Home Improvement, Self Improvement

I don't know about you but I am the worst at knowing what to do with myself when people come to my house to repair, replace or build something.  I never know if I'm best to remain distant so they can get on with their job or if I should be chatty and hang around (as if I will be able to swoop in to help if they need someone to hold a gas line or pass them the right kind of screwdriver, thus securing myself two things: a new trade and - just maybe - a new friend).  I know it has something to do with me, my constant need to be liked, and yet my total fear of judgment from other people.

Typically these interactions only go on for an hour or two so by the time you've either come off as a cold bitch or helpful Harriet, it doesn't matter.  They're passing you a paper to sign and they're on their way to their next job, never to be seen by you again.

However, this is not the case when you are having your basement redone.  

Yes, I can hear your thought bubbles now as you read this...stuck-up Ms. Thing complaining about a little interaction when she's getting her basement redone.  

To which I would reply - if you don't know how agonizing "little interactions" are for me, then you obviously don't know me very well.  

And to which I would also add, how did you even find this blog?

Anyway, I usually try to go the overly-friendly route.  I guess I figure no one will rip you off and do a crappy job if you offer water or coffee and unlimited use of a bathroom (sadly, this is not always the case).  The worker/electrician/plumber etc. will sometimes accept a bottle of water but even if they don't they seem genuinely appreciative of the offer.  So, it's always my go-to.  

"Hi, thanks for coming by.  How you doing?  Can I get you some coffee or a bottle of water?", I chirp nervously, which probably translates to the worker as "Please don't overcharge me.  You're doing something I know nothing about so I will take anything you say as Gospel."

Nevertheless, I have that script down hard so when the foreman/contractor arrived the first day of our basement remodel I pulled it out faster than a UNO card.

"Hi-good-morning-thanks-for-coming-by-today-we-really-appreciate-it-can-I-get-you-a-coffee-or-some-water?" (and yes, that is how fast the words tumble from my mouth).

The foreman smiled and said good morning too but that they were all fine.  And with that, my line delivered, I receded into the background.  All-day we'd hear hammers and saws and discussions among the workers.  It felt like a family member was in surgery and we were confined to the waiting room, not to disturb the progress.  If one of them would come up to get something out of the truck and I was close by I'd immediately say my second line.

"Hey, there's a bathroom right here if you need it.  No need to ask just help yourself if you need it."  The poor worker just smiled and said thanks but that they were good.  I nodded in acknowledgment but in my head, I kept thinking, these poor guys.  I'm sure they have to at least pee after all that work.  I can't imagine holding it for that long.  

They would leave usually at lunchtime for a break but sometimes they didn't all go.  So there was a poor guy sitting down there probably needing to relieve themselves but being forced to wait.  Bother became worry.  And worry became obsession.

For the next few days, I became determined to have them use my bathroom.  I mentioned it right along with my first line so my jumble of words became, "Hi-good-morning-can-I-get-you-a-coffee-or-water-oh-and-also-there-is-a-bathroom-here-if-you-need-it."

Finally, the foreman gave me a not-so-easy smile which seemed to signify that I needed to back off a little.  And besides, eventually, they brought a port-a-john with them and parked it right next to our garage.  So I took it as a sign that they were fine.  Everyone's kidneys no longer had to be on my mind.

It was also funny how, in the beginning, I made the attempt to get myself cleaned up and ready to go before they showed up for work.  I would make sure to wash my face, put on a clean shirt and my nicest sweatpants and pull my hair into a neat ponytail.  Casual but clean and well-kempt.  

By day four, I gave up the ghost and didn't bother to change out of the same old faded T-shirt of Joe's that I had been wearing to bed for three nights.  I usually threw on a hoodie anyway.  And my hair looked like a less fancy Pebbles Flintstone 'do, with hairs sticking in all odd places.  

And so this has been our life for over a week.  We're never really sure what time they will show up but for the most part we have our little routine down.  Joey wakes us up around 7 a.m., Joe walks Georgia, I make breakfast for the kids and then, eventually, as I'm elegantly stuffing a peanut butter English muffin in my face while yelling at Joey to put his pants on, the workers show up.  I wave and smile but that's the extent of our interaction.  I try to remain invisible and unobtrusive so as not to get in their way but I also try to make sure my presence is known in case they need anything.

And a few days ago, they finally did.

The foreman came up from the basement.  When it seemed like he was lingering and not moving towards the door to go get something from his truck, I looked up from my phone and smiled.

"Everything going ok?"

"Yup, but I need to know what color you want for the walls," he said.

"Oh," I said, surprised.  I thought all choices were already made ahead of time.  I wasn't expecting this. "Sure, um can it be any color or...?"

"Yeah, I'm going to get the paint tonight so if you can let me know before the end of the day," he said trailing off.  He began to move towards the door to go outside to his truck.

It was then that Joe came downstairs.  I told him we had to choose a color for the walls.  "Oh," Joe said, exactly my reaction.

The foreman returned and he allowed us to go downstairs to see the progress and the areas that will need to be painted.  I had no idea what color to choose but he mentioned something about how a nice bright white would look down there.  So with that in mind, I set to work on choosing a paint color.

Side-bar: did you ever realize how many shades of white there are?  I mean, I think you could paint every wall in every room in every house in a neighborhood a different shade and never repeat all the colors that exist.  When my eyes began to be unable to discern a difference between Palais and Beachhouse, I threw my hands up, closed my eyes, and just pointed to one on my phone.

By the end of the day, Joe and I were talking in the kitchen as the foremen came up.

"Ok," he smiled wearily. "Have a good night," and began walking towards the door.

"Wait!" I said, probably a little too eagerly, "did you want to know the paint we chose?"

He turned around quickly and remembered.  "Oh, yes.  What color was it?"

I wasn't sure at first if he needed to know the exact name but I told him anyway.  "I think it was called Bleached Linen?"

He looked at me blankly for a second.  "So...white?"

At this, I suddenly felt like an idiot.  Of course, just say white.  It doesn't matter what shade.  Who cares? It's the basement.  So I nodded and said, "Yes.  Yes, white.  Just white is fine."

He scoffed.  "Not really specific," he smiled though it felt sarcastic. 

Ok, now I REALLY felt like an idiot.  I ran upstairs where I had written the name of the color and some ID number next to it and handed it to him.

"Yeah, no, this color.  And these other two are options if this one isn't available."  I felt like I was digging myself further into a hole.

He took the paper and nodded.  "Ok, and this is for....the whole thing?" 

Not wanting to get into it any further I just said, "Yeah, let's do the whole thing that color.  Keep it simple."

But he just sort of shrugged and said, "Ok, see you tomorrow."

After he left I began berating myself for being so awkward and uncertain.  Why couldn't I just be one of those people with the confidence to say what they want?  People who don't feel the need to justify their existence, flaws and all, especially within the confines of their own home?  Why do I feel so compelled to have people like me?  Approve of me? 

In the end, my interaction with these guys will probably be forgotten the moment they leave the house.  And there's nothing wrong with that.  Those electricians/plumbers/builders interact with dozens of people on any given day.  All you can really hope for is that they know you were kind and considerate.  Maybe they'll think of you as "one of the good ones" in their long roster of customers.  But even if you aren't, and you're never thought of again, is that such a bad thing?  Does it matter to anyone?

If only there was someone I could hire to redo my mental wiring.

I'm going to need to get more coffee and water bottles...