Restoration Blues

Restoration Blues by Maxwell Blue

I just finished a load of laundry but I had nowhere to fold the clothes that were still toasty from the dryer. The kitchen counter was cluttered with various tools and the innards of a freshly disassembled computer. My business was repairing computers. The computer on the counter was from one of the jobs that I have been working on this week. The power supply needed to be replaced. I told the client that I would finish it in a couple of days so I need the space to work.

I walked past the counter and found the one clear surface in the room. I took the mess of clothes and dumped them on the piano. Miraculously everything bunched together on the upright piano top without losing a single article of clothing.

I sure have let this place go to hell. Stacks of cardboard boxes were scattered about the room. Some contained computer games, others held art supplies and far more were filled with computer parts. Compact disks, bundles of blue networking cable, hard drives, mother boards, speakers, and even a digital projector were stuffed in boxes one to three boxes high.

It did not look like it was possible to get to one end of the room to the other without knocking something over but it was. I did it several times a day. I was pretty slim so I have been able to squeeze through corners like a packrat. I never diet. I just forget to eat. It doesn’t help that I don’t know how to cook. I use to eat uncooked pasta until I got tired of feeling bloated afterwards. I am a tightwad and an elitist when it comes to fast food.  That’s why I don’t eat takeout. I am too cheap to pay for it and too good to eat it. If I ever get hungry I keep a container of peanut butter in the refrigerator. I have been known to spoon it straight out of the plastic container. I grind the peanuts myself at the local supermarket. I make weekly trips.

Today is moving day. My parents bought me a house in the Fairview Historical District in Phoenix. It’s nothing special just a small three bedroom place with a postage stamp backyard. They claim it will be good for me to get out of the guest house and be on my own for a while. I guess I overstayed my welcome when I trashed the place the way that I did. Before I moved into the guest house it looked like something out House Beautiful. The problem was it looked nice but it wasn’t functional.

There were too many places to sit. The sofa and the chairs really crowded the room so I turned them around and faced them to the far wall. That opened up the floor. There once was plenty of space before I started to fill it in.

Things started to acuminate when I could not throw anything away. I must have a disease when it comes to clutter. I have an impulse to keep something because I might need it. I won’t throw something away because it is broken. One day I might fix it and then I can use it. And then everything could be a future treasure because it is possible that an everyday thing might be worth something one day and that is why I have saved old computer magazines and old video game boxes. I had the space so why not store it.

When I got down to the house in Phoenix I didn’t have much with me other than my yoga mat, my laptop and some fruit. I slept on the yoga mat. Even in the guest house there isn’t a bed I can sleep on because they are encrusted with stuff and all the sofas have stuff on them too so I was prepared to sleep on my trusty yoga mat in my new house.

Entering the house I could hear water running. There was water on the floors all the way up to the front door. Splashing on the tile floor I circled into the first bedroom and found the source of the leak. A ruptured pipe in the ceiling, the water was gushing onto the carpet. The pipe must have become frozen during the night. It took a few minutes to shut the water off, but it was more than two hours before any help arrived.

Before the leak the house was a “turn-key”. I was supposed to get some furniture and call the place home. After the leak the house had to be worked on from the ground up so even the small problems where being given a second look at. When my parents learned that the Phoenix Historical Society would pay for half of the renovations they agreed to have the metal front door from Home Depot replaced and the casement windows stripped of seventy years of paint. The house was built in 1936. The Phoenix Historical Society was interested in rehabbing the vintage look.

The city recommended a company that has been in business for thirty years to replace the door. I gave them a down payment and they took our door. We were given a temporary door while they designed a new door. Drawings of the new door were eventually approved by the city and we were told it would take a couple of months for the new door to be installed.

Meanwhile, a city approved technician took the casement windows to be stripped then he boarded up the window openings. He said that it would be four to six weeks before they were ready.

Many weeks later there was no word on the door or the windows. My Mom called me to let me know. She wanted me to drive over to the company that was fabricating the door because they were not answering their phone. I was not able to get to their offices until 2:30 because I had to first look at someone’s computer. When I got to A-Z Door Company there wasn’t anyone around and the doors were padlocked. In the front window a notice read: “Thank You for Your Patronage”.

I used an internet search to locate the owner and he agreed to meet me at his shop. The man took pity on me. Maybe he thought I needed the money for food because he gave me back my door and a check to cover the down payment.

“I would cash that check right away because it won’t be good in a couple of days.”

I asked, “Why did you go out of business?”

“I blame the poor economy. We would be getting orders from contractors, but when we completed the order the contractors wouldn’t pay for the door. That happened enough times that we couldn’t cover our losses.”

My Mom was pleased with the progress that I made and she soon found another company to work on the door but she was getting the run around with the window guy. She left messages with him and he kept making excuses. So she wanted me to visit him at his house. He lived in the area. After checking on my house I went over to see him. I parked right outside his front yard which was really bare. There was not a single plant or a tree. The window curtains were drawn and the exterior of the house needed a coat of paint, frankly a fresh coat of paint would have done wonders. I knocked on his front door. If familiarity breeds contempt then I was on a first name basis with Rick, the window guy.

“You’re here about the windows. I’m sorry that it is taking so long. My girlfriend has been sick and I’ve been working on some other projects, but I should be done with your windows by next week. I promise it won’t be more than one week.” Rick said.

Six months later the old fashioned tile flooring had been installed in the bathroom, the concrete flooring in the rest of the house has been stained and even the front door has been replaced. Everything had been finished except for the windows that were still boarded up.

But every time I went to see Rick he would apologize and tell me the windows would be ready by next week. This pattern was repeated over and over for nearly two years. That is when I hired Ted and Mac to solve my problem with Rick. I wasn’t breaking the law by enlisting their help. Ted and Mac knew what they could legally do and how far they could push it. Mostly it was looks. Ted and Mac were the size of refrigerators. Next to them I looked like an upturned mop with a goatee. The desired effect was made when Rick opened his front door at 6:00AM sharp. Any sooner and it is harassment. Ted and Mac knew how to push it. Rick looked up at my new friends and was speechless. He must have known why I was there. I didn’t think it would take two years of reminders to know why I stopped by on a Saturday with hired muscle. But just the same he had to be thinking about it. Ted let Rick have it.

“Windows.” Ted said forcefully pointing towards Rick with his right forearm.

Ted was a man of few words, a real economist. Rick could understand him in volumes and he kept nodding yes. His eyes were screaming it.

“House.” Ted said patting my shoulders with a beefy hand.

“Right away.” Rick said. “By next week.”

“Today.” Ted said.