I know, I know, I’m terribly lucky to be getting a new kitchen. But life isn’t the easiest at the moment. For one thing, I’ve eaten more sodium these past few weeks than a deer at a salt lick. For another, I have little control over my own surroundings. It’s delightful to come home on the night of the first hard freeze to see that your window has been left open and utterly blocked in. Oh, and all my plants are dead. I didn’t used to have plants but Sarpon gave me some. My contractor cheerfully told me not to worry about being able to reach them to water them. “They’re dead!” Awesome.
My contractor has a way of telling you bad news in a “this difficulty has arisen… but I will solve it!” way that scares you utterly. If it’s that difficult, how can it be fixed? Such as, “your sink is too big for the cabinet! But I will make it fit.” I was really bad at physics but this just doesn’t seem right.
If you know me, and some people actually do, you know I am not a really demanding person. In fact, I’m more a, “well OK, so I wanted it that way and it’s completely different… no worries.” Luckily, my contractor is the opposite. One of my outlets was one foot away from where it was supposed to be. Whatevs! But this upset my contractor so deeply that I began to think he was the one who killed my plants. Later I came home and the outlet had been moved. If Johnson, the only worker still around from two weeks ago, doesn’t show up on time next time, apparently he will be fired. I’d be saying, “don’t worry about it, Johnson… cookie?” I think I probably wouldn’t do too well as a contractor. Today when I left, I made the mistake of saying, “have a nice day!” My contractor shouted back, “if something gets done around here, I’ll have a nice day!” That was when I realized that eating Amy’s frozen meals and having every possession coated with fine dust and having your bathroom suddenly smell like something strange are nothing compared to losing money. Because it costs me the same no matter what. I’m not paying for Johnson. Which is what I told that guy who propositioned me. Rimshot!
You may recall that my contractor is from Brooklyn and has hooked me up with everything kitchen that Brooklyn can provide. The other day, I went to look at granite and while the sales guy called their other branch to see if my granite style was there, the boss engaged me in conversation. He had one of the thickest Brooklyn accents you can imagine and he sized me up and said, “are you from around here? Because there’s something familiar about you.” The conversation went like this.
Me: Well, no, but my father is.
Him: From Brooklyn?
Him: Get out of here! Did he play handball?
Me: Yes! He was a handball champion! I have all his trophies.
Him: I am getting a weird feeling. What’s his name?
Me: [redacted common Jewish name]
Him: That sounds familiar!
Me, thinking there are probably 200 [common Jewish names] in Brooklyn: OK!
Him: Did he know Frankie Italianname? How about Johnny OtherItalianname?
Him: Did he play boxball? How about punchball? What about [names three or four more games that have slipped my mind]?
Me: Uhhh… so about that granite…
Him: What about slapball?
So that was fun. Then I went to the tile store in Borough Park where Sandro Italianname helped convince me that I still liked the original tile I had picked out three months earlier, all the while calling out orders in Italian. I think the Jews were all in their tabernacles. I did not ask him if he played punchball.
Then I went home and my outlet had moved again. I believe Carlos Spanishname did that one. Either that or Alex Unidentifiableaccent-Hotguy. But it was good. I was terribly, terribly upset at that first placement.
As a reminder, kitchen progress (ha!) photos are here.
Nothing visible has happened since that last one or I’d give you something more recent. Never mind, put a few things up.