My French door fell off. I know, it’s always something.
I have two of them that divide my living room and kitchen and one of them, for no particular reason, became unhinged. Better it than me I suppose.
I called the landlady immediately who said it wasn’t her problem since she didn’t install them. I guess that means I can take them whenever I move, and you bet I will…strapped to my back heading down Madison Avenue.
Who said, you’re kidding?
They happen to be very nice doors.
Googling carpenters in my area, I came across a place that offered a 20% coupon for first timers so, I made an appointment.
First he was 45 minutes late and let’s be clear at how much I hate waiting for anyone. I had things to do and didn’t plan on wasting so much time pacing like Clarence the cross-eyed lion. Yes, my eyes do that when I’m mad.
When Jake finally arrived he smelled like he had stopped at OTB for a quick be (wanna bet?) He reeked of cigarettes to the point that I had to open all the windows.
“How come you’re so late?” I asked with, I’ll admit, a slight edge.
“I’m here, ain’t I? What’s the problem…somethin about a door, right?”
Trying not to stare at his teeth that were the color of old chicken I said, “Yes, my French door came off.”
“So you’re French?”
“No, just my door.” With great reluctance I led him into the kitchen that I had just cleaned with lemon and water, something I do because I love the smell…noticing how he tracked mud in his smelly wake.
Look, I know that sounds mean, but I truly feel this is no way to enter a person’s home. Coalminers are cleaner.
“Did you have a doe-mestic dispute?” he asked with a grin I could have done without.
“No, I did not…it just fell off.”
“Doors don’t just fall off ya know. Did he hit ya?” I felt my nostrils flare like twin flies flew up them.
“Can you fix it or not?”
“I’m a ca-penter, I’ll fix it. But I’m thinkin, maybe you need stronga hodware, in case you have anotha fight which means I need to buy-em and that means you’ll owe me for my shoppin time.”
Omigod!
“These hinges are brass. I’m sure they’re still fine. Fresh screws I believe are in order.
“Are you a ca-penter?”
“No I’m not a ca-penter or a carpenter (couldn’t resist), but it’s obvious there is nothing wrong with either hinge.” I was really getting annoyed since the smell of Pall Malls that were poking from his front pocket were making me gag.
“I’m a man who believes in doin things right. If I putt-em back on the same hinge and it falls off again when you’re excited over somethin, just remember, I ain’t responsible.”
“FINE.” Before losing it altogether, I composed myself. “Please, just fix it.” So he replaced the screws that he charged me an arm and a leg, and let’s throw in a kidney, for.
“Did you take off the 20 %?”
“It don’t apply here.”
“And why not?”
“It’s French.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Look, I have anotha job, so could you please pay me…cash is pra-ferred.”
“Oh really. Well all I have is a check.” He looked at me shaking his head.
“That check betta be good or I’ll come back and chage ya double.”
I was all set to go off but decided no, this time I will not pick up the rope, as they say, with this latest lunatic. I will pay him and get him the hell out of my house which is exactly what I did.
I spent the rest of the afternoon washing down the kitchen with Mr. Clean. I hate cleaning, especially twice in one day, so I was no happy camper.
Next time I need a carpenter I think I’ll call Jesus. I’m sure he’ll know somebody reputable who doesn’t smoke. An apostle maybe, on the Patch.
Or maybe Joseph, his father’s available.
I bet this kind of crap never happens in Jerusalem.
Lenten humor folks…I need a little this morning..
SB
