Hiz Mother Hiz Self

You know my history with contractors. You know there is never an uneventful job. You know I have a sign on my house that says, “Bring me your misfits, your crazies, your absolute loons to perform home improvements here.” The Powerwasher Guy did not disappoint. I was somewhat prepared for him as the painters who referred him said, “He does a fantastic job but he’s a little odd.” When his mother drove him here for the estimate, and the guy is pushing 50, I was a bit concerned. But he gave me a good price and said as soon as it warmed up, he would call and tell me when he was coming. Fine.

A month later, he called on the evening after I found out my very favorite Uncle had died suddenly and I had the trip to Florida right after the funeral, and Powerwasher Guy said he needed to come right away. I told him I didn’t think I could have him do that because I hadn’t even chosen the color deck stain for the painters who had to follow him, and with that, he started to yell at me. “You had all this time and you didn’t pick a color yet???” Hey, I know there can’t be a bigger procrastinator in the country than me, but did I need this jerk yelling at me for my shortcomings? Ever the diplomat, I screamed back at him that I would do it when I was good and ready, and I was the paying customer, blah, blah, blah. He had probably tuned me out by this point and was skinning the rabbit he grabbed on the way home.

So, yesterday was the day for PWG (Powerwasher Guy). He said he was arriving at 9AM so I figured he’d be done in two hours or so. He left at 2:30 PM. I should say, “they” left, because he didn’t throw Momma from the train. She drove him here in the truck and SAT in the truck for the entire time! I’ll let that sink in, gentle readers. Me, I’m behind locked doors saying, “What the HELL is he washing out there?”

A word about the truck. It had the name of his business with a drawing of a guy holding the power washing hose with water squirting out, but it was positioned to look as though he were urinating on someone’s house. Nice touch.

So about noon, I go out to see what’s going on, and I realize he is not only powerwashing the deck, but my entire house. OK, fine, it was dirty, but I had to get to work that night. So I decide to pay him and then go inside to get ready and not have to deal with him or Momma. I start to write out the check and he says, “Oh no…I explained to you that I need cash, no checks.” I must have been staring at him in disbelief, what with his spiffy business van, etc. I just assumed he would take a check. He said, “Look, Uncle Sam may be your uncle, but he’s not mine”, no wait, “he ain’t mine” So I dashed off to the bank to get him his loot and paid him when I got back.

I must admit, he did a bang-up job, but he was a bit too Deliverance for my taste. Next appointment, the painters back again for the deck on Saturday. When they were here last, one of them got clipped by my ceiling fan crashing to the floor when they turned it on.
Maybe this time, they’ll just get buzzed by one of the ducks who dive bomb the pool cover at the first sign of spring. And I don’t think they’ll be bringing their moms.

Cooler Heads Prevail

All right, it has been a very long time since I blogged, but a lot has happened, and I know that’s precisely when you should blog, but I just could not deal with another funeral entry and then there werethe two weeks in Florida, where blogging just wasn’t an option.

So enough excuses. I have a workman coming tomorrow to powerwash the deck, and my painters already warned me that he’s “a bit strange” so I can’t even imagine what’s in store for me at 9AM.

Today, something happened to me and I have no explanation for why it made me homicidally angry, but here it is. I was minding my own BI business (don’t know what that means, but we used to say it as kids) eating breakfast alone at Perkins waiting for the line at Jiffy Lube to shorten, when I notice a woman who seemed to be grandmother to a toddler and another small child, and the children’s mother, sitting at a table nearby. The toddler drops a small, plastic container, like the kind they bring you that mouthful of coleslaw in, onto the floor and it rolls right over to me. The grandmother yells, “I’ll get it” and is having some trouble getting out of her seat, her being fat and with a tight mini skirt (yes, that's mean, but just wait). Despite her instructions, I reach down to get it and she literally SCREAMS, “DON’T TOUCH IT!”. Now, my hand immediately recoils and I look at her as she retrieves it and she says, “If you touch it, then I can’t give it to her again.” With that, she picks it up, wipes it off with a napkin and hands it back to the kid.
Now…..I ask you. I may not have been wearing my Jones New York that morning as she was, but is my hand any dirtier than the ground-in e-coli bacteria left in the rug from people who had stepped in shit and walked into the restaurant. I don’t know why I was so incensed, obviously she was a psycho and the fact that they all piled into an Escalade as she was on her way to get her legs “scraped” (her word), only made me hate her more.

When I got to Jiffy Lube, (and they didn’t have the high mileage oil, and what the hell kind of Jiffy Lube do I have that runs out of oil??? Really, what’s on their order? Oil and air fresheners?). I called JB who talked me down before I hurt the nice man in the coveralls, who really was not the cause of my anger, but grandmother had already gotten away. So, I did use fantasy to get my revenge and envisioned the scene over again, and saw myself very calmly getting my check and then going up to their table on the way out and planting a big wet kiss on the baby’s lips. Yeah.

Next project: I’m going to buy an orchid and try not to kill it. Stay tuned.