CATCH-UP
Mrs F has been at it again chastising me for (and I quote) “my sophomoric prose, perniciously negligent attention to facts and details, and an unconscionable disregard for any time-related enterprise except for the dinner hour.” Mr F looked up half the words in Merriam-Webster’s and agreed. Apparently I’ve been slacking off on my entries again. “You’re way behind,” Mrs F said. “Roofing? Really? We buttoned up the house eight weeks ago! That’s old news. Come to think of it, your posts are getting a little stale as well. I think you need a new angle.”
“Old news? A new angle? Is this some kind of veiled threat?”
“No, no veil here. Either produce or hit the trail.”
I think that little conversation was supposed to be my annual performance review.. In any case, indulge me for a moment while I give you a brief update on the building project. My new angle will be to do so with a straight face. Here goes:
I think I mentioned earlier that Mr and Mrs F passed their four-way inspection: rough plumbing, rough framing, rough electric, and HVAC.
Mr and Mrs F pretty much cherry-picked the best sub-contractors in town. For instance, the HVAC guy (Heating, Venting, Air-conditioning) showed up with his crew and two days later a network of what looked like giant, nickel-plated earthworms were twisting through the attic and across the rafters of the great Room Great Room. Same thing with the Plumber. The crew showed up on a Monday and by day’s end Tuesday long tubes of PVC pipe criss-crossed the basement, protruding intermittently through the floorboards like periscopes. The electricians, two ruddy, red-headed brothers who looked as if they had strutted off the set of Lord of the Rings sans battle armor, went to work on a Wednesday and had installed canisters in the ceilings, receptacles and switches in the walls, and wires of assorted colors that snaked through every room in the house. Meanwhile, Mr F strutted the site tossing around trade lingo: “Hey, Casey, can you put another can in the master bath? How about another box or two in the basement?” He sounds like a real pro until you get a good look at his hi-top sneakers.
Shortly after that, the stone and stucco crew started their work. The owner of the company is a Mexican who has worked in the US for eighteen years and employs an all-Mexican crew who work quickly and expertly and laugh a lot, mostly when Mr F tries to cozy up to them with his Spanish. “Mucho trabajo, poco dinero (lots of work for very little money),” he says and they fire back a response in Spanish that probably means something like, “No thanks to you, gringo.” Within three days they had built the eight rock columns and the exterior chimney. Next they set up scaffolds and installed wiring all over the exterior walls and the Styrofoam pop-outs around the exterior doors and windows, followed by the brown coat.
Mr F thought he’d get a jump on the insulators so he bought a can of foam spray that once discharged expands to about ten times its size. He used this to seal up cracks along the floors, walls, and in the ceiling. He didn’t wear disposable latex gloves so by the time he had finished his hands looked as if they’d grown a second skin. Unfortunately, that second skin was an ugly jaundice yellow and felt like plastic. after trying all manner of solvents (acetone, mineral spirits, gasoline. . .), he resorted to Plan B: sandpaper. Two hours later most of the plastic was gone but so were his fingerprints.
Two days later Mrs F’s prayers were answered when the real insulators showed up. Cloaked and hooded like the Ghost Busters (or HAZ MAT), the team of six invaded the home with a long fat corrugated hose and rolls of fiberglass. They set to work like a well-trained team, one man rubbing a caulk gun along the windows, another two unrolling the rolls of fiberglass and hanging them between the wall studs, another man manning the truck outside while the sixth clutched the hose, spraying the walls with what looked like streams of osterized lint. By the time they were through, the walls looked as if they had been compacted with oatmeal. Remnants flew everywhere, giving the vents, pipes, floors studs, joists, a creepy tarantula effect. Their foreman wore a red scarf over his head like a pirate and a black t-shirt with REDEMPTION printed on the back in bold medieval lettering. Mr F kept asking him for his autograph. I think Mr F thought he was the lead singer for a heavy metal band.