Bending The Universe To My Will

Here’s the good news. After vowing to adhere to the strictures of the Ruthless Serenity Council, I spent the rest of the week fending off new projects that came flying my way. And then one extremely tempting project came by. You will remember that, under the new dictates, it has to be fun, advance my career, and bring in actual cash money before I’m allowed to accept. But ... a tempting little chapter for a top-drawer reference book (one of those ones that begins “The Cambridge History of...”) -- and it's right in my area -- I could write the thing with one hand tied behind my back. With both hands tied my back! With both hands behind my back while watching “American Idol”! And it’s the most fun topic ever! I was gnashing my teeth, torn between the angel on my right shoulder (“You promised you wouldn't get yourself into these messes!”) and that fiery guy with the pitchfork on my left shoulder (“The scholarly world NEEDS to know how important this topic is! And you’re the ONLY one who could possibly tell them! And it’ll be so much fun it will practically write itself!”) And then I read the conditions further -- they pay! They pay cash money! My problem is solved! I am allowed to accept! My angel and my devil are doing the polka together! The universe is finally bending to my will!

Except, that is, in the irksome matter of house maintenance. I have now spent over a year trying to get someone to remove the peeling lead-based paint from my house in a legal and timely manner. This is an object lesson in why we all don't have time to scour the rainforest for cancer-curing drugs, write novels like John Updike except filled with people you can stand, save the quagga, and make our own vegan Birkenstocks in our home cobbler workshops.

So one year ago I asked a company — not to put too fine a point on it, let’s say the company was called Northwest Siding, that being their name — for an estimate that involved removing the peeling lead-based paint from my house in a legal and timely manner. An estimate came back, which detailed a lot of things but nothing about lead paint. Since they’d come highly recommended, I explained the situation again. Quite some time later, they provided a second estimate, again saying nothing about lead paint. I called and harangued a secretary, saying I needed an estimate for removing peeling lead-based paint. I got a return message saying, “You don’t need to remove your paint. You’d only need to do that if it were peeling.”

Okay, this is not a good sign about this company. So imagine about eight more phone calls around town, until I end up calling another company, let’s call them Braddock Construction, who is, the grapevine says, the only company in town that has trained all their employees in the proper legal methods of removing lead-based paint.

I call and a secretary says, “You want to remove lead paint? Okay, you’ll have to talk to Jeff. I’ll have him call you.”

Me: “Could I have his direct number?”

Secretary: “He’s in the field a lot. Better if he calls you.”

Me: “I just anticipate one of these situations where I never hear from anyone.”

Secretary: “Don’t worry, he’ll call you.”

You know how it goes? And you have it in the back of your mind for a week, “Remember to see if Braddock Construction calls. Don’t forget that call.”

A week passes. No one calls. I call again, just because I want to hold their feet to the fire.

Me: “I’m calling about removing some lead-based paint. I was supposed to hear from Jeff.”

Secretary: “Oh, he didn’t call? We don’t really remove lead paint.”

Me: “I thought you said he would call me.”

Secretary: “Well, we don’t really remove lead paint.”

Me: “Why didn’t you tell me that when I called last week?”

Secretary: “I thought Jeff would tell you when he called.”

Me: “!!!”

Another week down the drain. Back to square one on the lead-based paint. It has been a YEAR I’ve been trying to find someone to paint the dang house. Meanwhile the quaggas are dying out, the rainforest is losing species, John Updike is still famous, and I’m wearing the same old shoes. I think this just goes to prove everything I’ve said about chaos. I got the Cambridge article, but the universe is still holding my house hostage. I think the Ruthless Serenity Council needs to muster up a SWAT team. Our motto: “Take no prisoners in the quest for serenity!” Well, maybe it’s not so catchy. Maybe I need to put it in Latin. As soon as I finish calling contractors.