Sharp Corners

Let’s do some basic algebra, shall we?

If A = the majority of my roof laying on the front lawn

and B = typical-summer-in-Florida rain then:

A + B = ?

YES! A + B = puddles in my bedroom!

Oh, yes, my little dreampops, I am mightily pissed.

The roofers took out three skylights yesterday and then tore out a section of the roof that was much in need of repair. They brought over sheets of plywood and got to work hammering, sawing and nailing right in plain view of my office window so I was reasonably sure they were actually fixing the damage up there. Apparently, however, they were really in the process of building an ark to make their getaway when the forecasted rains came because I see no indication from in here that they bothered to secure my house with said plywood. After listening to the rain plinking relentlessly all night on the coverings where my skylights used to be, I got up this morning to discover puddles of water on the CD player (a nice CD player, dammit) that lives in my bedroom. The rain isn’t coming in from the skylight area but rather a different section of the roof that needs repair, the one they should have been working on yesterday. It seems they got started on that particular section and just left it undone (read: exposed) when they left for the day.

Left. They left. With things undone, they LEFT.

Which brings me to my next point. It is now after 1 o’clock and the roofers have yet to show up today. Knowing it was going to rain all afternoon, I called them late this morning:

Me: "Hi, this is Lisa Sharp. You guys are replacing my roof and…well….where, exactly,  are you?"

Him: "Oh, um. Well, my guys are in the next town over but they’re on the way and should be there soon."

Me: "Good. You know, my roof is leaking and it’s supposed to rain again this afternoon and into tomorrow. I really need to get that patched up before the storms start."

Him: "Yep. Sure thing! We’ll be right over."

That was three hours ago. I do not live in Rural America Bumbletown so "the next town over" does not require a three day, horse-drawn carriage ride to traverse the Great Continental Divide.

So, free-thinking individual that I am, I called them a few minutes ago to find out where…

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I’m studiously trying to get some work done this morning while objects drop out of the sky and land next to my window. The roofers got delayed and weren’t able to start the job as planned yesterday, though I don’t understand why. I mean, it was only a little lightening and I’m sure the myriad of tree branches hanging over the house would have offered them at least some protection. Where’s their sense of adventure?

At 7:30 this morning, a group of men scaled the side of my house (sadly, not one was wearing a Spiderman outfit) and started ripping things willy-nilly off the roof. It’s been raining shingles, gutters and flashing for the last two hours now and, frankly, I’m getting a headache. There’s so much hammering and sawing going on up there that I’m beginning to wonder if they’re taking things apart or adding a third story instead. They brought along a CD player to break the monotony but I’m afraid I can’t fully enjoy it because it’s in another language (though I am curious to know if the lyrics are directions on how to dismantle a roof, set to music). It’s very loud. And all six guys are singing along. Did I mention it’s loud?

Last week, when the company called to tell us our backordered shingles were in and they were getting ready to start the project, I asked if they needed anything from me. "Just clear the driveway of vehicles," they said. "We need to be able to bring in our supplies." That sounded reasonable so, anticipating their arrival yesterday, I parked the cars in the street and J and I fled to Busch Gardens for the day. When we got home we discovered that, though they hadn’t actually started the job yet, they’d delivered at least one piece of equipment. It’s situated right at the back door and blocks any means of egress unless you happen to be Mary-Kate Olsen or Calista Flockhart. In order to snap the following picture, I had to crack open the door, take the ring off my finger, grease my hand with Crisco and wiggle the camera through the sliver of an opening by rocking it back and forth. What’s blocking my back door?

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In the never ending saga of our home improvements, tomorrow we begin the Roofing Episode. At an ungodly early hour, a swarm of workers are going to descend on my house, shroud it in scaffolding and rip the shingles right off the place. I’ll be sitting in my office wearing a hardhat.

Even the most modest home repairs are enough to give me hives so the thought of having my entire roof removed, even with the promise they’ll replace it, makes me nearly faint. I have visions of watching a workman drop through the ceiling and into the playroom or, even worse, watching one of the guys do a swan dive into the driveway after tripping on a loose shingle.

These guys are professionals, I know…but still. When I was getting the estimates for this job, I narrowed it down to a couple of different companies and then called them to discuss the finer points of the contract. Roger’s Roto-Rooting and Roofing just didn’t make much of an impression on me (the contractor carried his pen in his man-boob cleavage and spit tobacco juice a lot) so I went with, oh, let’s call them Rocco’s Roofers ("Ruh-ro, Rorge"). These guys were very professional and impressive. Their shirt logo matched their truck logo which matched their pen logo which they did not carry in their man-boob cleavage. The only thing they did wrong was share with me that roofing companies carry the second highest worker’s compensation insurance in the nation (right behind underwater welders) due to the high rate of accidents. Thank you, just what I needed to hear.

When he imparted this wisdom to me, the contractor obviously didn’t realize he was dealing with a woman that carries the highest amount of worry in the nation (second only to the attorney Michael Jackson keeps on retainer). Now all I can think about is the myriad of ways something might go wrong tomorrow: a worker might fall off the roof, fall through the roof, fall into the roof, get overcome by heatstroke in the ninety degree weather we’re expecting, get struck by lightning during the afternoon storms we’re expecting, get mauled the birds watching the men at work or get mauled by my dog who might think they’re playing some elaborate game of fetch (Here! Have a shingle! Good boy!). You see? The list of things to worry about is endless.

The contractor, however, only has one thing to worry about: getting this job done on time. If these guys are traipsing around on the roof one minute longer than necessary, my heart won’t be able to take it and I’ll toss them through one of the skylights myself.

Next up: I’ll find something underwater that needs to be welded.