With Spring comes cleaning. It's like an unwritten rule that we clean our houses and spruce up our yards, and I think next year that I'm going to rebel and do all of this in the Florida winter.
Since Spring sprung, my husband has walked the perimeter of the house, making mental lists of items and chores he believes should be taken care of in the next couple of months. When the man decides on something, he doesn't hesitate.
Number one on the list was taking care of the ripped screens over our pool and deck that Hurricane Irma had damaged. Minor considering what the old gal could've done, but the holes were letting in way too much pollen this year in my pool, and thus replacing the screen went on the list.
My husband is the champion of estimates. He loves Angie's List. We have a steady stream of companies traipsing on and off our property leaving official documents stuck inside the front door. Sometimes he remembers to tell me about this and most times he doesn't. We seem to have a communication gap meaning that he doesn't get his point across as well as I would like him to.
We'd already had one company give us an estimate on rescreening the entire porch, and hubby seemed satisfied and mentioned that he would probably go with that company. So, it was a surprise when he called me this morning to give me a heads up to the fact that a screening guy was coming by to look at our screen. I took that to mean he was getting a second estimate.
First, however, to arrive, was a guy I'd scheduled to clean my carpets. I've had the carpets for more than five years and never had it professionally cleaned, and it was one of those cold calls where they offer you a deal, and you end up paying more. Whatever. The carpets needed cleaning. The man was built like a romance cover model, and I had high hopes of watching him work so that I could get some descriptive adjectives for my book. We chatted, he got to work, and I fired up my computer intent on research.
Unfortunately, before the computer was done booting, a truck pulled up to the front of my house. The screen guy. I latched the yapping dog on to his leash and strolled outside to meet them. One tall guy. One short guy. The short guy wore socks and Adidas sandals and drove the beat-up truck with magnets affixed to its side advertising the company. I couldn't make it out. I welcomed them and led them around the side of the house to the screened-in porch. Some thoughts as I did so:
- Two guys for an estimate?
- It sure took them long enough to get out of the car just to view a screened porch.
- Not sure why Tall Guy is bringing in a considerable drink container for the few minutes it will take to measure.
But I didn't have time for my thoughts because the carpet hottie was alone inside my house, so I asked them if they needed me for anything.
Tall guy: "Which panels are you looking at?"
Me: "What?"
Tall guy: "The panels you want to be replaced?"
Me: "Is that what he told you? To just do the ones with holes?"
Tall guy: "We were told replace 7 to 8 screens."
Uh, okay. That's about how many were ripped via Irma, and I had earlier inquired as to why my husband was not just replacing those instead of the whole porch and silly me, but I thought maybe the guy had listened to me. So, I took them inside the porch and began pointing out holes. I mean, seriously, they needed my help? Okay then. I helped. Point, point, point. The guy counted as I pointed. One, two, three.
We were up to six. Tall Guy was standing at the side of the deck, and Short Guy was standing at the end of the deck, and I jabbed my finger right where Short Guy was standing.to show him another hole about the size of a pencil eraser. Tall Guy counts seven, nods, and Short Guy removes a razor blade from his pocket and slices a slash across my screen. Before I could even get my mouth open to protest, Tall Guy slashes the screen he is standing in front of.
Me: "WHY DID YOU DO THAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"
I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening, but these guys kept slashing. It was like a scene from a horror film only instead of blood and guts oozing from body parts, I saw critters and leaves and pollen in my pool. What the fuck?
Me: "STOP THAT! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?"
Tall guy: "Because we're replacing your screens."
He said it matter-of-factly, and I opened and closed my mouth several times, and then I turned around and walked into the house where I immediately called my husband in hysteria.
Me: "Are these guys doing the job? Replacing the damaged screens?"
Tom: "No, just giving me an estimate."
Me: "WELL, THEY JUST RIPPED THE SCREENS WITH KNIVES!! THEY THINK THEY ARE HERE TO REPLACE THE DAMAGED SCREENS. THEY RIPPED IT. WITH KNIVES."
I think that's what I said. It may have come out more jumbled together because I was having an anxiety-riddled, hysteria, gasping for breath moment. All with the background noise of the carpet cleaner.
I took the phone out to the truck, where the two guys were removing tools. That's when I noticed that the magnet signs on the truck had colored tape across the name. I asked for a business card. It did not match the name displayed under the tape.
Tall Guy took the phone to talk to Tom. It was a heated discussion. It got more heated when Tall Guy accused me of telling them to do the work. Oh, no, you didn't, buddy. I started shouting, reminding him of my earlier screaming when they'd sliced and diced. He ignored me. I looked at Short Guy.
Me: "Dude, you know the truth."
Tall Guy handed me back my phone and got on his phone to call the company. He was pissed! I trudged back into the house, talking to the husband, who insisted I not let these guys leave without repairing our screens.
What? Like what was he expecting me to do? Grab these two by their ankles and hold on for dear life? What part of they slashed the screen with razor blades did he not hear?
Meanwhile, in the middle of this, my friend called. I hysterically gave her the shortened version, and she offered to drive over to protect me in case they turned their blades on me.
Me: "Nah, it's okay. I have the hottie carpet cleaning guy with big muscles."
Tall guy's conversation with his boss took about half an hour. Tall Guy was quite heated. I snuck around, taking pictures of them through various windows because even though I'm a writer, I suck as a witness in a description of culprits. It might be the hysteria part of me.
Hottie carpet cleaning guy finished his job and listened to the sordid tale. He shook his head, tsked in the right places, pointed out that these guys were in sandals, and basked in the glow that I considered him a protector. He told me he hated to leave me. I refrained from whining about not getting to use him for research purposes. I sent him on his way and proceeded to wander from window to window, spying on the screen rippers.
Eventually, Tall Guy came to my front door. We engaged in a civil conversation. I told him I didn't blame him. He was doing what his boss told him to do. He had a work order to replace 7 to 8 screens. He appreciated my understanding and proceeded to discuss an estimate.
It seemed the company Tom had called hired out Tall Guy's company due to a lack of workers. So, really we had two companies involved in this mess, and neither one wanted to fix the problem. Tall Guy wouldn't get paid if he did it, and the other company guy was just off the grid.
I called Tom.
Tall Guy and Tom talked. They worked out a deal to replace the damaged and now sliced screens for $500. Twelve screens. Tall Guy and Short Guy, whose names I did eventually learn, went off and did the job. It looks great. I think in the end we got the better deal. What ultimately was a $2,000 job only cost us $500 to replace the damaged screens.
It does not, however, factor in the hours lost of my life--due to hysteria and fear, nor does it factor in the loss of my research. But hey, as I always say:
Me: "Thanks for the blog entry."
Update: In the end, the work was shoddy. The two had to return the next day to finish a screen they'd missed. Several weeks later, we had the entire porch re-screened by my breakfast friend. We lost the $500.
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