rookie move

I have been relatively excited over the last 72hrs. Team Drywall started hanging boards at 7:00AM on Saturday and in a day and a half (18hrs exactly), they were finished. It was like watching a finely tuned automobile purring away at 75 mph. The house is completely different.

I cannot describe how impressed I was with the work these guys did and with the impact it has had on the space. The house is like a real house now. No longer a weekend-warrior-kinda-sorta almost a house, there are real walls and real dynamics of space and potential experiences.

BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I CAN LET THE EXCITEMENT CLOUD MY JUDGEMENT.

I made a rookie move over the weekend that had me waiting 5 hrs in the emergency room at Providence Hospital(I will never again seek treatment there by the way... but that is another blog).

Long story, medium length... we ordered more sheets of drywall because the 190 original sheets were not enough. So I'm moving some of the green board up stairs and as I'm about to step into the house...

I step right on a nail.

A nice, long, bent, rusty, "I've been waiting in the rain for four weeks to get back at you for not using me in the house and now I have my vengeance", 3 inch nail...which if you subtract the 1-1/2 wood it was in and the 3/4 inch sole of my sneakers, some breathing room, and my sock...leaves you with somewhere in the neighborhood of 1/2 to 3/4 inches of nail that found a new home in my left heel.

That was not a good time.

And the worst part is that my construction boots were sitting next to my tool box at the top of the stairs. I was just too excited about the drywall to remember to change shoes.

Rookie move.

trabajador perdido

It just keeps getting better. I am leaving my office to go on a site visit for work and I'm cruising down in the elevator to the first floor.

ding. ding.

The doors open and who is staring me back in the eye?

My long lost contractor.

I could not have scripted it better myself. It was the quintessential... leaving Quiznos excited about your toasted sandwich and running into your ex-girlfriend in front of the Italian ice/ Twisty cone spot near the grocery store parking lot.

He was well dressed. It looked like the month plus of not working for me had been good to him. (My brother reminded me that the dummy bought those lovely clothes with my money) So I'm like...

"Hey, howyadoin?...It's been a while."

He went on about how he just finished another job and how he was ready to get started again...And how he was going to swing by on Monday.

"Interesting."

He mentioned how he had been upset about how the stucco guys didn't wait for him to fix the roof soffit before they moved their scaffolding. (They did wait, for the record) And that he was going to finish the soffit on Monday and then get ready to start the drywall.

"Hmm... I see."

So get this... Through this brief conversation, I realized that he wasn't coming up into my office to see me. He was actually coming to see a colleague of mine, who he had done some work for previously. That colleague had severed their relationship from that job I believe, because Dummy was... well... most likely being the mediocre performer that he is. He didn't even come to see me. My colleague no longer works at our office and so finding this out led to our conversation. He didn't even come to see me. He was going to waltz into MY OFFICE, speak to MY co-worker and then vanish back into the dingbat abyss that he seemingly emerged from.

"So... do you have a number at which I can reach you?"

It was all I could do to not burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. Am I supposed to be happy that you're ready to do work now? Am I supposed to feel like you are doing me a favor by finishing the job that I've paid you to do? You can't be serious. You can't possibly think that there will be no consequences to your behavior. You can't be that dense... or can you?

I kept it cool. I have nothing to gain by telling him how I feel right now. Let him come on Monday. Let him fix the soffit and the interior trim like he has been paid to do and let him work off the remaining debt. So, I took down his number and told him I would call him a bit later.

I was very proud of myself. What he deserved was a gritty whisper in his ear of..."You tryin to make a fool outta me?" But what I provided was a calm response to an unfortunate situation.

He didn't even come to see me.

last minute labor

I sent out some desperate emails to some locals to get some help moving the stacks of drywall that they delivered to the house. ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY SHEETS.

The delivery guy was kind enough to cover the stack with a tarp, so when we arrived at the house, it looked like there was a small cloaked SUV beneath the blue plastic.

