My house is listed on the market, and I’ve pretty much completed the move to Sherpa’s hut. Unfortunately his hut looks as though it’s been bombed. The “spreadsheet” spawned a rip-the-house-apart kind of project: replacing the flooring on the entire first level with laminate hardwood.
“It’ll take a solid weekend to get it done,” said Sherpa. Remembering how long it took to complete the renovations in the kitchen of the house I owned back in ’06/’07, I held my tongue and hunkered down.
So, we ripped up the flooring. No… HE ripped up the flooring. That took a week. Then there was painting. That was all me. Then there was laying floorboards. Things were moving along. We got to a point where the couches could be placed back onto the areas that had floor. We set the TV up in the dining room.
Then, a lightbulb moment stalled the whole thing. Perhaps we should replace the beat-up old sliding door in the back? It’s leaking, it’s bent out of shape, and you can’t unlock it with a key from outside… the door will make things much easier and look so nice! We might even be able to have a dog door that way, if the “fence project” page on The Spreadsheet ever has its day.
Well, this meant putting a halt on the floor until the door’s installed. And when Sherpa bought the door, they said it could be installed soon… until they called back and said they’d oversold the doors by one. We couldn’t have the door for another 4 weeks. Nope, no other nearby store has one, and nope, no one else will be able to get one.
Oh, punishment and pestilence! Oh, torture! Another month with an unfinished house, with JUNK EVERYWHERE! Sherpa was decidedly more upset, outwardly at least, because he’d been living full-time with the mess. I had heretofore been able to escape to my pristinely neat condo when the clutter got my blood boiling. Now this place is my home, and it hasn’t been awesome for my psyche.
Well, apparently Sherpa used this to our advantage. I got an email from him yesterday, “Door is being installed Tuesday!”
“How did you do it?!” I asked, unbelieving.
“You really want to know?”
“I told them my girlfriend was so angry that we were held up, and I begged them to help.”
So… aside from the fact that I’m now a little afraid to visit [large home-improvement store] with Sherpa for fear that they’ll smirk about “the crazy girlfriend,” it is pretty interesting that an angry woman is such an effective playing card. Do they have a special stock of items just for the frazzled customers with harping spouses/partners? Amazing.