Alternative titles for this post would be Kitchen Nightmares or Why I Am Becoming a Rapper…
We’re having our kitchen partially remodeled. That means plumbers, tile-layers, and various handymen have been trooping through the house for weeks. (I’m waiting for the day when a professional handywoman arrives to help. Sidenote: Did you know that “handywoman” isn’t even a recognized word? Go ahead, go to dictionary.com and look it up ….. Did you do it?? Did you notice that poor dictionary.com thought perhaps you were confused? Did you mean handyman? it asks. Hmph.)
I’ve been playing the role of guardian-gatekeeper for all these skilled workers. I open doors, I point the way to the kitchen, I keep the “guard dogs” from attacking them. All I’ve been missing is a flowing toga dress and a sphinx. Maybe I should have had them all address me as Madame Goddess or something equally catchy, with an almighty ring to it.
I realize this will come as no surprise to anyone who has ever waited for a repairman of any kind, but I’ve been particularly annoyed by the schedules of everyone I’ve dealt with. “We’ll be there between 8 and 9” can mean an arrival time of 8:59, 9:45, or even 11. One day I woke up extra early so I could get my coffee fix, deal with the dogs, make sure their workplace was clean–then I waited. And waited. And waited.
As it happens, I’m doing some freelance work right now. I don’t have the strict 9-5 workday of most people, so I’m supremely qualified to be guardian-gatekeeper. But just because I’m home, doesn’t mean I’m twiddling my thumbs. You, Mr. Electrician/Repairman/Etc. were not called to the house because I was bored. It’s annoying enough to be given a window of time, only a vague idea, to expect you. If you miss that window? The guardian-gatekeeper will not be pleased. She might even sic her
terriers terrors on you, or take a cue from Mulan’s Mushu: “Dishonor! Dishonor on your whole family!” Or….she might talk in the third person and vent on her blog. That’s right–tremble.
You, dear reader, also probably won’t be shocked to learn that everything that could go wrong with this kitchen project, has. The tile people ran out of tile and had to order more, stretching the estimated completion date again and again. (I’m a bit confused why this happened, since the various layouts they did should have given them an idea about how much tile they needed…But then, I’m just a lowly gatekeeper.) This, of course, pushed the electrician back. The plumber ran into lots of plumbing problems. We lived without a stove, without a sink, and with only a few functioning electrical outlets. It was like camping, but with a roof. It was like living a few decades ago, but with a microwave. Okay, I can’t come up with an appropriate comparison–but it was annoying.
Yesterday, the tile-man put tile on the left side of our refrigerator. He thought it was a wall. Now we have, essentially, a bedazzled fridge.
The tile-man who decided that it made sense to put tile on a refrigerator did not seem particularly disturbed once his error was pointed out. I was expecting an apology, embarrassment, anything that would indicate an acknowledgement of the situation. Nope. Nada. As someone who takes mistakes to heart and lets them fester and turn into guilt compost, it boggles my mind that a person can shrug, scratch their head, and move on.
The fridge’s tile can’t come off without ruining the area. So, either we need to start a tile-on-the-refrigerator trend, or I need to become a rapper.
Because I’m pretty sure rappers have tile on their fridges.