As the dusk rolled in, so did the friends who had the time, energy, and curiosity as to how we were going to pull off this feat.

There is no way to describe it. It was just drywall. Everywhere you turned... drywall. Stacks of nightmarish 4X8 sheets of .... dry-freeken-wall.

So we took off our respective sweaters and jackets (don't forget the house has heat now), donned our work gloves, and took to the streets. Two person teams... up one flight and then another. 60 sheets on the 3rd floor, 60 on the middle and 70 on the ground floor. It was back-breaking and emotionally draining... But the stacks receded. Like beers that followed... the stacks vanished slowly... begrudgingly... but somehow satisfyingly so.

Most of you did not know each other. I stood on the ladder, fixing the ceiling fan electrical box, shorting out the electrical box, and then re-fixing the electrical box... and I looked down at 8 folks that came out on a few hours notice to tackle a few hours of work. I saw them conversing with each other... laughing... growing... it was good. It was exactly the spirit of generosity that has a home in these walls. I could have picked up a handful of day workers to knock out the job and a lot of us would be a lot less sore this morning, but that fingerprint of generosity and fellowship would not have been imprinted on the very structure of this house, as it is now.

I cannot thank you all enough.

hot fire

So in an unprecedented display of stick-to-itiveness, Washington Gas showed up and showed some gumption in the mid-morning hours of Thursday last. They changed the rack to Pounds and then I asked if they were going to put the meter on and the guy said he's not supposed to do it, but...... WHA LA... he pops a spare meter out from under a seat cushion and wrenched that bad boy in place. Gas flowing... I'm cheesing like a school boy. So then I jet over to Dulles Airport and caught a flight out to Cali for some overdue good friends/good times, stress decompressing, and impromptu coastal scenic driving.

Shout out to Team Hoshimoto, Team Payne, and Team Prekash.

I catch the redeye back to DC yesterday morning. Whilst in route back to my office, I call my Heating and Air guy to tell him that the gas line is Good to Go!!

He shows up around lunchtime and... well... there is really no other way to say this...

we got heat.

holla at your boy.

pete and repeat

So I got the automated message that said that the gas company was on its way to hook up my meter. Sweet.Simultaneously, I get a call from the electrician saying that his guy is finished at the house and that they have hooked up all the extras that I needed. Nice

I have to move my car from its expired parking spot and I decide to dip over to the house real quick to check things out.

Low and behold, I see an oddly familiar jeep parked in the driveway.

I was not fortunate enough to run into my dingbat AWOL contractor, but I did stumble upon two of his goon henchmen working on the soffit of the exterior roof.

Interesting.

So the gas man comes and apparently my gas rack (that the meter gets mounted on) is set to measure in inches, while it needs to be rigged to measure in pounds. OF COURSE IT DOES. SILLY ME FOR HAVING A RACK FOR INCHES OF GAS. Let’s suppose that the rack is outdated. Let’s suppose that the whole industry got revamped for the millennium. Let’s suppose that the war on terror has catalyzed the natural gas revolution ...

How do you switch from inches to pounds to measure the same thing?

I'm just curious.

Anyway, back to the henchmen. So the electrician bounces and I am closing the door and I say to Goon #1... Do you guys need anything inside, cus I'm going to lock the door? He was like nah, we're fine. Okay, are you sure? Yeah, but it's okay cus I have the key.

ah ah ah...no you don't... my friend.

What you have is a key that used to unlock the door. Not so much anymore, Goon #1.

Nice work up there, Goon #2... tell your boy to give me a call...

window to a view

When I think back into the not so distant recesses of mind and look at a 6 month odyssey that brings me to the present... I feel heavy. It's an interesting and uneasy feeling.

Last night I was at my office working late. I wanted to catch up on some work that I pushed back because of a day full of trying to get my gas line reconnected. Speaking of which, it almost didn't happen. I had to get my fingers dirty, yet again, and help the plumber guy connect the gas pipe. It was a frustratingly simple task. He was ready to quit... me... not so much. I had been waiting two months for this.

