Carpentry
You respond to an ad in the paper and ask the carpenter if he installs
those snap-in laminated wood floors. He says he hasn't done it but
there's nothing he can't do.
"Maybe you'd like to look at the floor before you make a decision?"
"I can do anything. And I'm fast."
"Still. That way you can let me know how much I need to pay you. They
say anyone can install them, so you're probably right that you can do
it." You don't think that came out sounding too polite.
"You can call people all over this town and get my references. Everyone
wants me. I'm way too busy. Because I'm good. And fast."
The morning the floors are delivered you meet Russ in person. But not
for long. Before the floors are delivered, he remembers he failed to
bring the correct saw blade and disappears for an hour. The floor people
wait for a bit, but Russ doesn't return. You leave the door unlocked and
head to work.
When you return at lunch break, you see the old carpets are gone, but
Russ isn't doing anything. "We got trouble," he announces. "You'll need
to borrow my electric sander and sand around these outlets for a good
two days before I can lay the floors."
"Why?"
"Look at this. The floor's not even. If I sand, it'll cost you $20 an
hour for something you can do. And I hate sanding. It'll make a mess
throughout your house. You got plastic sheets?"
"I'm calling the floor people."
You tell Russ they say the padding is forgiving but you don't feel
forgiving for paying Russ to meditate all morning, staring at those
outlets on your dime, doing nothing."
"Let's put the pad down and lay the floor," you say. "Just to see what
happens." Russ shakes his head and makes the two boards look like a
teeter-totter.
"Russ, it'll take three boards to see if it balances." You attach the
third board and Russ looks at it.
"I'll be. Guess I can put those floors down now."
You return to work disappointed, but when you return to the house that
night, your disappointment intensifies. Russ has disappeared again and
hardly anything has been completed.
The next morning Russ surfaces and you stick around, hoping he won't
disappear again, hoping he'll put the floor down. "Hey, I'll help you.
Just cut the boards and I'll snap them into place."
"Okay," he says. "But first I gotta show you something." He leads you to
the bathroom and starts bragging about tiles and how good of a job he
does. "I do it so it looks like your bathroom." You look at him puzzled.
The tile job in your bathroom is nothing to write home about.
"Well, let's not worry about tiles. Let's lay floor," you say. He
laughs, sorta.
"I need lunch," he says and takes off. "Give me a hand loading that
carpet on my truck. It'll look good in my son's house." You lift the
heavy carpet and feel a heavy depression settling in.
Three days pass and Russ still isn't finished with the one-day floor
job. Your friends are showing up to help you move after work. "Ain't
happening," Russ says.
"But it is, Russ. I need to be out of my old house. Please work."
His wife shows up and she watches him work. "I could be doing something
useful. He said he needed my help but all he wants is for me to watch
him."
"He did the same thing to me for three days. I'm glad I'm not married to
him," you say before taking off to load your furniture on a truck.
When you arrive with the first load, your neighbor friend says, "You
hired a man who wears a wife-beater shirt?"
"I hired him over the phone. Didn't meet him until the floor arrived."
"What's a wife-beater shirt?" your daughter asks.
"It's another Southern thing," you say.
You put things in other rooms, then Russ announces he's going to that
all- you- can- eat restaurant. "I'm beat. I'll put this moulding up next
week," he says. "You can put your furniture in here now." No one says
anything. Little by little all your friends disappear and you look at
the mess of boxes and furniture.
Two weeks pass and you call Russ, asking when he'll finish the job.
"It'll only take an hour. I'll do it. I promise. I cross my heart. Just
not this week. I'm so busy. Everyone wants me."
The next week you leave him a message asking that he pick a night and
let you know when he'll finish. "My tool broke. I'll do it later. I
promise. Be patient," he whines after returning the call.
Every week you call, every week he moans about how tired he is, how
overworked he is, how his phone never stops ringing. Then he adds, "I'll
do it. I promise. Cross my heart. Just be patient." Every day you regret
paying him in advance.
Six weeks later, Russ drives up unannounced, wearing that same white
shirt, walks into the kitchen without knocking, as if you should have
been expecting him all along, and says, "It looks nice in here." Then he
returns to his truck and pulls out his table saw. You take your daughter
to piano lessons. When you return, all your furniture has been sawed in
half, but you notice the moulding is finally up.
Until this past year, I thought many carpenters were sexy, truly handy men, but no longer. Now I've purchased a big book on home repairs, some tools...