8th
Where’s my 20%?
I am about to commence some house projects to fix the damage done by the Great Flood of 2k9 and so in the past few weeks I have done extensive research, asked loads of friends for advice, and met more mexicans than I ever care to at my place for these things called “estimates”. I hope these people understand that estimate to me means exact price I am willing to pay and no more…but chances are good and tear might be shed over that simple misunderstanding.
I decided to not hire a general contractor to manage the project because it’s just an added cost, and I’m organized enough to be able to handle a simple home renovation. Right? Just call me a contractor!
Apparently not. On Saturday I convinced my Mom to go with me to Home Depot to help me pick out some tile and gather the materials needed for the bathroom renovation. There were precisely 6 items on my list, and I could not for the life of me find a single one of them. Also, those people that just got laid off from home depot 2 weeks ago? Greatly missed.
I think my outfit is a crucial piece to this story, and while I don’t have a picture to share, I just need you to try to imagine for me. I’m wearing a cute dress that’s probably a bit short for my 5’10” frame, tights (as to not show any ass-age in the short dress), cute flats, raincoat, scarf. Cute, right? You should also know it was windy.
Tile, apparently, is one heavy mo’ fo’. So, I picked out my tile which just so happened to be on the bottom and was highly successful at pushing the tile from the floor where it was stacked to my flat bed cart. Someone probably saw my ass while I was moving the tile over, but eh, they prob liked it.
In addition to having no idea what we were doing, we had my 3.5 year old niece that knows. how. to. shop…and just when you think “What would a 3 year old want in Home Depot?”, I need you to remember that this 3 year old’s husband and baby’s daddy just so happens to be bob the builder. 4 temper tantrums later, we walked out with some tape (?) and an extra pack of screws (??) because ”Bob the Builder” needed them.
Enter the wind: Mom has pulled the car up to the front, yet left me with the 3.5 year old that’s married to a ficitional construction worker (yet, I’m not married…amazing how this works) who’s trying to sweet talk me into some m&m’s at the checkout while I’m paying. I push the 2 carts of shit outside, and somehow attempt to keep track of the 3 year old that is following me and immediately this huge gust of wind comes up and blows the dress up.
Hot.
So I start to attempt to put everything in the car (none of it which I can lift so I’m basically running around moving stuff around but not actually doing anything) and this nice young gentlemen comes up behind me and asks if he could help. Oh! I’ve never been so excited to see a man in my life. I re-arrange all of the dry cleaning that Mom was too lazy to carry in in the back so we can fit everything. I tipped him all the cash I had and sent him on his merry way.
I then climbed into the car and immediately stated that in the future I would be paying the 20% upcharge for a general contractor because I promptly lost 20% of my dignity the second my dress flew up.
Contracting is for the birds.