Anyway, so I'm at my desk and I look out the window to the apartment in the building across the street and I see the plants-on-the-window-sill-cooks-pasta-with-meatsauce-girlfirend-smokes-cigarettes-likes-to-watch-the-news-guy on his bed reading a book.

As I worked, he read.

I said to myself... mmmm... leisure reading. He probably came home, made his pasta, and said to himself “what, oh what, am I going to do with my time?... how about that Oprah Book Club best seller novel on my nightstand?" He doesn't have drywall to buy, or a kitchen to plan, or Bo jangling contractors to track down... at least he doesn't look like he does.

I can't think back to a time when I didn't have something to do.

It's exhausting. I like reading... why can't I curl up and flip back the pages of a plotline laced with intrigue, suspense, and geopolitical "strategery?"

Why?... because I got drywall hang.

hasta luego

When you have to trudge through so much grief and effort and sweat and waiting... it is so easy to not be excited when you accomplish something. The Stucco is Finished

Team Bolivia packed up their equipment, their kind words, their gentle demeanor, and of course, their exquisite craftsmanship and drove off into the sunset on Saturday. It was bitter sweet. I was thrilled with what they accomplished, but seeing them go meant that I would ultimately have to focus back on the free reigning dysfunction that categorizes the rest of the project.

So in lieu of forgetting to stop and smell the roses, or in this case... forgetting to stop and acknowledge some friends. I want to take this time to say thanks to Jaciento and all the guys from Lazarte Contracting.

You made me believe again in the legend of the master craftsmen.

it's not you, it's me

I think I might hate you. No... no... that doesn't seem right.

Is hate too strong a word? Is it too judgmental, too glass half empty, too... dare I say... emotional? Actually, the more I think about it, the more I think that the intensity is right, but the word choice is wrong.

I loathe you

Yes... much better...

I haven't heard from you. It has been 13 days and 12 nights. You don't call... you don't respond to my messages. I ask your friends about you and they pretend nothing is wrong. I wonder if you even told them about us. I wonder if you are shutting them out as well or if they just knew you had someone else all along. Is that it? Did they know? Did they see me and smile and pretend that I'm your number one? Do they drive away in their trucks laughing, knowing that I'm just a fling for you?

I thought I deserved more. I thought that somewhere in the recesses of your large, albeit dimly lit mind, that you had a special place for me... for us.

Not so much.

I stand here now, beaten, but not broken... wounded, but not weary... disappointed, but not dismantled. I will do that which I must. I will, with a heavy heart and a light wallet, walk proudly into Lowes (Improving Home Improvement) and purchase two new door locks. I will then replace the locks on the house and bid you a not so fond farewell. You have disappointed me for the last time.

Mr. Framing Contractor/ Would-Be Drywall Man, Our time, however rollercoasterish, has been interesting and educational. I will not forget you, the work you did on the lion's share of the house construction, nor will I forget how you tried to play me and made me want to go to your house at 5 in the morning and curse you out in front of your children and neighbors alike (luckily I was dissuaded from such action... it could have gotten ugly)

Adieu

andy dufresne

Went out to Virginia yesterday to link up with another locksmith... can I tell you? I walk in this place and there is a guy behind the register with his sleeves pulled up mid forearm, just enough to expose his various half dollar sized tattoos and hints of larger, more complex, ones wrapping around his biceps beneath the crumpled fabric... and his brow had a look of intensity, like the trade secrets of locksmithing had been taught to him in some Eastern European prison while he prepared for his clandestine international escape... an escape from his unjust imprisonment that was aided by the very man who taught him his lock gilding techniques and who sadly met his untimely death in the throws of the shawshank redemption. That is who I believe this man to be.

