The contractor-the one I hired almost two months ago to replace a couple windows in the boys room-finally arrived at 8:30 this morning to drop off some hardware. Then, he had to run back to his shop (six blocks away) for some tools.
It's 10:30, and he is officially missing in action. Whether he will return today is now anybodys guess.
This, I know from nearly a decade of home ownership, is the standard routine for any tradesman. They operate on a totally different clock and calendar from the rest of us, and there's not a whole helluva lot you can do about it. Bitch, and things start moving even slower.
It's times like these that I curse my own lack of even the most basic carpentry skills. How hard can it be to replace a window? Alas, for me, it's like neurosurgery. Put a tool in my hand and I grow eight extra thumbs, my brain freezes up, and blood inevitably spills from one of my clumsily wounded extremeties.
I still shake my head at the impracticality of having chosen American Literature as my high school elective instead of taking the woodworking class. That was the first step toward being at the complete mercy of men wearing toolbelts and dirty ballcaps for my entire adult life. A fat lot of good reading those Jack Keruoac books does me when a window cracks or a screen door needs replacing.
Ah well. Another cup of coffee and back to stewing in my own juices.
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6 comments:
The man and I watched The Money Pit the other day, and we've decided this film is much funnier when you're a homeowner.
Good luck with the contractor - I know how that goes and I'll send a little extra supplication to the contractor gods in your name.
Almost makes you wish you'ld gone with windows through the Home Despot, eh? (Almost.)
Imagine the struggle Kerouac must have had!
I can empathize, I've got no basic DIY skills. I'm often kind of sensitive about this as well. My brother-in-law, for example, could build a civilization and any time we're around I just see my lady looking at me with a greater than usual level of derision.
I think you should investigate this workman and then write out all of the details of his life in beautiful dissecting prose. Best of both worlds!
All right - I'm starting to fret about you. Worrying that you've been kidnapped by gypsies, or pressed into construction work, or done away with by the jackals, who are now posing as you. Except they can't write, so the big clue to your abduction is the fact you haven't posted in two weeks. It's not that I miss you, or that coffee is always better in the morning with a shot of Ray. No, no, it has to be that you've been abducted. I'm calling Missing Persons today,just so you kidnappers know!
Phew..he's back...and I'm catching up! How did I miss this post? Himself was kicked out of woodworking classes so he doesn't even have JK to blame. In fact I sometimes wonder if my husband can read. He certainly doesn't read my blog, a fact for which I am eternally grateful.
PS: I'm quite good at knocking things down and my Bestie is a mean carpenter so sometimes 'the girls' do DIY around here. Actually, Himself once told me off for being 'harsh' with a tradesman who was talking bullshit. Sheesh.
My advice to all young women is that the one, most important thing to look for in a man-to-marry, is carpentry skills.
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