In case you haven’t heard, it’s never actually going to stop raining. Ever. Thanks, global warming! Thanks, every bitch I knew in middle school who used an entire can of AquaNet every morning to prop up a wall of bangs! Now I have PermaSwamp in my basement and it is ALL YOUR FAULT.
And I know, I KNOW, you are all looking around and exchanging glances and backing away just a tad and muttering under your breath, “Um, are we still talking about THIS?” To which I respond with a hearty WHY YES WE ARE. We will not stop talking about the basement until the basement stops being full of water. And since the basement is always going to be full of water, forever and ever, swamp without end, amen, we will KEEP talking about it. And you will LIKE IT.
So in pursuit of this pipedream of mine, the one I like to call “having a dry basement,” I finally got a contractor over here today to have a look. I got his name from my friend who also happens to be my pastor. Apparently this contractor does all of the work on the parsonage. And he operates his business under a very Christian-sounding name, and generally seems to give preference to clients who are believers.
(Because, you know, if you’re going to burn in hell, apparently your building projects can wait.)
This recommendation was timely, because I’ve been dealing with this saga for… what, maybe a month, now. I’m pretty much at the point where a one-legged marmot could show up on my doorstep and offer to install a sump pump for $20,000 and I would be all “EXCELLENT! Do you take Discover?” I was relieved to have someone on the way who came recommended and probably wouldn’t try to rip me off.
So this morning, he came over. I was expecting someone older, I think. And less… normal. I mean, yes, sure, he was a bit overly enthusiastic. About everything. But he was very sweet. He was extremely sympathetic about my plight, and explained exactly how he planned to proceed, and gave me some guidance on what to look for in a pump, and how to maybe better deal with the water in the meantime.
(Why, I ALMOST didn’t get upset when he—like everyone before him—declared, “You really need to get the water out of here.” And you KNOW how I love it when people say that to me.)
We chatted a bit, and talked about how I’m in the choir at my church, and he’s in the praise band at his, and neither group is particularly good but that’s okay. He asked how old the kids are (probably the first contractor to ask that). I told him about spending Memorial Day weekend dragging moldy boxes out of the basement. We were pals in no time.
Eventually all of this good will and friendliness was giving me a headache, so I asked him to please spell out for me how much this was going to cost.
He told me how much for the parts, then said that it would probably take a day to do. Him and another guy. And the regular rate for that would be 3X, but to help me out he’d be willing to do it for 2X. (For the record? Even 3X wasn’t too bad.) I tried to lick him all over, after he told me this, but as soon as I moved in a bit his wedding band emanated a holy glow and repelled me.
Now it’s just a matter of him finishing up some other job he’s working on (which has been delayed and delayed and delayed because, oh yeah, IT WON’T STOP RAINING) and me maybe getting the water out of the basement (sheesh, you know what I ought to be doing? I ought to be getting the water out of there, or something). Then he and his other Christian contractor associate will come over and pray for my drain and cut a hole in the floor for the new pump. And then the angels will sing and I will still be going to hell, but my basement will be dry.
We shook hands and he drove away.
When I told a friend about this encounter, after it happened, I reported the discount in hushed tones of awe. Dude, I flashed the Believers’ Gang Sign, or something. (“Word to your Savior, yo!”) Singing in the choir is finally paying off!
If only I could extend this into other areas where I’d enjoy a discount. Say, the next time I’m browsing shoes.
Salesgirl: Can I help you find something?
Me: Oh, I think I like these Ferragamos.
Salesgirl: Yes, they look lovely.
Me: Thanks. You know… I… *glancing around, leaning in close* tithe.
Salesgirl: Ooooh! I see!
Salesgirl: Let’s just mark these down to… shall we say $20?
Me: You’re very kind.
I am SO going to hell.