And the first thing you need to know about the men who are remodeling your house is that every single one of them, from the General Contractor to the laborers and everyone in between will lie as effortlessly as they breathe. The second is that they are such accomplished, effortless liars that they no longer even realize they are lying; after all, how often do you ponder your own respiration? Finally, when you confront them with their lies they will go immediately into “hurt” mode and make you feel like shit for thinking they would lie to you.
Next, what you must know about yourself is that no matter how often you have been lied to in the past you will still believe every falsehood, prevarication and untruth that comes out of the mouth of your Contractor and his minions. Against your will, you will become the adult embodiment of the fat girl in high school who really believed it when the captain of the football team said he’d call her. And no matter how many times you have been angered or hurt or disappointed, the next time the Contractor makes a promise you will still believe him.
This scenario, where both the workers and the homeowners are living in some fucked-up parallel universe, is calculated to create a relationship of mutual distrust if not outright hostility. At least that’s how it worked for me. For example, when the roofing contractor told me that the new roof had passed its inspection and could I please write him a check, it did not dawn on me to do an independent verification. It was not until a week later when the roofing inspector returned to conduct a re-inspection that I learned that we had not passed the initial inspection.
When I confronted the roofing contractor; he was clearly hurt that I was questioning him. “It’s all because the inspector doesn’t like me,” he said, dropping his voice to a confidential whisper, then, inspired, he added: “Besides, we passed, he just didn’t know it.” And he walked away, leaving me to ponder how the inspector did not know that we passed his inspection.
While I was on the phone ranting to my friend Carlos about this, the plumber removed the water heater. When I asked why he explained, as though talking to a small child, that he had to remove the old water heater to install the new water heater, which seemed reasonable enough. Then he left to pick up the new water heater. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
Three days later, when he had not still not returned I gave him a call. “The water heater is on back order,” he said. “It should be here in a week. Ten days tops.”
Aghast, I said nothing, and after a lengthy silence the plumber said hastily, “They did not tell me it was on back order.”
“Why didn’t you ask?” I asked, managing to hold my voice steady.
“There was no need,” he said. “They never stock that model.”
I was getting confused. “So why did you remove the old one before the new one was here?” I asked.
“I was in the neighborhood,” said the plumber, as though speaking to a not especially bright child. And then he hung up, barely resisting the urge to end by saying “Duh!”.
I’m not the world’s fastest learner, but when the electrician told me he was disconnecting power for an hour tops, maybe three, I was ready for him. “Really?” I said, using my District Attorney voice. “Three hours? How long will this really take?”
The electrician was clearly offended that I did not trust him. “If I say three hours it will be three hours. Four at the most. ” He crossed his heart. “Scout’s honor,” he whispered confidentially.
“You said one hour,” I countered. “Now it’s four?”
His entire demeanor changed. “You got me,” he admitted. Most homeowners aren’t as savvy as you. It will be closer to four hours, but no more. You can trust me.”
I was delighted by his candor. “Thanks,” I said starry eyed. “I’m sorry I doubted you. No one gives me a straight answer.”
He patted my shoulder, “I’m not like those other guys,” he said.
Three hours later he went to lunch and never came back. Eight hours later he had still not returned. This gave me plenty of time to pace the floor in a blind, impotent rage. That’s when Carlos made the mistake of calling again. “How’s the renovation going?” he asked.
I told him everything in furious detail, getting more angry as I spoke. “I’m absolutely livid,” I said. “I don’t know what to do.”
He was soothing. “You need to relax,” he said. “Why don’t you take a nice, warm bath?”