Against the walls

Our house is in total chaos these days. For the last few weeks we have had various crews working on the walls, the woodwork and more, tracking in various kinds of debris that are now so ingrained into the floors that what used to be marble and smooth now has the surface texture of stucco. There is dust in every crack and cranny in the picture frames, cupboards, chairs and carpets and in my father’s throat. And there has been no particular method in the madness that began earlier this month…

It started with a wall that was badly stained and bubbled with wet. Two sets of so-called specialists had been in to fix the damage, to no avail. This time, after much discussion, we decided to call in some more, repairing the problem, fixing any new glitches before could get worse and forestalling future necessity. Now we are left wondering why, but glad that, for now, the worst is over. But is it?

A few months earlier, a ‘civil’ foreman came in to do an inspection. Very politely, with a wide smile showing off every tooth in his head, he had a chat with my father and then said that he would drop by that weekend to find out whether we wanted to start work. The weekend never arrived, neither did the man. Then, having been summoned for some other minor jobs, he did a re-inspection and re-promised to return. Finally, having understood that reliability was impossibility – in this case, at least – we found someone else who promised to do the job equally well. He actually did turn up when he said he would, albeit a few hours later that he said he would. Which is par for the course with these people, I am learning, and fast.

Having decided what needed to be done and at what price, the contractor made his date with our destiny and arrived a day earlier, vowing to be done and gone in a short time. The carpenter did his part of the job, dismantling our linen closet and leaving us staring at piles of sheets, towels and tablecloths all over the house. I will be there at 9:30am, the contractor averred. Two hours later, he arrived with his crew, assuring us that he would be finished and out by the end of the day. At 8pm, he was still bashing away at the plaster and brickwork, with no end anywhere in sight. All day long his men had been coming in and out of our home, tracking in dirt and dust, tracking out even more, leaving the door wide open after the first three times that they remembered to close it – after we had yelled at them about it, that is.

No, no, it is almost done, just another few hours, the contractor protested, when I questioned his work schedule. Two days later, late evening, the men – and the women who cleaned up after them – finally left, hopefully for good where this particular stint is concerned. They left heaps of cement dust and brick shards all over the house, even in rooms they didn’t trek through. They left piles of bags full of debris, unused cement and sand on the landing outside, carefully positioned to trip up the unwary user of the staircase. And they left our floor with the finish of rough-scraped stone.

A couple of days later, after many many phone calls, ranging from the very polite and friendly to the considerably annoyed, the carpenter and his men came to finish their work. We will be there at 9:30 am – the magic hour, I assume - they insisted, then arrived close to lunchtime. Just a couple of hours, they promised, as they bashed all heck out of the cupboard that they were repairing. Two days later, after numerous rings of the bells, entries and exits, they have just left, leaving us to start the cleaning process all over again.

Can I blame these workers for this? Not really. They did do their best to clean up after themselves, scrubbing the floors and walls to the best of the ability. But their sense of time has taught us a valuable lesson: If you have problems at home, let them be. Or else hire a housekeeper to manage the workers and retreat to a hotel to find some peace!