Thursday, June 28, 2007

On Being Blissed Out, and Other Impossibilities

I sometimes wish I didn't feel compelled to write a post title for every single daggone entry. I never know what I'm going to say here, and so titling is often premature. Rather more often than not, the title tells me what to write about, which can or cannot be a good thing, because where the first impulse goes, often the brain does not follow, and you wind up with a jumbled mess of nonsense, such as you've come to expect here, and well, you still keep coming, so I guess it's working.


There is carpet in the Tiny House. I am happy.

I got a call yesterday afternoon at 12:49 from the carpet guys. I only had to ask the guy on the phone to repeat himself a couple of times, because his English was very nearly understandable, but traffic noise (for it sounded as though he was actually STANDING in the middle of Route 1 while on the phone) garbled his communication attempts. A rousing start to an auspicious occasion, to be sure.

He said they'd be at the house in "tirty meeneets." I said I'd be there in 45, so no rush.

As it often happens with a card-carrying member of the perenially late such as I am, I got there an hour later, and what ho! The carpet guys were.not.there.

It speaks to my worldliness that I was not surprised by this turn of events.

Called the carpet guys (LOVES me some phone number storage features of the modern cell phone!), asked them there they were, they said they "wair on Capeetoll Boolevahrd" and would be at my house shortly. So, while waiting for them, I did the only sensible thing to do while without teevee or book or computer or beer - I laid down on my new-to-me couch and took a nap. Sweeeeeeeet.

30 minutes later, the van pulls up. The "tirty meeneets" of the first phone call had turned into an hour and a half, just like that! It was obvious that we were living on Southern Hemisphere Time, which is far more flexible and accommodating that Northern Hemisphere Time, which is ruled by clocks and anxious folks with ready access to all manner of irritable looks and implied impatience.

No matter - they had arrived, things were looking up. I escorted the three guys through the subject rooms, indicated that yes, the closets were to be carpeted too, signed on the dotted line that yes, they'd brought the right carpet and padding, then told them I'd be leaving.

There was silence.

Leaving? Que?

Yes, leaving. I have to do some work, and live a mile from the house, and if they need me they had my number and I'd be there in 5 meeneets. Seriously, you'd think I'd just given them the keys to the kingdom. Cripes - what was I gonna do for the next couple of hours while they were working, breathe down their necks? No way - those necks were about to get sweaty with effort, and there's only so close I want to get to sweaty necks, even under the BEST of circumstances. Why, I didn't even know their NAMES , so neck-breathing was right out.

Their estimated time of completion? 2 hours. Their actual time of completion? 2.75 hours. Not bad, for S.H.T. Almost exactly right on time, if you want to know the truth of it.

The bright gleaming carpet, nary a seam in sight, stretched tightly over the plush padding and tucked in snugly under the baseboard, is a thing of beauty. A word of warning though, don't breathe too deeply or too often, because wow.....the smell of outgassing new carpet is heady indeed. I got a little rush from the fumes, and so breathed once more with vigor while the big ol' grin of a mildly addled dope-fiend snuck across my face. Wheee!!! Better living through chemistry!

After the smiling and smug self-satisfaction portion of the program was over and I'd signed off on the work, the carpet guys cleaned up com-puh-LEET-LEE (seriously, they vacuumed and everything!) and left me with two ginormous pieces of extra carpet. When I say ginormous, I'm talking your 4x8 runner size and your whole-room size pieces of carpet. All this ginorminity rather begs the question - why on earth did they measure so daggone carefully if they were going to have all this extra carpet left over at the end? I mean, really.....did I PAY for that stuff, or is it a little (ginormous) gift to me from Home Despot for being such a good and patient little customer?

I could have carpetted the living room with what was left over, the remainders are that big. That extra carpet now calls me to do something useful with it, something other than "throw it in the utility room until it dries out, cracks along the fold lines, and gets chucked." Ideas, anyone?

I'm going to go move some stuff into the house tonight, and breathe deeply of the smell of "one step closer." It smells darned good, I tell you, and will buoy me up during the cleaning of the fridge (I shudder to think of it, and WILL be purchasing some rubber gloves prior to THAT heinous mess) and the placement of the heating grates. Such tremendous excitement has not been generated since, oh, the Great Closet Moving Experience of aught seven.

Begin your envy session in 5....4.....3......2......


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