Your host: PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST
Blood, Sweat and Tears. That phrase comes in handy when you’re delving into a lot of grueling work. But when it comes to home improvement projects, I’d like to amend that to read: Blood, Sweat, Tears and %&*$$.
This year’s home project focused on replacing our kitchen floor tile. It was outdated and broken in a couple places. After considering new tile for a couple years now, we knew we had to bite the bullet and spend some serious bucks to have the original floor torn up, removed from the premises, and replaced with a beautiful dark grey stone.
Even our laundry room was getting new tile (and a new washer and dryer — think more $$).
As soon as the workers arrived to lay down the new floor, my hubby realized it was also time to paint the kitchen walls. Now was prime time to ask a painter to handle that task. After all, everything was moved out and stored into the living room.
You know how one thing leads to another with these types of things. My hubby felt now was also the time to have the “wood guy” come to replace the baseboards.
The Costs Were Adding Up
Finally, we were nearly done with the project. The painter convinced us to use white paint in the laundry room (previously a pale blue). We were fine with that color choice.
Hubby and I planned it out. He’d stay home and work remotely so he could be available if the painter had any issues. Off I went to my job in downtown Chicago. I truly didn’t want to be around in that messy house any longer than I had to be.
Then I Received The Phone Call
My husband grumbled that he and the painter were at odds over the painting progress. The two of them had argued over the sanding and whether it was smooth enough. They disagreed over whether the white paint was actually covering the former blue paint. Back and forth they went, each getting on each other’s nerves.
I couldn’t understand why the two of them were cantankerous about the entire task. To me, it seemed to be a clear cut project: sand, paint and add another coat.
Except the two coats of white paint didn’t seem to be enough. The painter and my husband had a heated discussion regarding a third coat. Apparently, the painter didn’t think it was necessary.
“But it’s clearly bleeding through,” my husband pointed out. “You can see the blue walls behind it.”
He then pointed out some unsatisfactory sanding the painter had performed. “I want this done right!” he complained.
Unfortunately, the painter must have been having a bad day too. “Look here, it looks alright to me!” he countered. “See here, it’s as smooth as can be,” the painter insisted.
Long story short, the painter relented and gave our walls a third coat of white paint.
I’m So Glad I Missed the Drama
When I returned home from work that evening, my husband was upset over the project.
“Look at the laundry room and tell me I’m not losing my mind,” he insisted. “I can still see the blue showing through the white. We need another coat of paint!”
He was correct. The white paint had failed to cover the old blue.
“We’ll just have to call him back in,” I said.
“I’m not having anything more to do with that guy. He kept saying I was being too picky and that I was seeing things that weren’t there. I’ve had enough of him — go ahead and call him yourself! ”
“I will!” I answered. “I can’t understand why you’re both so cranky. Just get out of the house when he returns, because I don’t want to be here and have the two of you arguing. ”
Time To Crank Up The Music
The next day was Saturday and I texted the painter, explaining how the paint needed yet a fourth coat. Two hours passed before he replied: I’ll be there within the hour.
When he arrived, he wasn’t smiling. Quickly, I explained the situation. Luckily he agreed with me.
“I’ll give it a fourth coat and be outta here within an hour,” he grumbled.
I needed to do something quick to relieve the tension. Earlier that morning, my husband had been streaming Air Supply love songs, and I couldn’t help but sing along with those mellow tunes from the early eighties. Would the same music help to warm up the painter?
I pegged the guy to be in his mid-sixties. Doing mental math, that would put our painter at about 23-24 years old when Air Supply was consistently hitting the top ten in Billboard Hot 100 songs. Those songs would bring back memories for him — back to his heyday.
It Was Worth a Shot
I placed my Sony speaker on the kitchen counter and selected Air Supply from my Spotify app. What do you know, five minutes later, I could see our painter rolling the laundry room walls while he hummed and sang along to Air Supply …
“making love out of nothing at all… making love…💜💜💜”
It seemed to be working. Nonchalantly, I turned the volume up just a bit, thereby amplifying the music as well as my scheme. I’m so sneaky.
Song number two came on…
“even the nights are better… 🎵🎶 … now that we’re here together.”
I watched him work in our laundry room, as he dreamily rolled and applied a fourth coat of white paint.
Success! By now, I had switched to a little bit of Paul Young (Every Time You Go Away) and Cliff Richard’s We Don’t Talk Anymore just to round out the mood.
As promised, he was finished in less than one hour. By now, Spotify was playing Reminiscing by The Little River Band. He never did mention the music, but instead he spoke to me in a very friendly tone. While I thanked him for his work, our conversation turned to the fact that our water line was on the fritz ever since the workers installed the new kitchen tile.
My painter — we were good friends by now — took a quick peek at the situation. Next, he pulled out his mobile phone and consulted with his plumber friend.
“Heidi, I’m gonna run to Home Depot and get the parts you need,” my new buddy offered. “I’ll be right back.”
Okay, I felt the tiniest bit guilty. The poor guy was putty in my hands, but I owe it all to the music. I almost felt sorry for him. But then I realized I did him a favor with all the lovey-dovey songs, which I’m sure brought back coveted memories for him.
I handed the painter a very generous $$ tip before he left. He waved good-bye from his van, and I think he even tipped his hat at me. It was a good afternoon.
Later That Same Day…
When my husband returned home, he was both surprised and pleased.
Looking at the freshly painted walls — now a lovely, crisp shade of white, I could tell he was finally content with the work. He was also impressed that our filtered water line was in service once more.
“Tell me… what went on here today?” he inquired.
“Not too much,” I winked, playing the innocent. “I was just being my super sweet self.”
He gave me a hard look, realizing I wasn’t giving him the entire story. I knew I had to confess.
“I simply gave him the ol’ Air Supply treatment.” I shrugged. “Works every time.”
Thank you for reading — PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST
PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST 