The Reno: Will We Have A Toilet In Time For Our Guests?

Danielle Crittenden's 1905 house in Washington, D.C. has been undergoing a major renovation for the past year (and off and on for over a decade). In this weekly HuufPo series, Danielle records what it has been like for her and her family to live through the construction with their builders, Virginia-natives Brent and John. To read previous installments, click here.

My living room, 24-hours before guests arrive.

AS YOU'RE READING, I have no idea whether our house will be ready for 24 people to descend upon it this evening.

Some weeks ago -- back when it still seemed possible that the renovation would end no later than the end of summer -- I had asked Brent and John whether I could safely hold a party on Sept. 13. No problem, they agreed. It seemed impossible that the job could extend past Labour Day.

But, of course, it did extend past Labour Day. The party --a dinner for 24! -- could not be moved. I'm writing this column barely 48 hours before party time. We accepted some time ago that the doors to the room that someday will be my husband David's study will have to remain tightly shut throughout the party. And the floor in the main hallway remains unlaid. It's not clear that we will have a toilet -- or a functioning stove. I'm hoping the living room and dining room will be clean and empty enough to set out some rented tables and chairs. As it is, they are still sanding drywall and the circular saw remains on the front lawn.

No wonder, then, that every time I pass through the hall, I freeze in my steps like a worried squirrel wondering if there is still time to escape the slavering jaws of the onrushing German shepherd.

And it's not for lack of effort on Brent and John's part. They worked through last weekend. They brought in reinforcements: a carpenter and an assistant, along with Brent's two grown children, Ben and Kirstin, and a buddy of theirs named B. J. Also, John's teenaged son, Gus. I'd not be surprised if their wives showed up on-site.

I overheard John leaving threatening messages for one of our subcontractors. He shook his head, cursed, and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

"Ah, um, no pressure, John, but d'you think the oven will be hooked up by, oh, Saturday? We'll, uh, like, kind of need it by then."

"I told 'em I'd come after their families if it isn't."

"Good, good."

Meanwhile, I raced around dealing with my ever-expanding list of jobs. I spent most of this week tracking down things like plumbing parts and missing hardware. And there was the outside of the house to worry about. Both front and back yards had been devastated by the construction.

And then there were all the details of the party...

So-- to put it mildly --it was a bad moment for one of our subcontractors to approach me about a problem that had been simmering between him and Brent.

"Do you have a second?" The sub craned his neck around the door of my momentarily quiet office. I motioned him to come in, bracing myself for more news about some critical element that could not be fixed in time for Saturday.

He slipped inside but remained standing. "Maybe you have heard about this -- this issue with Brent about the fridge?"

Oh no, I thought. Not the fridge. Not now.

Yes, I had heard about "the issue" from Brent -- as well as from everyone else on the job.

A few months ago, Brent had promised our old refrigerator to a subcontracted worker whose own fridge had broken down and which he couldn't afford to replace. The 10-year-old appliance with a busted ice-maker wasn't worth posting on Craigslist. We all just wanted someone to haul it away. When the worker's fridge plight became apparent, we were happy that he could use it. It seemed a nice thing to do. End of story. Or so we thought.

The worker's foreman, whom we'll call C, decided he wanted the fridge for himself. So when Brent told the worker to come and get his fridge, C announced that he would be picking it up instead. Brent told C the fridge needed to be off the site by a certain Friday. C assured him this would happen. The Friday came and went. C did not show up or call. A couple of weeks passed. Brent left messages on C's cellphone. No reply. Finally, Brent and John grew sick of shifting the fridge out of their way. Brent said, "Stuff it. I'll put it in my truck and stick it in my garage, and C can pick it up from there."

But once the fridge was cooling beer in Brent's garage, Brent decided he liked it there after all.

Then one day, C arrived to demand his fridge. Brent told him no -- he'd missed his chance. C drove off, furious. He began to leave harassing messages on Brent's cellphone. Then pleading messages. He offered Brent cases of beer. Brent ignored his calls.

Over? Not yet. One day C showed up on the site and marched to the back porch where Brent was painting. Despite the fact that the top of C's head reaches only to about the bottom of Brent's chin, C began hurling epithets. He called Brent a liar and a thief.

Brent suggested it would be a good idea if C chose to leave at that moment. The three burly young men working with Brent expressed their hearty agreement. C retreated for support to John, who was up a ladder. John called him something uprintable. C exited by slamming the front door. Everyone exploded with laughter.

And now, OMG, here was C again, in my office, demanding the fridge. My fingers slowly tightened on my coffee mug and...

Let's just say I gave him fair warning. This time he retreated out the side door.

But I had to admit afterwards, I was grateful to C. It was good for my stress to have someone to yell at -- and good for my marriage that it wasn't my husband.

To Be Continued: In next week's final instalment of The Reno, I'll tell you whether Brent and John made the party deadline, and share some unconventional tips I learned from the entire renovating experience.

This series originates in the National Post.

Comments

[cktirumalai]

I imagine renovating a house is subject to as many unexpected twists and turns as writing a long novel. I have had an exhausting enough time moving from one place to another: waiting for the delayed mover through panic-sowing hours, misplaced or undiscoverable objects, the musty smell which envelops you for a few days.

[Adirondacker]

The refrigerator shouldn't be a problem. I was your refrigerator, your's to do with as you please. It needed to be gone, he didn't pick it up, too bad. It could have gone to a charity, or even to the curb.
If he doesn't understand that and he's done with his subcontracting, keep the door locked or get a restraining order if you need to. Or open the yellow pages, look up used appliances, take C to one of the stores and buy him one. Or get one from Craigslist or Freecycle or a new one...