Carpenter Logic

It comes as no great surprise to me that the so called “easy fix” the first plumber so tranquilly promised me last week is not to be.

“Wood's rotten,” the second one tells me with a shrug and a scowl, “You gon' need a carpenter.”

I protest mildly, explaining that the prior plumber assured me it was no more'n an hour's work, hardly anything involved, complicated or ridiculously expensive.

He gives me a sullen, blame-shifting glare and stubbornly repeats, “Gon' need a carpenter.”

Of course I am, I think dismally, why in the world would I have believed otherwise just because it was what I was told. Everybody lies, I remind myself. There's no point in losing your temper, I remind myself. It is what it is. I show the second plumber to the door and pointedly don't tell him thank you. I don't need his attitude, I tell myself, I have one of my own. When I call for the carpenter, I consider mentioning this breach of manners but then realize how futile it would be. They would apologize, assure me that he'd be talked to, and promptly do nothing whatever. Because that's how the world works these days. Rudeness and poor service are practically as fashionable as stupidity and just as ubiquitous.

It's three days and two more phone calls before the elusive carpenter calls me back. We agree on a time and day and he arrives on a frosty morning, exactly when promised. I'm marginally encouraged by this but it doesn't last after the first half hour of what can only be excavation. The noise is deafening and dollar signs are buzzing before my eyes like bees. Another half hour passes and I'm beginning to feel like a bystander at an accident scene. My stomach is in knots and I can't bear to look but I'm overwhelmed by curiosity. Too late I realize that a homeowner shouldn't have to be present for this kind of thing. When I discover there's a 4'X4' hole in the bathroom floor from which I can see clear to the grass and mud beneath the house, I hand him a latch key and issue a stern warning (“I'm leaving you with 5 cats in this house. If there are not 5 cats in this house when I get back, have no illusions – there will be blood.”) and flee to the sanctuary of the office.

By the end of the day, the bathroom is still out of order but the plumbers have come and made their repairs, the floor has been built back up and “floated”, and all 5 cats are accounted for.

The carpenter calls to tell me he'll be back in the morning to re-lay the tile and re-attach the fixtures. When I get home, I resist the urge to open the door and take a peek, trying to focus on the carpenter's cheerful reminder that it's fortunate I have a second bathroom.

You can't argue with irrefutable logic.