Ick! Incompetence

After posting under such esoteric words as isagogics and irritatory, I thought I'd simplify to a three letter word.

Ick! was my reaction to the "contractor" who showed up bright and early this rainy morning (yes, I had chosen the time - 7:30 a.m. - but had overslept), his fly unzipped and his pants sitting just a bit too low on his hips, his jacket and shoes dripping water into my apartment. Having just rolled out of bed, I was not in a good mood, nor had I meditated. My only preparation for this appointment (aside from putting on a pair of pants) was that I removed something from above the sink so that they could install a light.

What was this something? A sticky note that said KINDNESS, as a reminder to be more kind to myself and others.

I efficiently pointed out to him and his assistant what needed to be done (pipes to be insulated, lights to be fixed, replaced or installed) and proceeded to make myself a cup of tea.

"You know," he said, "I was at Home Depot at 8 o'clock last night getting things for your job."

Did the man want a medal for his heroic efforts? A pat on his unkempt head?

"OK," I said, starting to wish he'd just do the work and get the heck out of my space before he polluted it with his sulky attitude.

It quickly became apparent that this disheveled man had absolutely no clue about basic home repair.

I had told my landlord to install a heat lamp in the bathroom, and this fellow dutifully went to Home Depot and tried to find a heat lamp that ... get this ... wouldn't vent, because he figured the landlord wouldn't want to pay to have a vent put into the bathroom.

Well.

Mr. Disheveled had found the ugliest possible contraption for a heat lamp which, according to his assistant, a Mexican fellow, could not be properly hooked up without ventilation. Duh! And he didn't quite get that I wanted to keep my regular light fixture in the bathroom, not replace it with a heat lamp. Had he been a licensed contractor, he would have either asked about this or assumed that both a normal bulb and an infrared bulb were needed.

"You know," I practically spat, "they do sell combination heat lamps with regular bulbs that can operate on a single switch."

"Don't worry," he replied,"we'll solve the problem."

Unconvinced, I retreated with my tea to the living room.

He came in and said, "I'm here trying to help you. I've never done business with you before and you seem to have a bad attitude. I was getting stuff for you late last night!"

Poor fellow...had I ruined his weekend?

"You're working for my landlord, not me, and I've been waiting a month for you to show up. It was your choice to go to Home Depot last night." I retorted, as calmly as I could.

"Well, I'm trying to be helpful," he repeated, as if his good intention would be enough to accomplish the list of chores he came to perform. "Sounds like you are annoyed at the landlord."

One of the things my last therapist tried to convince me of is that, believe it or not, the Universe (even in the form of a disheveled, unzipped and incompetent contractor) is friendly helpful. If only I can learn to see things that way.

Remembering the sign I had taken off the kitchen wall just a few minutes before, I wondered if I could I show some...uh...KINDNESS to this, um, incompetent idiot?

I realized that I could sit there, sip my tea and stew in self-righteous anger and frustration, or I could try to do what I've been learning in yoga for the last few years - drop the fight and accept that these were the guys I'd have to deal with. After all, this was not my house and I couldn't send them away and call another tradesperson, even though I know several.

"So, are you happy here?" he asked, looking around my funky apartment.

"Yeah, it's a great place," I said, deciding to accept his idle presence. My apartment is small, and there wasn't a place for me to go and shut the door. His assistant, Juan, was doing all the work while he tried to make nice.

"Except it's not properly heated. That's why I wanted a heat lamp for the bathroom."

"Not heated?" he exclaimed. "No wonder why you're upset. Don't worry - we'll take care of that. Juan, guess what? She has no heat!"

Mr. Disheveled had sat down on my one chair, sort of reclining and running his hand through his hair, making himself a little too at home. Did he now think that he was my swank superhero, about to save me from a cold winter?

Ick! Ick! Ick!

"So, how is your jewelry business?" he asked, attempting friendliness. Somehow, I must have told him about it when we were scheduling the appointment.

"I'm probably going to wrap it up, " I said, but not wanting to talk about myself, quickly countered, "So, do you work with licensed contractors? What is it that you do?"

"Well, sometimes. It depends on the job," he said. "I'm in charge of customer relationships. Bad customer relationships," he chuckled. "Basically my business is about fixing up rentals and homes to get higher rents or sales prices. I don't usually do repairs," he confessed.

No kidding.

"But I try to make people happy," he added. "And I do some management consulting. Tomorrow I'm going to the Pentagon to see a client."

The Pentagon, eh? Assuming that is true, I wonder if he'll show up in Washington looking like he did this morning.

Mr. Disheveled became obsessed with my inadequate heating situation and insisted that Juan take a look to see what could be done. By this time, some of the repairs had been accomplished, I was in a better mood and Juan and I were chatting in Spanish. It turned out that when it came to home repairs Juan really did know what he was talking about, unlike his patron. He also recommended some Mexican restaurants in Chelsea and helped me install some storage racks on my walls.

I hope Juan learns enough English to start his own business and get away from this man. And I plan to be kinder when they come back.