So he is trying to come up with a strategy to lock the big front doors. He explained the situation to be far more complicated then I had envisioned. Nevertheless, he was an excellent mixture of knowledge and intrigue at the challenge. I'm going to call him back today and hopefully we can come up with a strategy for the situation.

on second thought

3:20PM

I go to a hardware store near the house and the locksmith guys in the back, yes... they are exactly as you are imaging "locksmith guys would be,"... anyway... they were extremely helpful and they said they couldn't give me what I need to repair my big front door relic lock, but they gave me a list of a few other locksmiths that might be able to help me. One of these locksmiths is two blocks down the street. I'm on my way.

3:40PM

I stroll into the second key haberdashery and as soon as I pull the lock out of the bag, they know that they won't be able to help me... However, in similar fashion the helpful guys before them, they give me a name of the folks that they think will best be able to help. It was the second time I had heard a reference of a company across town that seemed to be the Mecca of locks. That place apparently closes at 4:30pm... so I hit the streets yet again.

4:15PM

I arrive at the next spot with time to spare. I walk in and there is one customer being helped, but then both guys behind the register say, in unison, Can we help you? I hope so. I have this old lock and I either need to replace it or come up with another idea of what to do next... and... well.. Here it is. So then the mood changes. This guy starts backing down from his helpful beginnings. He says that they don't have anything like that and that they can't help me.

O.K.

I figured as much, but then one guy starts being real short with me and of course now my inherent paranoid black man radar starts flashing. I'm not saying that I knew there was some racial significance to the intent behind his word choice, I'm just saying that part of the wonderful legacy of a nation built on free labor and systematic oppression is that every time something odd happens, I have the privilege of having to be extra precautious of my surroundings so I don't underestimate a situation and end up calling my father from DC Central Cell Block.

Anyway, so now I'm hypersensitive to the way this guy is talking to me and he says that they can't help me and that they are closing and that I should come back on Monday.

Wait a minute... what’s going to happen on Monday?

I'm confused because I'm wondering what I would be coming back for then that we couldn't do now. What special information is going to be formulated over the weekend to help with my situation? Then he says that on Monday they will pull out a few alternatives and we can figure out what to do about the lock. Sorry.

4:20PM

So I bounce to my car in a tuft of irritation, feeling blacker and blacker with each step, get in my car, and start the engine. I turn the engine off and walk back into the shop.

You know... I was about to drive away and then I realized that it wouldn’t be right for me to leave here feeling angry while you get to go home feeling that you can treat people anyway you want. I rushed all the way across town to get here and everyone told me that you guys were the best. And I understand that you are closing soon, but you're not closed yet... and I feel that you were very dismissive and that you could have been more helpful. I just wanted to make sure you knew how I felt. Have a good day.

4:25PM

the difference

It’s been difficult to manage the reality of the day to day of my life as a project manager... outside of course... my life and reality as a salaried employee with projects, responsibilities, and occupational obligations... really difficult. Some days... good days... I strike a good balance.

That being said, there is work. And there is WORK WORK.

I work. Team Bolivia that is doing the Stucco on my house... they WORK WORK

Yes I said stucco!! I have been quiet about it for the past two weeks, but the stucco started and they are almost 3/4 of the way finished the exterior of the house. It is amazing. And what is even more amazing is the work ethic exhibited. Check it out. I went by the house after work one night around 8pm. I saw my side door open and I was about to get upset because folks left the house wide open and unattended. So I walk inside and I see a tote bag with some clothes on the left and then to the right I see some sneakers and I'm thinking... is somebody still here. "Hello!!" No answer. And then I hear this swishing sound... wait a minute... stop playin!! Are these guys.... naw!!... yup These cats were out there in the dark putting on the stucco.

THAT IS HARDCORE THAT IS THE DIFFERENCE

My main man Jaciento heads the crew. I like this guy a lot... and for several reasons. He's responsible, thoughtful, skilled, and engaging, all the while, allowing me to spend at minimum 10 minutes a day practicing my Spanish with him. He takes the time to treat me like a person... hopefully in part, because I do the same.

Just so that you know... if you need stucco or dryvit done, these guys from Lazarte Contracting out in Maryland get the newly coined growahouse green thumb of approval.

maybe some peas?

When I first bought the house, I seized every opportunity to introduce myself to any and all neighbors that would stop and listen. One special woman, whose eyes told a story of age and experience, waved an intrigued greeting from her alley side parking spot. We spoke brief pleasantries and then she was gone. Feeling a sense of incompleteness in our encounter, I found myself walking up the hill and around to her front door about 40 minutes later. She was welcoming and genuine. She invited me in, introduced me to her calmingly stoic dialysis bound husband... and we sat and talked in her parlor...

Fyi...old people have parlors.

We talked for just shy of an hour and she told me about her and her husband...the history of my house... the neighborhood... the city.

Flash forward nine months... and a three floors of new neighbor.

We spoke on Friday and she told me that once upon a time, she thought about planting a garden in the space between our homes. She assumed now that like my other street mates, I would exercise eminent domain over the incomplete alley that separates our houses, stretching my lot back an extra ten feet or so…and thus... she dismissed the garden idea.

Having on-site vegetables production has always been a part of the sustainable site vision of growahouse. I never thought about it being a community garden. Even if the community is just my rear neighbor and I.

I think she should have a place to grow her peas

... and so the vision for my garden, not unlike my renewed vision for my life, will have to grow to allow to for other seed planters.

temper temper...(continued)

In retro-retrospect. If I didn't need the plumber for more things, I would have told him exactly where he could take his attitude and his misaligned bicuspid. So maybe the lesson is not as clear as I thought.

Needing him to give me my permit copy and connect my fixtures realigned my perspective and adjusted my tolerance level. All of that is self serving, not to be confused with an altruistic conversational journey. My subsequent calming down resolution phone call to him was more selfish then compassionate. The question I need to wrestle with tonight is not the importance of being right... but this...

Why have I never seen my plumber as anything more than a plumber?

I know that it is not that simple. I know that there is a difference between working with me and working for me (for example accountability). I also know that I was soured because I once tried the late evening kitchen table "I want you to be part of this project" conversation with my contractor and that clearly didn't amount to much personal investment. I also know that if you did a bang up job like my electrician, I would be singing your praises across the information super highway.

I am just not sure how I am suppose to treat you and it’s bothering me, in part, because you seem very clear on how you're supposed to treat me.

temper temper

I understand how people are driven to sheer madness or extreme violence... both share a similar release and could have found a home with me in my mid-afternoon on-site shouting match with my plumber.

It’s a very interesting feeling to be emotionally removed from a person and... listening... really listening... to them curse you out.

Everyone has their boiling point, but when they reach it... everyone uses that heightened state of being in a different way. For my plumber, he decided he wanted to up and tell me that I can stick my project where the sun doesn't shine and begin to throw in subtle classicist comments that made me, not specifically, but still acutely, aware that not everyone in the conversation wears a tie on a regular basis, passes diplomas in home hallways, or frequents banana republic outlet stores.

Maybe it was important for me to hear him in his weasel-like aggressive stance lambaste me for my frequent changes to the project. After all, he doesn't know about the growahouse movement. He just sees me telling him to do things differently than it is stated on the drawings. How could he see the forest for the trees? He doesn't know that he is connecting the pipes of change... wrenching the infrastructure of revolution... sealing the conduits that will touch the lives of the masses.(I might have stretched it a bit on that last one)

Anyway... I haven't let him in on the heart of this project, but I am holding him accountable for committing his passion.

That is not to say that he is without blame... or without compensation. He has been, and obviously continues, to act out of order and he righteously deserved a smack in the mouth today. But outside of conversation and contractual implications, I cannot hold him accountable to his own demons. Only he can do that. I have my own demons. I do, however, know I was right in the argument...

