Monday, July 09, 2018

Floors and Ceilings

I'm in the downstairs bedroom, a room tucked behind the floor level garage and below the kitchen and master bedroom of the second floor, which is the main living area of the house. The furniture that furnishes every room but this one is either in the garage or under tarps behind the house. As I type, sitting on a bed that used to be Scott's when he was single, the ceiling above me shakes and pounds. Reggie-the-cat and Indiana-the-dog are also exiled to this room with us for the next two weeks, under the shuttering ceiling.

We're getting our floors done: refinishing the wood floors and replacing the ugly, contractor-grade kitchen tile with wood to match the rest of the flooring. We are living downstairs while this is happening.

The job has been on the books with the flooring company for months, but in the last couple weeks Scott and I plotted and planned how to make this work well. We hired day laborers through San Francisco's Day Laborers' Collective and mapped out where we'd put things. We thought about what kind of meals we'd be able to eat with limited access to our kitchen. How we'd make sure Indiana had room for his crate. How we'd set up the television so we could watch Season 5 of The Great British Baking Show. Yesterday, after the day laborers had helped us move our heavy furniture, we removed everything else from the main floor, we covered with tarps what was outside to protect it against the weather, and we set up the downstairs to be livable. We even went on a little walk. We congratulated ourselves on how much we had accomplished and how well we had worked together.

Neither of us slept well last night. We were in a bed that should be familiar, but is smaller than our regular bed and we've grown accustomed to space. Reggie yowled mightily a couple times to let us know he wasn't happy about our new arrangement. While I slept, I made room for the cat, which left little room for Scott. The only creature mellow and flexible was Indiana, who snoozed comfortably in his crate.

This morning, we woke up cranky but excited for what was to happen. Scott left for work. I started to think about how to set up a little outdoor kitchenette to make these couple weeks even easier. The first worker arrived at about 8:30am and we greeted each other cheerfully. He set to work prepping the kitchen for tile demolition. From down below, I could hear the screech of his tape dispenser, the refrigerator being rolled out of its spot, and the wonky door noises of our dishwasher.

Then, I heard yelling. He bellowed, "Hello?!? I need help!" It took me a moment to realize he was calling me, the only other person in the house, but when I did run upstairs, I found him desperately trying to control a water hose that sprayed all over the kitchen and had already made a lake of the kitchen floor.

The shut off valve for the kitchen appliances had failed, so though the worker thought he had turned the water off before he detached the dishwasher hose, he hadn't. There was no way to turn off the water under the sink, so I had to run downstairs and turn off the water mainline.

Now, we have no sinks. Or showers. Or toilets.

I think I can replace the faulty valve this evening when the workers leave; I certainly hope I can. But, I'm certain it's not the last hiccup with the floors. It's only Day One. I better not have hit the ceiling of my patience yet.

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