Home Repair

A few short months ago my house was orderly. After a divorce, too much time at work, torrential rain, and a shot of bad luck, it needs some attention. The roof is leaking and water is seeping into the basement. The solution to the basement or even the source of the problem is elusive. The roof is under warranty so I've been diligently calling the company that installed it. It's a good, local company with many positive recommendations. I just cannot get them to fix my roof.

On the first visit, they trimmed the corners of a few shingles to prevent water from being diverted into my attic. After that, they stopped returning my phone calls. When I called from a local business, they answered the phone and were surprised to learn it was me--just at a different phone number. I learned something too: call from different phones. Following an amazing amount of negotiation, they set up an appointment with me. My Dad would meet them, and someone would attempt to repair the roof again.

Dad usually likes for me to be a grown up and handle these matters myself, but he said, "I'm a 5' 11' white man over 60. I'm bald and overweight. That makes people listen better." Gotta love Dad. He's really paying his Father's Day dues this year too. He actually loaned me a de-humidifier to deal with the moisture in the basement, but that's another story.

Despite my calling fifteen minutes before the appointment to confirm it, no one showed up to the appointment. Dad waited for an hour before he gave up. I called back and got profuse apologies about the miscommunication. Story du jour: the fellow who checks roofs decided to go to the doctor that morning and no one remembered to cancel his appointments. The person on the phone was pretty fuzzy about why I was able to confirm my appointment. Someone's meeting Dad tomorrow morning to look at the roof. Please let this be a real person, on time, and with the knowledge to fix a roof. Oh please, oh please.

In the meantime, Dad and I have had some extended phone conversations about how to deal with this. I'm starting to document interactions with the roofers: the conversations and dates and outcomes. It's pretty boring. I prefer to have things happen happily and without need for pressing the issue. However, I remember the price tag on that new roof, and spending another $11k is not an option. So documentation it is with some letters to the Better Business Bureau and the roofing company and anyone else who might listen. I'm not desperate enough to take it to the local news. Yet.

Dad thought I should increase my knowledge of the roofing industry, and he had some ideas about how to do it. He recommends calling up some roofers and offering to meet them at a bar and buy them a few beers. I'm assuming he forgot I'm a girl and this might give the wrong impression. About that time my mother started shrieking in the background about bad ideas and how she should talk to me on the phone at all times and never talk to my father. I said that he should tell her I was going to invite them over to my house for a barbeque.

My adulthood remains a secret from my mother. I thought that I had earned her respect by earning my own way, but now that I'm single, she's had a number of rules for me. In the past few weeks, she's laid down the law. No climbing ladders. (When Dad told her that I was cleaning gutters, she drove to my house to tell me to get off the ladder.) Don't ride bicycles in the street. Don't open the door for strangers. She comes by it honestly. Her own mother at age 92 still calls to tell my mother how to drive.

I'm not above teasing Mom. Apparently Dad isn't either because he mentioned that I should buy at least three or four beers for each person. He mentioned it several times. Mom started to sound really distressed so he said, "Your mother wants to talk to you. She wants to tell you what kind of beer to buy." Mom thinks that I should never even talk to roofers -- not even at my house. She thinks Dad should do it all for me. I plan to be more involved than that.

I'll probably look up roofing on the internet. It's hard to go wrong with the internet. After all, any medical diagnoses I find on the internet tell me I'll die. Taking that to its logical conclusion, my roof will fall in and the basement will flood, but it can all be fixed with antibiotics and steroids and rest and watching tv. I really like to watch tv. It helps me forget about bad things.