And now as I sit at my desk... after having called the plumber back to ease the strife, make sure he finishes out his contract, and secretly ensure that he doesn't set my house on fire tonight... I have to ask myself...

What is the price of being right?

What is it worth to me? Would really laying back into him more than I did have solved anything for me? Would it have connected the pipes any faster?... maybe? I'm not sure. Would I feel better having poked him tauntingly in the forehead and told him to "bounce... before I do something I'll regret.”?

probably...but what is the true price of feeling right?

... not righteous.... but right.

fix your cell phone, dummy

So today I was over at the house trying to work on the stairs to make them a bit more stable and start building the base support for them that sits on the ground and... I hear a knock on the door.

Now would be the time that I would like to tell you the story about how my framing contractor stopped by, not to do work, but just to "check on things" and he was like... "Wow you've been busy!! You look like you're enjoying it."....and knowing at that precise moment that I haven't been able to reach him for the past week because his cell phone is broken and knowing if that knucklehead would show up and do the work I pay him to, I wouldn't have to be up all hours living this semi-nomadic, not-quite-managerial, quazi-day laborer lifestyle.... and I just lost it and proceeded to read him his rights about how I was completely fed up with his sometimesy attitude towards this project and it is important that he understand that I will finish this house, with or without his help... and some other choice explicative that really drove the point home that I can take it to the streets if necessary. Ya Heard!!

However... that did not happen.

He stopped by. He mumbled some inaudible comments about the weather and the insulation and then he left. I kept working on the stairs. For a series of pivotal and deep rooted reasons, all of which I am clueless about, somewhere in the back of my mind I keep wanting to see the good in people often to my own detriment...

I find it difficult to use past behavior as an indicator of future performance.

He has been a dingbat from the beginning and will probably be a dingbat after...

So do I accept that and replace him?, or do I hold on to the hope that not just some people... but everyone can grow as a result of this house.

Maybe I'm just using the wrong fertilizer.

escalada

Every decision has a price tag attached to it. I cannot control that. Materials cost money and people's time cost money. That is only fair. I can, however, control my own time... what I do with my days.... my nights... my commitment... how hardcore I decide I'm going to be for the next two hours... the next twenty minutes. I am in control of my own destiny.

However...

Sometimes I don't know what the hell I'm doing.

Fortunately... I, along with two of the brightest and the best from the old Pittsburgh gang, built a new set of stairs on Saturday. If we do the work ourselves, we can afford the cost, given we can manage the task. So we ripped out the temporary stairs and proceeded to build and install the new stair, which happens to face the opposite direction of the stair that it replaced.

It was definitely the move. The transition from floor to floor is much more fluid and the change fixed an awkward condition that has long bothered me. The guys came over on Saturday before I got there and hung out with the welder while he worked on the courtyard doors. There is no way I could have built the stair in one day without these guys. It was a marvel to watch. They were out in the front yard making jigs, using laser sight circular saws, and at one point in time (don't hold me to this)...

...But I think I saw them using some form of quantum new math-space age-long division to accurately work out the stair heights.

It was like watching the discovery channel.

bgl, odw, + rlh were here

Tuesday night was a quazi-all nighter, in which, I found myself awake at 3 AM waiting for a text message that seemed light years away. Flash back 8hrs and I was having a long overdue conversation with some of my close colleagues. In addition to looking at the stucco sample colors, we were reviewing the design of the exterior of the house. I went to these folks because I value their design ability, creativity and ability to have and opinion, without forcing an opinion (an extremely important concept). They helped me better realize the potential of the building facade to match every other aspect of the energy of the house.

It was a bit tough for me.

I like design. I like architecture... BUT I LOVE IIMPLEMENTATION. I spent Sunday afternoon building a platform that elevated the height of the kitchen. I had a conversation in which I decided to do it Sunday morning and by nightfall, the platform was built.

That is what I love.

