors. one said wrong direction. another said almost. the third said you were never looking for anything, were you?
if someone ever opens all three walls and connects them, they’ll think someone was messing with them. they’d be right. my favorite was in a library renovation. old building. thick walls. i left a note above a ceiling tile that said this is the quietest place i know. twenty feet away, above a light fixture, another one that said it won’t always be this quiet. i like the idea that someone, someday, might find one and feel unsettled for just a second. not scared. just aware. like they accidentally brushed against another timeline.i don’t sign them. no names. no dates. no initials. it’s not about credit. i don’t want recognition. i want presence. i want proof that i existed here once, even if no one knows who i was.i think i’ve got another 15 or 20 years in the field if my knees hold out. that’s thousands more messages. when i retire, there will be buildings full of them — little sealed thoughts aging quietly in the dark.cities remember landmarks. stadiums. monuments. they won’t remember me. but i’ll be there anyway. behind walls. above ceilings. inside places no one looks unless something breaks.if you ever open up a wall in the st. louis area and find a message that feels like it was written just for you — it probably was.
sorry about that. or maybe you’re welcome.
(check the panel to the left. no, not that one.)