Dear J,
I think its messed up that some men will only respect you if you behave like a silverback gorilla, pounding your chest and roaring with your teeth bared.
That’s what happened with my contractors this morning, though. I tore apart the owner last night, over the phone and via email, and today the mood in the place was suddenly… cheerful and professional. I glared, and everywhere I looked people sprang into action. Let me rewind a bit.
On Friday, the contractors left a piece of the marble countertop we removed propped up precariously by my neighbor’s back door. Nice couple, unique in the complex in that they have kids. Small kids. At the age when poking at shiny stuff like… a marble countertop is a tempting prospect.
I called my contractor the moment I saw it, late Friday afternoon.
“It’ll be gone before the end of the day, I promise, Christopher.”
Sunday, noon, when next I stopped by the place, there the marble sat. Still hanging on to the chain link fence by a piece of wire. I felt physically ill. So many timelines, one of those kids got hurt.
“What? No! I am so sorry, Christopher, someone will be there in an hour!”
Fast forward TWO and a half hours later on Sunday; my contractor’s guy breezed in. He started to make an obviously insincere apology. I instinctively batted my arm in the air, as if I was knocking words out of the sky.
“Get this DONE!” I roared. And they did! When I got home Sunday afternoon, I wrote up an addendum to my deal with my contractor, stipulating that his men keep the back staircase clear enough that they’d let their own kids play there, that trash goes into a dumpster, and, oh yeah, everything gets done a day before move in day. I offered to hand over the second third of his payment if he agreed to those terms.
“Thank you, Christopher. Of course, Christopher. I promise, no more stressing you out. I promise!”
Why do I have to glare, stomp and shout to get these guys to behave and not, e.g., leave marble slabs where children could be injured? It’s primal. Literally uncivilized!
The cast of characters in our new building is colorful. One middle-aged owner likes to circle the building during her free time, picking up trash and checking the dumpsters to be sure the lids are snugly closed. (‘Because the building could be fined if they aren’t!’ she told us. Um. Okay, thanks for your service!) The lady in the unit next to ours is a day drinker, the kind who doesn’t bother with mints to hide the smell of booze on her breath. Older than you; she looked disappointed when I told her we were quiet, and didn’t throw parties.
Our strategy moving forward vis a vis all these melodrama-hungry souls is benign neglect; if they ignore us, we’ll cheerfully do the same.
To get moved into the place in a timely fashion, we’ve decided to (at least for now) forego in-unit laundry. The pipes weren’t designed to handle the units theni old owners had, and for all but the smallest washer/dryer units we would need to add an electrical subpanel. Which could impact other residents!
Lesson #1 from this condo renovation: Everything that potentially impacts other residents requires approval from Kane management company. The guy in charge of our complex is a Mr. NAME OBSCURED. He’s not dumb, exactly, just extremely averse to doing anything that resembles work. He says incorrect stuff with conviction, never concedes error and behaves as if he’s paying me, rather than the reverse.
Working with him is a powerful incentive to avoid any future renovation efforts. Some progress has been made, though.
The contrast between the very faint green on the walls and the gunmetal tile we picked out for the office bathroom tickles me, despite the walled off dead zone, longing for a washer and dryer. That’s the only room with dry paint. I can’t wait to see the other colors go up. But we have an Internet connection in the new place! Also power and gas. A queen sized mattress and adjustable bedframe, in boxes and shrink wrap, are waiting in the master bedroom. Paul’s new office chair, shrouded in plastic, sits in the middle of the guest bedroom.
I think it’s going to be lovely. But I also feel keenly the urge to hunker down. I think this COVID19 thing could be with us until June. God, I hope not! But after all the passion of the design phase for the condo I’m suddenly more concerned with pragmatic stuff than getting the place camera ready. (Besides, two pieces – our imitation Eames chair and a steamer trunk made by the Amish – won’t be in place for months.)
I’m proud of our siblings for shutting the family store down in the wake of COVID19. Relieved that Mom is seeing it clearly for the threat it is. If I didn’t have to keep going over to the new place (tomorrow it’s accepting a grout delivery and the barn door for Paul’s office) I’d stay cemented at home.
Love!
C/