Do I Look Stupid?

I've always been a trusting person. I give people the benefit of the doubt. So, when I hire a handyman to do some odd jobs around the house, I expect him to act professionally, and do the job in the way in which it is discussed. Let's say you're the handyman, and in that initial meeting with me, not only am I mentioning several things that need to be done in my home, but I'm also listing things my brother and parents need done in theirs. Wouldn't dollar signs be floating across your brain as you gear up to impress me with your skills and positive attitude? I should hope so, but it didn't happen with this guy.

I asked him to replace my leaking disposal (he was to purchase and install this), tile and grout some missing and broken saltillo tile on my patio, re-grout some areas inside that had chipped away, and re-caulk my bathroom window. I left him, and headed to the gym. I trusted he would take care of everything, and I would return at the end of the job to pay him exactly what we had agreed upon. This is where I acted stupid.

I have an Interior Design background. Wouldn't you think that I would have considered approving the tile and grout color he planned to use? One would assume, yes. And, isn't it typical to want to see the packaging and receipt of the newly purchased disposal? I returned from the gym with my wad of cash, and the first thing I witnessed was the jet black grout color being wiped in between my floor tiles. The existing grout is a medium gray. He said it was wet and even though it wouldn't match perfectly, it would be close. Skeptically, I moved to the next item at hand, the disposal. I examined the piece and admired his installation along with the replacement of pipes (an added bonus, not discussed). Feeling a little more confident in my man, I walked out back to observe the completely WRONG tile installed next to my authentic Mexican tile. This was thinner, not rounded, a darker color, and had coke bottle and bird print markings throughout each piece! I told him this wasn't right, and asked, "what's with all the bird prints??"  He replied, "It's better then what you had." I said I didn't like it at all, and I would try to track down the proper tiles, and in the mean time, told him to leave it. As we were settling the bill, he asked if I would like a receipt. Sure, I replied. He proceeded to jot down a few amounts on a 2x2 piece of paper, and I accepted this! 200-labor, 16-tile, 116-disposal. Done. I handed him the wad." I'll call you when I find the tile. Goodbye." There are so many things wrong with this exchange. Would anyone in the class raise their hand and explain one thing out of the several that this client could have done differently?

The following morning, my brain waves woke from a deep slumber. Wait a minute! Where is the packaging and warranty information for my disposal? Why didn't I get a copy of the actual Home Depot receipt? My grout is still jet black! Why should I be the one to run all over town to find the matching tile? These questions, and my resentment festered. Two days later after scrounging up the tile needed, I called and asked when he could come to reinstall it, replace the black grout, and bring me the paperwork for the disposal. He sounded put out, irritated, and too busy to bother with me. "Oh, by the way, your paperwork is at the bottom of your trashcan underneath the broken tile and old disposal and pipes. Have you dumped your trash yet?" No. "Okay, why don't you try to get to it, and if you can't, I will dig it out when I get the chance." Why did he throw away this stuff? Don't most people keep the instructions and warranty papers? I started wondering if it was in my trash can at all. Did he install a used disposal? The mistrust began, and he couldn't give me a day when he would finish the job. The festering continued until one sleepless night a week later, I was fuming! I felt he was taking advantage of me. He was putting me off, and why shouldn't he? He had his money. I called at the first morning light. "It's Karen. Look, I feel you've been putting me off and you left this job incomplete. I should be a priority..." he interrupted, "You look, Karen, I'm a very busy man...", I stopped him," I understand that, but I need to be put ahead of your other clients and you need to finish this job!" "Okay, I can be there in 30 minutes." With a smile on his face, he arrived that morning and completed the job. There were no apologies though. And, I won't be passing his number along.

There were moments when I wanted to lecture him on customer service, but I held my tongue. I realized I needed a lecture as much as he. I learned some valuable lessons that need not be listed...they're too obvious. Here's one though: Next time, I'll wear a suit and some horn rimmed glasses, carry around a legal pad and hover over him until the job is done.

Goldfish Killer

I did it. I took the life of our goldfish, Fire. I agonized over this decision for a week. I need to give the account of the days leading up to the final hour of his life. A couple of weeks ago he became fairly lifeless. He wasn't swimming/pacing back in forth, or wagging his body as I neared the bowl at feeding time. Instead, he was barely moving and hanging at the top with his mouth moving quickly to catch air...it pained me to see him this way. This went on for a few days until I cleaned his bowl. As he waited in the smaller container, I decided to give him a Reiki treatment ( I sent him energy through my hands). My daughter walked up and said, "Oh, you're trying to heal Fire? I hope it works." She's seen this from me before. Freakish but true, when I placed him back in his home, he began swimming like his old self...he was healed!

His energy level diminished the next day, however, and he went back to acting and looking sick. I prepared the kids for the worst and they both replied (practically in unison), "Can we get a new fish right after he dies?" I guess it's a good thing they weren't suffering like I was over the downfall of our pet. He developed red spots on his head and his firey orange scales seemed to be fading to white. I googled " How to heal a sick goldfish" and immediately the information came. His spots and fading color were burns from acidic water. The level of oxygen was extremely low hence his gasping for air at the top. He should not have been in a bowl ( I knew he was a fighter...he lived in his compact, non filtered home for a year). In order to save Fire, he would need to be removed from his contaminated environment as soon as possible. I was "fired" up! I headed to Petsmart to obtain all the necessary goods.

New 5 gallon filtered tank, check. One live plant (adds much needed oxygen to water), check. Vacuum to clean debris from rocks, check. One Petsmart fish expert to explain what else I needed to do in order to expand the life of this pitiful living being that my kids could give two shakes about. Antibiotics! Water softener! Dechlorination drops! But, then she added..."wait a week before placing the fish into the newly prepared tank." I felt the fish wouldn't survive past a couple of days...I was stressed. I told her I needed some privacy to discuss this impending $200 purchase with my husband. During the conversation, the first thought of flushing him came to mind. I would not be present for this, and he would need to do it while the kids were away. I was plotting Fire's murder.  He thought I should ask the neighbor if she would like to add our fish to her own goldfish's tank. The step dad answered. "Why would we want another fish? It would make the water twice as dirty which would mean the miserable task of cleaning would be more often, and we had hoped her fish would have kicked it years ago. Karen, it's a goldfish for God's sakes!!!" So, that did it. The choice was clear. Fire had to go.

My husband was making my conclusion more difficult. I had made up my mind, but he was insisting we let the fish die of natural causes. I could not and would not watch the fish suffer another day. I was beginning to feel guilty though. I was controlling his destiny. What right did I have to do this? It was my own selfishness...I couldn't bear to look at the fish anymore. The next morning, I said my goodbyes and then asked my husband to go into the kitchen and take care of it while I waited in the back bedroom. The kids were at the grandparent's house. He called out, " I don't know, Karen, he's moving pretty good. I'm not sure we should do this." I yelled, "Just do it! And, don't tell me what he looks like or what he's doing." I heard the toilet flush, and then a second time. Oh, geez, it took two flushes. It was done. I went out to clean up his belongings. I felt awful. The kids were champs over the news...surprise, surprise. I left his empty bowl on the counter for a few days, but I started catching glimpses of him swimming around which kinda freaked me out.

I'm getting over it. I don't miss him anymore, and when I think of what it would've taken to save him, I feel I made the right decision....or, did I?