One of the classic sayings we’ve developed about contractors in Danville started out as “the third time’s the charm” and has evolved into “the fifth time’s the charm.” We have come to realize over the last 10 years that in too many cases a “contractor” is anyone in Southside who happens to be unemployed and owns a hammer, screwdriver set, measuring tape and a tool belt, and might also have a vehicle. I now also realize that many of them “found” their hammers and tape measures at our house. To date I would estimate that I have purchased over 50 tape measures and over a dozen hammers. I have also hired and fired at least 20 different “contractors.” Currently I now possess three tape measures and two hammers. You do the math.
My introduction to the world of Danville contractors was a swaggering skinny guy named Mark and his helper, a short silent greasy-haired heel-dragger who never did make eye contact with me the entire four weeks he worked at our house. I still don’t remember his name. Mark was hired to pull out the rotted windowsills and replace them, paint them and get the windows back in working order. A tall order, as I realized after taking count of how many windowsills there were in the house. They had remained unpainted for a long time and were in various states of decay. I had to ask my husband if he was sitting down when I gave him the final windowsill count after walking the house…78 windowsills!
We travel down to Danville every other weekend, and so gave Mark the keys to our castle and waited until our next visit to see his progress. He had cut out most of the rotted elements of five or six windows and had prepared them for re-construction. We were happy enough with what he had done so far, and readily paid him for his work, but I noticed that half of our brand-new set of files were missing. Mark promptly cursed his helper’s name and promised to get our files back by the next time we were down.
Our next visit yielded three beautifully-done windowsills, all of the new trimwork fitting seamlessly into the old. They were primed and ready for a finish coat of exterior paint. We were pleased with the work, until we looked a little closer…”get…me…my…level!” Tom seethed under his breath. I argued logic — “that’s preposterous, a carpenter wouldn’t possibly install a windowsill that tilted in toward the house, how ridiculous.” I got the level just to show him how his worst fears could not possibly be true. I was wrong. The windowsill clearly tilted to a surprising degree in toward the house. Tom posesses two curious abilities. The ability to point to true North, day or night, anywhere in the world, and the ability to sense when something is off level. I have since learned over the years to trust in these two senses, and he has never steered me wrong.
Mark didn’t seem terribly surprised about the pitch of the windowsills, nor was he particularly perturbed about their condition. He explained quite clearly in very basic terms, so that we could better understand how such complicated matters work. The windowsills, it seems, do not care what direction they tilt toward, as it takes much more time and money to get them just perfect to shed water on their own. Ultimately, a carpenter just installs them so they look good, then applies a good amount of silicone caulk to the windowsill, sealing the bottom edge of the window and building up enough caulk, creating the pitch to allow water to flow away from the house. If we had wanted windowsills built to shed water without caulking, it would cost much more than the estimate he gave us.
At that point, we gave Mark a choice; allowing him to fix the work he had already done–at his own expense– whereupon we would pay him for the originally agreed-upon price only when he was done, and then he could pack up his tools and leave. OR he could choose to pack up his tools and leave without getting paid at all for his shoddy work the last two weeks, as we would then have to hire someone to re-do what he had botched. Seeing additional work without recompense, Mark chose the latter option and left, along with the remainder of our brand-new set of files.
Our search for a contractor to replace him, however, proved more difficult than we expected. People we called were politely declining to come out and look at the job, or didn’t bother to call us back at all. When pressed, one finally explained that he didn’t want to work for people who didn’t pay their contractors. Mark, we were informed, had been telling everyone about how he had been so wronged by the new people at #878. He was playing the small town card and punishing us for his sins.
Two can play that game, however, as a small town is a small town, no matter what direction you enter it from. Mark’s sister owned one of the few struggling hair salons in town, of which my Sister-in-Law, Tina, was a frequent patron. Tina, besides being gorgeous, with beautiful blonde hair, also happens to be a doctor and the wife of a doctor — a prized client for such a businesses, and the mainstay of their referral business. A simple suggestion at a highlighting session that she wouldn’t tolerate a hairdresser whose brother spread lies about HER brother, promptly put a stop to the contractor blockade. We finally started getting our phone calls returned.
Welcome to the way that business is conducted in Southside Virginia. In the end, we have discoverd that at all levels, power in a small town depends upon who your relatives are, who you know, and who those people are related to. But most importantly, never underestimate the importance of a good hairdresser.
Carla Minosh
While I am new to Blogging, I have always enjoyed sharing the stories of my crazy life, so this is simply another medium to share, and hopefully entertain and enrich others. Perhaps you can feel thankful that your life is so steady and predictable after reading these, perhaps you can appreciate the insanity and wish you had more of it in your life. Either way, the crazy tales are all true (to the best of my spotty recollection) and simply tell the tale of a life full of exploration, enthusiasm, curiosity and hard work. I hope you all enjoy being a part of the journey.
Do you think Larry the Cable Guy would be interested in that story? Wow!
Clea, I'm so busy with the houses, work, etc. that I am woefully out of touch with current cultural references — I have no idea who Larry the Cable Guy is. But, if you think he would enjoy the story, forward it along.