I was on the back porch in a Zen-like state watching the rain falling gently into the pool when I heard the unmistakable sound of water dripping on a wood floor. Murmuring, I went into the living room and found a small persistent leak that had never been there before.
I was not especially concerned. We moved into our house last May and the roof was seal-coated prior to the closing, and was thus covered by a one year warranty. I put a small bucket under the leak and went to find our warranty paperwork. That was when I discovered that even though we closed on the house in May, the roof repairs were done in March: The warranty had expired.
By now whatever feeling of Zen I had earlier had been replaced by a hard, bitter knot in my stomach. The knot was not caused by the leak itself, but by the knowledge that I would have to find a roofer.
I tried to be philosophical. Our house is over 50 years old and the roof dates back to the early 80s. We knew when we bought the house we would eventually need a new roof, but honestly, we were not planning on replacing it this month. After a brief discussion, the outcome of which was never in doubt, my partner and I took one look at our checkbook and decided to have the roof repaired.
I called the company that had repaired the roof before we moved in, but they were, predictably, out of business. A Google search yielded plenty of results so I began to narrow the field. I eliminated any company with too many A’s in their name, such as “AAAAAAAAmazing Roofing. ” I eliminated any company based in Dade County. I eliminated the company that replaced the roof at our previous house, mainly because I was surprised that they were still in business what with their owners being in jail. I eliminated any company whose advertisement included a Jesus fish.
By now I had narrowed the field down to just over a dozen companies, but of these, 4 companies never returned my calls and two refused to do repairs on an old roof. I made appointments with the other roofing companies, got out my Rolaids and waited.
And then came the roofers. The first guy had the filthiest pick-up truck I have ever seen, and I remember my Dad, a General Contractor, saying that a man with a dirty truck kept a dirty job site. The next roofer forgot his ladder so gave me an estimate from the ground. The next was pleasant and had an A+ rating from the BBB, but he chewed tobacco and kept spitting on my driveway. A fourth offered me a warranty, which he declined to put in writing, and required full payment in advance. Three other companies were no-shows.
By now I was desperate enough to consider buying a blue tarp at Home Depot and calling it a day, but my partner nixed the idea. “What comes next,” he asked, “a washing machine on the front porch?”
I was waiting for one more estimate. I talked to the owner on the phone and he sounded pleasant. He arrived early and he had a ladder. His estimate was reasonable, he did not want a deposit and he offered a 1-year warranty. His company’s slogan, emblazoned on the side of his pristine pickup truck was “We Show Up.” I signed a contract on the spot and we arranged that work would begin the next Monday.
That was two Mondays ago.