The Beginning
"Or how it all went so horribly wrong" - Part One
The day has finally arrived. First one truck, then another, pull into the driveway. Several strong looking men exit the vehicles and begin the process of opening various compartments in their trucks. One of the men heads to the front door, where he rings the doorbell, takes one step backwards, and waits. An enthusiastic woman, coiffed and elegantly groomed, answers the door and with a squeal of delight, invites him in and offering coffee.
“No thank you Ma’am. I’d just like to talk to you for a moment about what we are going to do first.”
“Oh of course! Please sit down!” The client points toward the pure white velvet sofa in the living room. Frank glances toward it and almost bursts into laughter but controls himself, shifting his eyes down to his large, booted feet, stifling his smile by coughing into his hand.
“Uh, I’ll just stand Ma’am. I just wanted ta letcha know that today we’re going to prepare your home for the work that will start tomorrow. Can we come in through the garage and go to your basement from there? Phil said he talked to you about this.”
“Yes, yes of course! Let me move my car and you can go straight in. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you. I am SOOOO excited you are here! Are you sure you don’t want any coffee?” Penny bursts these words out in a bell-like staccato note, high and bright, enthusiasm oozing from every pore, practically hysterical in her optimistic of light and joy.
After a jockeying of the cars and trucks, large rolls of rosin paper are carried into the garage, poles, plastic sheeting, bright red zippers, duct tape, and corrugated cardboard is set against one wall. Sheets of Masonite are stacked with precision while tool belts are strapped onto strong backs. Comfortable with the compartments, other items are slipped into place as a rhythm begins between carpenter and his tools. Swinging into action, methodical and determined, the men line up and open the door to the house, entering gently with a hat-in-hand posture, a downward glance and “Ma’am” as each one greets Mrs. Watson.
Frank is the foreman of the crew, and he talks to the men, walking them through the space, and asking permission to go to the basement, which is granted exuberantly. After the men return to the main floor, Frank directs them and they begin measuring and marking, confident strokes of a pencil on a torn piece of cardboard, walking back and forth, once again returning to the basement and finally a march out the door and into the garage where they begin to pick up items deposited there.
In the meanwhile, Mrs. Watson sets out donuts and coffee for the men on her kitchen island, exclaiming brightly to the men, to help themselves. In a group the men are confident and self-assured as they move from space to space, grabbing items from their tool-belts without a glance. Knives cutting cardboard in a clean swoosh, plastic being unfurled and stretched floor to ceiling, and rolls of paper spread out on the basement floor all form a cadence of sound and muffled energy.
“Sure Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am. Yes, Ma’am.” Polite and even shy, the men work hand in hand to get this project ready for the impending construction.
As the morning progresses, the pile of supplies in the garage grows smaller, and the basement floors begins to be covered with long strips of rosin paper, while walls of plastic are put up with zippered doors, closing off the mechanical room from the rest of the space. At the top of the stairs and then in a neat path to the garage, the same protections are erected and laid down. When the men take a break for lunch, Mrs. Watson is anxious for them to return, as she enjoys the progress, it is neat and orderly and makes her feel safe and content in the decision to remodel. She can’t wait for Mr. Watson to come home from work so that she can tell him what a wonderful decision they have made. The men finish their work for the day, with Frank politely saying goodbye, trucks are packed, tool-belts removed, and Mrs. Watson pulls her car back into the swept clean garage bay. When her husband returns in the late afternoon, she greets him enthusiastically, telling him all about the wonderful progress, how nice the men are, and “oh, I am so excited and we made the right choic
e!”
Fast forward eight weeks later to a sullen Mrs. Watson, a house with a basement in construction turmoil, a garage filled with materials that haven’t been touched in ten days, and Mr. Watson threatening to sue. How did this happen? What went wrong?
Intriguing!