Contractor Humor

We have our own special relationship with The Big C. We love him for reasons that have been explained in this blog many times before.

But as for The Big C?  He has other relationships to worry about, and I’ll guarantee you he’s not blogging about them.

He has a few others, actually — special relationships with subcontractors he’s worked with countless times before, and has recommended to us. Like good clients, we have obligingly hired his cohorts to do some specialty work on our project.

The Paster Wizard has worked magic. The heating dude, grizzled and tanned beyond belief for someone who spends his days in basements, has given us the quietest boiler known to man. And The Big C rules them all.

It’s actually funny, seeing how they interact. The Plaster Wizard and his crew leave coffee cups all over the worksite (which, of course, is actually OUR HOUSE … but to them, it’s a worksite).

Coffee in our closet.

Coffee in our master bathroom.

This pisses The Big C off to no end. Seriously, he hates this stray coffee cup bullshit. He bitches about it on a daily basis, when he’s not sending me texts like this:

"Nice floor," he wrote.

The above, of course, was our guest bathroom before The Big C replaced the floor and The Plaster Wizard and his team did their magic.

The guest bathroom now looks like this:

To the left is the toilet cove. After that is the shower. Do you like the phrase "toilet cove?" I freaking love it.

This is the guest shower.

How can you shave in a dark shower? Women everywhere want to know. Because we totally can’t.  That’s why there’s a light in the guest shower.

Do you see the light? I do.

The Big C and his subcontractors work together, yet separately, to get the job done. He has immense faith and trust in them, yet they do things that annoy him. Like leave coffee cups everywhere.

And in the long run, that’s not so bad. Better coffee than the little gift the previous owner’s contractor left in the guest bathroom floor.

It's 5:00 somewhere.

But there’s more to this story.

When I did the disastrous tile job in the girls’ bathroom, I had the distinct pleasure of working The Big C’s tile saw. He’d watch me put my own fingers in jeopardy, cutting these tricky, frustrating mosaics to fit, then turn his attention to the open basement doors.

“Bobby!” he’d yell.

No answer.

He’d move a little closer, yell a little louder.

“BOBBY!”

A shaggy-haired, sixty-something man would climb out of the hazardous wooden steps that lead out of the basement.

“I thought you might have hit your head,” said The Big C. His tone was lighthearted, with a testosterone edge I recognized. But it wasn’t as hearty has I’d expected. I realized, with a flip in my heart, that The Big C wasn’t kidding. He’d meant what he said. He’d really was afraid for his old friend.

He trusted Bobby’s work, but he didn’t trust his friend’s body to keep on ticking.

Bobby was fine that day, and he’s still fine today. But The Big C still worries about him (though he’d never admit it, even under oath).

And he still tussles with the young, and imminently aggravating, Plaster Wizard.

The Plaster Wizard at work.

They leave each other cute little notes, like this:

Aw, ain't that just the cutest thang?

They have cute little conversations, like so:

 

"No Drywall." "Why not?" " I said so."

That’s contractor-subcontractor love, right there.