This has to do with what's been going on in my house for the past few days. None of it involves the viola, which I haven't touched except for a rehearsal on Monday evening.
My husband and I decided a while back (like when we first moved in) to have proper ceramic tiles laid in the bathrooms and the kitchen. Finally, we got our act together, got measurements done, picked tile, etc. We booked the tilers to come on Monday. And they did, and they got right to work.
They crack me up; it's a total good cop, bad cop scenario. The first of the two men is very polite, quiet, respectful. The second has the mouth of a sailor and talks to me like I'm severely mentally handicapped, explaining the most basic things about plumbing and carpentry to me ("water comes through these pipes and out through the tap"). Not that it's relevant, but I'm not sure that he realizes that I installed several of our light fixtures and (along with a good deal of assistance) installed taps in two bathrooms, have fixed our toilets on more than one occasion, not to mention a good deal of other reno work. Somehow, in this man's mind, these are impossibilities. It could be that the tiny feminist in me is getting my back up and seeing sexism where there is none; I'm perfectly aware that there's a reason for the term "handyMAN" and I have no problem with that. I just pride myself on basic comprehension that gravity + water + leaky whatever = wet floor.
He also said something the other day about my husband going off to "make money," which cracked me up. I think that my being home during the day serves as evidence that I am a pampered, non-working, bonbon-eating lazy person who is spoiled by her hard-working husband. Adorable. If only it were so.
He has real anger issues---my husband came home the other day and saw the guy throw one of the tiles with such energy that he managed to break one of the tiles that he'd just laid, which then meant of course that he had to tear it up and replace it. His outbursts (generally a result of something he's done) are along the lines of "Mother******* sonofabitch Jesus ****ing what the ****," well, you get the idea....and they occur about once every five minutes.
Naturally, being a tiler, he knows everything about plumbing. So he pointed out to me on day one that there were leaks, one in a shut-off valve on our pedestal sink (yes, I realized that when I turned it off, disconnected it and it leaked, which is why I then reconnected it, but thanks for the enlightenment) and one on a toilet valve. Somehow the two guys managed to work around it. I shut off the water source so that the drips could be kept to a minimum and we kept various receptacles under the leaks so they wouldn't ruin everyone's lives.
The next day, they came in again and unfortunately for me, the poet laureate shut off the water himself, even after I'd asked them to let me know if they needed anything. He didn't ask me where the correct valve was. I think you can see where this is going. And at the end of the day, half our laundry room was flooded. He'd somehow shut off a different valve from the one I'd used, which then spewed water all over the corner of the room. And when I'd dealt with the aftermath and corrected the valve, I realized that our hot water is now...not. so. hot. In fact, it comes out hot for a few seconds then returns to a very tepid state. I have no idea why this would be the case; all I know is that, until that happy little man laid his hands on my water heater, it worked just great.
Today someone will come and grout the final bathroom. It may or may not be the same men. I'm really hoping it's not so that I can just call their boss directly and explain the issue.
Ah, the joys of home ownership.
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