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Fucking Contractors: A Rant

 

This is not going to be one of my better pieces.  It is an angry rant, mere venting; an exhale of outrage over the ineptitude and cheap corruption of one particular group of individuals.  I will not specifically name them due strictly to legal considerations (although I suspect I could win any sort of potential lawsuit due to the circumstances surrounding the problem, but we are all better off not taking such a step; I recorded a three minute video I would love to show to someone like Judge Judy).  I strongly encourage anyone to check a little deeper into who you hire for a major home repair or renovation.

 

Recently we hired a contractor to redesign one of our bathrooms.

Pretty nice, right?  It cost a lot.

 

Now, the state of this bathroom prior to their arrival was barely functional.  When we bought the house a little over two years ago it took about six months for the old shower to spring a leak, water pooling up until it dripped a hole through the downstairs ceiling.

I have no idea what sort of cheap labor the former owners hired to spruce the place up enough to sell (it might actually have been the same douchebag we hired), but numerous issues arose at around the same time, from the roof to the outdoor deck and rotting wood, and a few other small things, proving that we did not do enough research prior to putting our money down.

 

But I am not so much complaining about this (buyer beware and all), as I am regarding the after effect of our expensive repair:

The leak that sprang open over the light was a constant drip, first noticed when I saw a curious puddle of musky water upon the table.  It did not take long for one and then another of the bowls to completely fill up.

 

Of course the water spread,

bubbling and then cracking the ceiling open, this time spilling out like a faucet, splattering the wooden floor.  Eventually I figured out how to turn the water off in the house and the spill slowly became a trickle until it finally stopped.  Now the only water we presently have is from the fast food joint I took my children to last night, annoying the lady in the drive through by requesting “six cups of water.”  (She wondered repeatedly if what I asked for was a real request).

 

So I called the contractor–a slimy, money grubbing little scumbag, a conclusion we had long since come to shortly after signing the contract–and he began by wondering exactly who I was.  After reminding him (and the casual recognition of his tone suggested to me that he was lying), and telling him the problem with a hard tone of frustration, he asked two questions then told me he’d call me back.

 

Five minutes later he calls, asks me the same two questions, then once more says he will call me back.

 

Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty . . . finally he calls thirty one minutes later.  The slow drip of water has almost stopped by now.  He tells me that someone can come out and look at it tomorrow morning (today).  I ask him why not tonight and he says, perhaps even truthfully, that his plumber was unavailable.

 

Fine.  The plumber is supposed to be here between 8:30 and 9:00.  At 9:17 I get a phone call from the guy.  “Yeah, uhh, the guys have a buncha stuff in the truck that they gotta take to the dump.  You know, heavy stuff.”

“And?” I say.

“You want me to repeat that?”

“What time will they be here?” I exhale, resigning myself to more of this creep’s bullshit.

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Well. they’ll definitely be there sometime this morning.  But,” he adds, “Morning doesn’t end until 11:59, so . . .”

“Fine.”  I hang up.

 

I am waiting, still waiting, no water, no shower, my stinking children and myself.  My poor thirsty dog and cat.  No homemade coffee and no going out to get some because I have no idea when the motherfuckers will get here.  No clean dishes, dirty laundry piling up.  Fucking contractors . . .

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