It’s taken 6-8 weeks and twice that many phone calls to finish the last item on my “make the house safe” list for my daughter. Several of the house outlets would hiss, spit and spark when a plug was inserted, which I thought could not be good.
But I prefer to latch up with professionals by word of mouth. At first I couldn’t find any referrals; then I made an appointment two weeks out with a no call/no show/no job with someone now topping my SOB directory. The next referral simply had a recorded message: “We are currently booking six weeks out,” because it’s air conditioning season, I guess.
Monday I got up early, as I do every day, to take care of the zoo (I won’t reveal how many cats and dogs we have, except to say that its “too”). But, as I sometimes do, I then lay back down.
Lei startled me so much when she stuck her head in my bedroom door I leapt half-erect, just as will happen in the crematorium, and yelled (which won’t happen in the crematorium, unless it’s a new record).
“Mom,” she says, holding the phone, “it’s the electricians,” who had called out of the blue and wanted to show up in 20 minutes! That’s how much time I had to bathe, shampoo and dress, and they were punctual. This time when my daughter came into my room, still holding the phone, she said, “They’re here.”
“Well – well – invite them in, but they’ll just have to wait a few minutes!” I reply with some heat. Then I look more closely at my daughter’s face and mumble, “Ummm…they’re inside already, aren’t they?”
Vigorous nod.
“And they’re in the house, aren’t they?”
More vigorous nodding.
“You should have told me that first!” I hiss, embarrassed.
But – all’s well that ends well, at least until I get the invoice.
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