As you know, I just bought a new house and have been renovating it over the past 3 months. I’ve spent inordinate sums of money bring the house up to my standards, never sparing a nickel to improve my rightful claim to luxury.
ENTER THE BLIND HANDYMAN.
I hired a handyman to build an exclusion barrier around my front porch. It was my idea to put mesh behind the lattice of the front porch, in order to keep out critters. His work, although rudimentary, was sufficient. He then reminded me that he did “work on the side.” It just so happened that I wanted to redo 3 bathrooms. So I gave him the small one downstairs, as a project of sorts, a tester to see if he was up to the task.
ENTER THE BLIND HANDYMAN.
As he was tiling the bathroom, I had a staff of carpenters installing wainscoting, coffered ceiling, crown and base moldings, the works. Their level of professionalism could not be matched because their work was flawless. From time to time, they’d peer in on the Blind Handyman to see how he was doing. I ordered travertine for the job, at $9 per sq ft–a quality tile.
ENTER THE BLIND HANDYMAN.
Dust and smoke billowed throughout my house, covering everything upstairs, even my clothes inside the closets. This bozo was cutting tiles inside of my house, while I was away. My carpenters told him to “do it outside”–because it would cause too much of a mess. One of the carpenters commented “it looked like a fire was ripping through the house, with all the smoke coming from the bathroom.”
I took a peek at the bathroom, to review his work. CATASTROPHE!
All the tiles were uneven and poorly spaced. One of the tiles was cracked and he fucked up so many cuts, there were zero tiles left, even though I provided him with 50% more than he needed. I am not surprised, frankly. He’s an older man, with glasses, and an avid cigarette smoker. With all the dust on his glasses from fucking up my tiles, his vision, apparently, had been impaired.
I hired someone who came without a recommendation or body of work. His price was 50% cheaper than proven tile masters. It’s a parable of sorts, a lesson that has reminded me “you get what you pay for.”
Much to my chagrin, the carpenters are having a good laugh at the bathroom, as I write this blog– saying in thick Russian accents “he do a professional job, custom work, very nice.”
Fucking Borats.
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