Down the Drain

Yesterday's recitation of contractor rules must have been inspired by the bathroom renovation that is currently taking place in my unit.

The soaker tub is in (yay!). But our efforts to install new tile seem to be accursed. The six boxes of tile for the shower walls arrived in the hue of green, not the blue we ordered. And the tile for the pony wall around the tub arrived in two boxes, which do not match each other in either size or finish.

Unfortunately the tile installer began, with great care, gluing on the pony wall tile from the first box and did not catch the incongruity of the second box until 2/3 of the pony wall had been completed. The tile vendor emailed me this morning to let me know that box one cannot be matched because it was cast from an older mould that is apparently no longer extant. The tile came from this "eco-friendly, women-owned" place, which, unfortunately, I cannot recommend.

This problem is not my fault, but I will have to pay for the hours of labor that were wasted installing the no longer extant tile as well as the hours it will take to rip it down.

In situations like these a contractor appreciates a client who can do a little bit of hand-holding, just as a client appreciates a contractor who can do the same. And since I want my tile to be lovingly (and quickly) re-installed once all this madness is sorted out, so that my home and bath sanctuary can emanate with good chi, I am happy to call the contractor and we can both rant against the fates (but not each other). Then I will drink a glass of Weingut Binz 2003er Nackenheimer Chardonnay and flip through some old issues of Metropolitan Home, to rejuvenate my hopeful visions of residential glamour.