I bought the wood mid-day and spent the afternoon putting hammer to nail. Done. See what I'm saying? That type of one to one relationship between design and build is what speaks to my soul. What it doesn't do... is allow for design development... synthesis of intent... many of the things that fuel the fire of most architects. So there I was... discussing the look of the front of the house... something that most designers would see as the most important part of the design.

But for me... I cared... but in my mind... I'm thinking... whatever... "I have a set of stairs to build... I need to make sure the scaffolding crew has what they need to start the stucco... If I bounce to Lowes at lunchtime, I can run the rest of the security wires before they finish the insulation..." and so I felt self-conscious being around designers and not feeling like design was on the top of my mind.

I am big picture.

Details... hmmm... not so much. I'm all about solving the problem that created the problem.

It was a humbling experience to be able take a step back from the driver's seat and let some folks help me.

The lesson to embrace is that the opportunity to sit down with a group of folks, whose abilities I respect and who collectively believe in me and my project, trumps any feeling of self-aggrandizement that comes with coming up with every idea on my own.

hearing myself think

The insulation went in without incident. I walked into the house on Friday evening and there was no echo. I had no idea that I would walk in and be greeted with silence and that it would be as deafening as gong bell (have some old sketches somwhere about making my door bell be an actual rope pull church bell). Anyway... it was the first time I could stop and feel a bit.. um... hmmm... not really sure how to phrase it... it's like I could feel the thickness of the wall as an extension of my own skin... like I just slipped on a huge wool (and wood) sweater.

50 watt weekend

I was really trying not to post the story about getting my insulation delivered last weekend.

Not because my insulation is made of recycled blue jeans.

Not because it can be safely installed without the workers having to wear masks.

Not because I saved money by finding a manufacturer down in Roanoke, VA.

Not because it was going to cost a lot of loot to ship the insulation, but then the seller's best friend (with a striking British accent) was moving and agreed to fill up his empty u-haul with 3/4 of my order for $75.

But simply because...

I directed the delivery truck in the driveway and subsequently into the power line... knocking down the poll... sparking and leaving live wires on the ground...

Until of course... the fire truck came.

But that is neither here nor there. Power was turned back on this morning and the game continues.

culture or character

FACT: LOWES is better than HOME DEPOT.

This is not up for debate. I have long believed this to be an opinion of merit, but tonight I stand before you... a complete believer.

So I bought two bathtubs around the end of November. Now, mind you, at the time... I thought I was going to be a stickler for keeping tight reigns on my budget. So me and my uncompromising will up and decide to buy the cheapest decent bathtubs they have at Lowes. Who needs some audacious soaking tub? So what if the mainstream suburban population is doing the "big" tub thing. Did I even take an actual bath in 2005? Come on... I'm all about keeping things as real as possible. So no whirlpool with foot massaging bubbles. That will teach you... I whispered to the budget... And despite repeated comments from friends and framing inspectors alike, I stuck to my guns. The tubs stay as they lay. I will keep my budget and I will make my deadline.

well.... we saw that the fictitious Christmas deadline went straight to hell with reckless abandon, so that got me questioning...

Is this firm line-in-the-sand attitude working for me?

In short... no.

So last week, I decide to take back the dinky tubs and get a bathing apparatus of substance... of girth... of magnitude... something that befits the front doors, nyahmean?

I buy the new tubs. I rent a Lowes Pickup truck (all before work), drive over to the house, and drop them off. Come to find out... one ends up being broken. I call Lowes just now and in true growahouse fashion... they treat me with unparalled respect and generosity. They start calling other stores. They keeping ending each sentence with: "if that's okay with you." They understand that I had to rent the truck to get the tub to the house in the first place and don't think I should be inconvenienced any further. So now...They are gonna drop off a new tub, from a different Lowes, and pick up the broken one Friday Morning.

That’s what I'm talking about. I don't know if its the way they train those folks over there or if it's just Tracy the Manager, but this woman looked out for me.

And I appreciate it.