The Handyman is Coming! The Handyman is Coming!
When you hire a handyperson to come over and do some work on your house, what kind of build-up is involved in getting ready? Do you just shove a few things to the side, let her or him in, point at the work to be done, and go along your merry way? Yes?
Sigh. I wish I were like you, then. For me, the experience is far, far more...complicated.
I start with the act of making a simple, happy list, and soon it all spirals out of control. Out of control in a specific, structured manner, that is. Let me explain how it works.
Step 1: Making the List
Before I call my handyman, I gotta make the List. You know, the list of everything that I want him to do.
It sounds simple, but there is a lot of emotional wrangling involved in the List. I have to decide what I am willing to let someone else do. And even more difficult, I have to come to terms with what it means to let someone else do it.
In my heart of hearts, I really just want everything done. But ego-ridden Super Alix, who dances about the periphery in her DIY cape, with an 18 volt Makita drill holstered at her hip, wants it to get done under her power alone. She doesn't want to hear that I've run out of time, energy, or the ability to reach straight up for more than 30 seconds at a time. I must soothe her with promises of shelf installations and furniture assembly and what-have-you, until she's willing to shut the hell up.
I remind myself that when all is said and done, it doesn't matter who patched the damn wall or replaced the second floor window screens or took down the cabinets. That is, as long as it doesn't involve a lot of drilling. I'd be sad - understandably - if I missed out on that.
Step 2: Making the Call
Once I've made my peace with Super Alix, I place the call to Gustavo.
Gustavo is my heavy-duty handyman, the sort of guy who has built houses. He has remodeled a kitchen and a bathroom for me (in a house were we selling) and he pretty much knows how to do anything I ask him to do. I tend to have the most eclectic lists he's ever seen, too. The hard part is getting into his schedule, because he's all popular-like. I always hold my breath when I call, worried he is too busy to fit me in.
"Miss Alix," he always says, "It is good to hear from you. I'm glad you call me."
When he says he can spare a day for me, I get excited. "Really? Oh, wow. That's great! Thank you!" I exclaim. I am probably his most spastic client. As with every call, I tell him, "We can go over the list when you get here and you can decide which things you want to do. Because if there is anything you'd rather not do, I'll figure out something else."
This is the point when the conversation hits a speed bump. He does not know how to talk to me when I engage in crazy-talk. Pick and choose which things he wants to do? Am I CRAZY? You do the work on the list!
But I, of course, am concerned that he is self-actualized in the process. I wouldn't want him to do anything he finds distasteful or that doesn't support his self-definition. I mean, it's not like I'm willing to dig moldy caulking out of my shower! Why should I immediately assume he wants to? Maybe he just wants to do glamorous stuff like...um...well, like drilling! Drilling is very exciting!
Oh, right. He's a handyman by trade. But, still.
Once we have the date scheduled, I edit the To Do list to sort by priority, add a wish list for later to the bottom, and print it in duplicate. Then I draw stars by the items where I need materials. I scribble my name and phone numbers at the top of his copy, too. You know, just in case. In case...well, I don't know. IN CASE!
Step 3: Conducting the Pre-Handyman Makeover
Now the big effort starts. I have to get the house ready! That means cleaning and clearing and fluffing and dusting. Looking at my list of chores, you would think royalty was coming. Royalty, that is, who might need to use the garage.
(This is entirely silly. Everyone knows a visit from a handyman is better than royalty!)
I clean the areas to be worked on. I clean the areas leading to the areas to be worked on. I clean whatever is visible from the front door, because you want to make a good impression. I obsess over whether there is enough time to do it all or not. Usually, not.
While we cleaned the kitchen this time, Kathy said, "I'm not exactly sure what this has to do with the handyman coming over, but...okay..." A little later, as I debated whether we should store things in different places, she raised an eyebrow and added, "All right, be honest, there is no handyman coming over, is there? You just wanted to make us clean the kitchen!"
Bwahahaha!
But no, he is coming, which means that shortly after I go to bed, I leap up again and run upstairs to grab the broom, because I remember that I forgot to sweep the bamboo stairs. I mean, of course I need to do that, because...that's what you do when the handyman is coming!
Step 4: Imagining Doom
He's going to take down the cabinets. No doubt we'll find out they were put up with nails or the screw heads are stripped. He'll have to pry them off the walls with a crowbar and chunks of drywall will break free, along with the cabinets. Creatures from another planet (that I didn't even know existed) will come pouring out of the walls, skittering away under furniture. He'll have to replace sheet rock and retexture the wall, and I'll have new roommates.
I better factor in four hours to take down the cabinets. Plus a call to Pest Control, and they probably can't come out before Monday. Damn.
(I have a bright future in failure prediction analysis.)
Step 4: Worrying about Refreshments
As you know, I have a thriving inner life. What you might not expect, though, is that hidden somewhere behind my inner pirate, my inner spy, and my inner warrior princess is...my inner June Cleaver.
I secretly desire a pretty starched apron and a simple set of pearls, not to mention an attractive tray that I can put the sandwiches and lemonade on. That way, when I appear bright-eyed and smiling at noon, with lunch at the ready, everyone will be delighted to take a break!
If it was a whole crew, I would get donuts for the morning. I am still stumped by what to do for just one person. Should I learn to make real coffee and greet him at the door with a cup? Or is a supply of Coke, Fanta Orange, Fresca, and Auqafina enough to be considered hospitable? Where's the etiquette guide on this?!?
Step 5: Planning Activities for the Restless
All this home improvement energy, generated by someone else, makes me a bit nervous. I want to be doing it, too! My fingers itch for my Makita drill as the energy crackles around me like electricity. In between chatting with the handyman about what he's doing and producing miscellaneous tools from my garage as requested (Hack saw? Insulation foam? 2-inch #10 screws? No problem!) I'll need to have activities to occupy myself.
In the past, I've vacuumed out my computer and assembled furniture while he works. This time, I plan to put together a gravity-rise stand for my saw and my Black & Decker workstation.
This is purely a safety measure. If I didn't have anything to build when the handyman came over, I might implode.
Step 6: Taking Tranquilizers
Okay, this one isn't exactly true. But it probably should be! Or maybe that should be step number one.
Step 7: Greeting the Handyman
It's ironic that the last step in my crazy-assed spiral of wild energy is the actual arrival of the handyman. How one can expend as much energy as I do before he even gets there, I do not know. As it is, I try not to bound up and down like a puppy when he arrives; it is so unsophisticated of me.
The reason this is the last step? It's because once he's there, I have no choice but to go with the flow, because it's all out of my hands by then. And in the end, it always ends up being no big deal. Nothing crawls out of the walls and the water main doesn't burst. Things just get done.
Maybe Kathy should secretly call Gustavo and have him show up a day before I think he will. Provided I don't have a heart attack, think of how much could be taken off my task list! And she wouldn't have clean weird things in the kitchen.
Hmmm, wait, don't tell her this. My heart might not be strong enough.
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