(plus the
Electrician, the Neighbour, the Hot Deputy Plumber and the Man Who
Professionally Dries Carpets)
Sometimes my
life really does sound like a bad porno.
And here, by ‘bad’, I mean missing one key genre ingredient. So sexless, but still somehow filled with
strange and unplanned visitations.
Case in point:
5 Days of the Tradie
Standing at the appropriate
vantage point I could see the birds were really getting a lot of joy from their
newly minted winter hot springs retreat, so it was with heavy heart that I
called, emailed and texted my infamously disinterested real estate agent (the
kind who forgets to tell you about a rent increase until a year after the fact)
with the problem. From her I received
the wonderful reply “I thought your water tank was in the laundry?”
Yes. I am inventing a hot water system on the roof
because I miss our long talks.
Now assuming the usual response
time the past few years have taught me to expect, I decided to take a quick
shower before the Portly Plumber arrived in what I presumed would be several
hours. Of course, I was mid conditioner when
Portly rang to say he was standing at the door.
One frantic,
damp and scrabbled clothing dousing later I let him in wearing my father’s old
grey fleece jumper. And a trusty pair of
ugg boots. And hole-riddled jeans. But in my defence I had no idea that Portly
would be joined, not just by his rather skittish dog, but by a strapping
younger assistant who dutifully removed his shoes every time he walked into the
house
The owners decided to replace the solar system with
a new tank in the laundry (which means my real estate agent was almost right, or
she partakes in recreational time travel – to be honest the second one feels
more realistic). Needless to say
I felt it was my duty to help Deputy Hot Plumber in spontaneously clearing out
the area where the tank would go.
There’s
nothing like the moment you realise just how attractive a Deputy Hot Plumber is,
followed by the moment you realise you’re realising this while holding the
surfer skateboard that looks like it belongs to a teenage boy, but actually
belongs to your housemate, but clearly because you’re holding it, it appears to
belong to you. This sent me into
hyperactive, unnecessary exposition about my housemate and her skateboard. It sounded like a lie, like the times I used
to buy shapeless men’s t-shirts and broadcast loudly about buying them for my
young brother (though that in fact was a lie – shapeless men’s t-shirts are
just so comfortable and I can only steal so many from unwitting brothers in
law).
I didn’t mind that they had to come back the next
day to finish the work – at least it gave me more time to come up with a
surreptitious method by which to take a photo of DHP. I suspected my housemate Layla would be a
particular fan. I did mind that through
a series of misunderstandings they arrived on the Tuesday while I was once
again in the shower. So flabbergasted
was I, and disbelieving was old Portly, that I actually managed to answer the
door in a towel that time around (which, Mother Painefull might argue, was a
better and much more comely look than the previous outfit anyway).
I had to
work incredibly hard not to make any dirty jokes about cleaning pipes. Thoroughly pleased with myself I took one
look at the new hot water tank and lost all self-restraint:
“But is it big enough?”
“I think so.”
The reply came from the very literal tank delivery
guy. Did I mention there were 3 men at
the door, with a dog, when I answered it in a towel that Tuesday?
As the
menfolk packed themselves into the laundry to try and appear like they were all
necessary for what was happening in there, I remembered something a little
awkward. Oh god, there’s a pap smear notice on the pin board in the laundry… (for
reasons that require their own separate post we have a pin board that features
things ranging from speed dating score cards, to the person each of my friends
wants me to direct the police to if they die under mysterious circumstances).
Just as I came to the conclusion that it was a good
thing that The Great Tradie Invasion of 2013 was about to conclude I heard them
referring to the parts of the job they’d finish the next day. Plumbing, I must conclude, is like an
election campaign – theoretically brief, but feels like a marathon once you’ve
passed the point of no return.
To my credit I made damn
sure not to be in the shower the next morning when the electrician popped in to
say condescending things about my generation, hook up the power to the new
tank, and flood the laundry and lounge room (in that order).
Some swearing, some
shrieking and one rage run later (yes, I actually ran – apparently I need to
Hulk out to exercise properly) I foolishly decided it was safe to get back into
the water before the Man Who Specialises in Drying Carpet that Has Been Made
Wet By Wildly Incompetent Electricians arrived.
A hint of paranoia is why I left my phone in arms reach as I showered,
which is why I was able to answer it, and
exfoliate at the same time, when the MWSDCHBMWBWIE rang to say he was at the
door.
“You’re not going to believe this, but I am in the
shower again… (awkward phone silence) which might sound like a strange thing to
tell you seeing as we’ve never met… (awkwarder silence) it’s kind of an in joke…
(is it possible he’s hung up on me?) I’ll be right down.”
It must be said that by
Friday, when he arrived to take back the industrial fan that had been drying
the concrete under our ripped up carpet in the lounge room, he finally found
the funny side to the fact that I was once again in the shower. I can only imagine my reputation on the
tradie circuit – ‘She’s hella weird, but
that girl is cleeeeaaaannnn.’
On the upside, if the
Electrician (who’s response to unleashing a small wave from the new tank into
my house was “Look at that, it’s flooding”)
hadn’t given us a temporary water feature beside the couch, we would never have
had to clean out our storage under the stairs (which also flooded). Who knew two tents, three lamps, two vacuums
(one broken), a television (also broken) and this…
 |
| Undiscovered species? Mrs Claus merkin? |
...completely inexplicable
object were all taking up residence in the Room That Time Forgot. Mary Poppins bag, eat your heart out.
Now, if you’ll excuse
me, I’m waiting for someone to arrive for a cup of tea – I think I’ll hurry
them along by hopping into the shower.
Painefull Out
