Patience Is Not A Virtue: Waiting For The Window Guys

I’ve decided my columns have been way too sappy lately. Even though I’m usually writing with fondness about the Red House even with some of the tribulations of living here, part of me is definitely missing my usual WTF attitude.  All it took however was a whole house window purchase to set me right back on track.

21 windows to be precise, that we had to purchase from a big box store because we knew that a) they would come in with a manageable price, and b) would be able to arrange some financing, too.  Should I mention our local big box store was actually our only option since big box store #2 was nearly an hour away?

It started around Easter (think April!) when I made an online appointment for someone to come out and give me a window estimate.  A guy came out to measure all the windows and while doing so we talked about food, The French Laundry  (as in the restaurant, which begs the question, why?), and French existentialists.

I’m not making this up.

He gave me his card, and told me he would send me numbers.  This was a Thursday. Being a city girl, by the time I was back in my office on Monday, I wanted them.  I got nothing.

A week later, I still got nothing.  Finally after a bunch of emails back and forth and a couple of phone calls, the “French existentialist measuring guy” decided he had to send out another guy, presumably a “real” guy, aka, the guy who would actually do the window installation.  This meant of course, that everything had to be measured again.  Hence, the WTF reaction.

Since I know it’s difficult to get everything I want quickly up at the Red House, I’ve decided if nothing else, this adventure has taught me to be patient.  Originally, when I was writing that sentence I wanted to say “a tad” patient.  As in a little. Except that one of my best readers, that would be you Dad, kindly informed me the other day that I use that word way too often when I’m writing.  So, going forward I will perhaps have to resort to saying it in what in the old days used to be referred to as a foreign language, but is now called LOTE.  Hence, if I wanted to say “a tad”  in Languages Other Than English, I could choose “un peu,” if I was feeling particularly French at the moment, “ein bisschen” if German was my thing or, “piccolo,” if I was pretending to be Italian.

But let’s get back to the windows.  I needed 21 windows replaced.  This did not include the attic (four) or three out of the four windows in the basement.  Why?  Well, we thought the attic windows were ok for now and would just be a waste of money, and three of the basement windows were so small (slits really covered with plywood), that they would have to be special ordered.  Those were two words I didn’t want to hear when dealing with my new windows because “special order” also meant “special prices.”

It’s now May. The “real” guy comes with the guy still pondering the French existentialists and the windows are measured again.  When they’re done, I figure that perhaps this time all the “i’s” are dotted and the “‘t’s” are crossed and surely now my window order will be expedited.

In June, we physically go to the store and at 10:30 in the morning I find myself sitting in a dark and dingy office leafing through reams of paperwork that seemingly is my window order.  We look at little drawings of windows, check the sizes, count the number of windows on the first floor and the second floor, and then tally the whole thing up with a hand-held calculator from Staples.

“Do you not have Excel?” I find myself saying to the “French existentialist measuring guy.”

When I continue mumbling “spreadsheet,” “bulk rate discount,” and “extended financing option,” he stares at me blankly, pulls out a pencil stub, and then proceeds to add the numbers up by hand.

Again, I’m not making this up, not even “un piccolo.“

I drive back to Long Island and wait some more.  It turns out the guy who is installing the windows, aka the “real” guy,  is actually a roofing guy and because of the bad weather, he is running about 3 weeks behind on his schedule.

Meanwhile, the “French existentialist measuring guy” tells me he is moving to the plumbing department.  Lucky him, all those bidets and what not!

Truly, I am not making this up, not even “un peu.”

With him jumping ship, we are assigned a new window person to help us through the process.  From the beginning, I knew this lady and I simply were not going to get along.  Why?  Because she had absolutely no sense of humor.  When the lady-who-has-no-sense-of-humor calls me, she tells me she can start installing the windows on July 5th, and that it will take about three days. Three days?  Wait, did I not have 26 windows installed in my house on Long Island in a day and a half? Ok, so that was 10 years ago and maybe they did things faster back then.  But 3 whole days?

The lady-who-has-no-sense-of-humor tries to tell me it’s because we have a “lead” issue.  Well, duh, we have a lead issue, it’s an old house. 150 years old to be precise. So even though we are putting in double hung replacement windows, the old ones, (the ones that were painted over with lead paint) need to be quarantined, then wrapped, and carted away.

We arrive at the house for the 4th of July weekend in anticipation of our July 5th installation date.  Luckily it’s not as hot as it was last year, so the fact that only half the windows in the house are operable (as in they are permanently shut) is not too painful.

It’s now July 5th. The guys who are actually delivering the windows show up first.  Except the big window, the raison d’etre so to speak that catapulted this entire window order because it was broken, is so heavy they can barely lift it and simply slide it over and lean it against where it’s supposed to go. Lovely.

The Really Big Window

The others simply get stacked in the driveway.

Is This Really How It's Done?

I then wait for the “real” guy and his crew of  installers.  Well, the crew shows up, the “real” guy does  not. There are three of them, two guys and a girl; two out of the three have only been on the job less than a month, and their previous careers did not seemingly involve anything remotely window installation-related.  Even though I am often accused of being too curious a George, I decide not to inquire what their previous careers might have entailed. Let’s just say that the female component of the crew had shaved her head and had some sort of mysterious Asian symbol tattooed on the back of it.

Day 1

The first hour or so is spent unpacking all the equipment they’ll need to do this project.  The next hour is spent isolating each and every room with sheets of heavy plastic that they seal tightly with some sort of fastening device from floor to ceiling, and then attach some sort of make-shift zipper to it so they can get in and out of what has now become a little plastic cocoon.  Then they get dressed.  Yes, dressed, not undressed.  Over their work clothes, they pull on white jumpsuits and accessorize it with scary-looking masks.  Wow, didn’t I see John Galliano do that look on the runway one year?

Then the crew starts to hang up signs.  Now these weren’t just ordinary signs, they were big, big signs labeled “poison.”  Suddenly, I had a feeling that I kind of knew how some NYC restauranteurs were feeling when they got a bad letter grade with the new safety inspection system that was recently put into place.

Poison?

After all of this “setting up,” it was time for a cigarette break, and then it was time for lunch.  Lunch took 45 minutes.  Do you know anyone who still takes a 45 minute lunch break anymore, because I don’t!  By the end of the day (think 4:45 to be precise), they had managed to install five windows.  Five.  All upstairs.  That took them roughly 6.5 hours.

Day 2

The next day they actually show up an hour earlier, but also only install five windows and leave an hour earlier than the day before. (I know the math on that even confused me.)  At this rate I figure, it may be next summer before the project is done.  Ok, so this math I get.  It was supposed to be a 3 day job but they are averaging five windows a day which technically means they still have two full days to work.  Um.

Day 3

The third day, the lady-who-has-no-sense-of-humor is suddenly standing in my bedroom.  Unannounced.  I look at her and figure that perhaps she’s lost, so I ask her sweetly, “Can I help you?”

Now it’s not like I’m getting undressed or anything; I’m minding my own business, writing checks actually, but she is just standing there IN MY BEDROOM.  She proceeds to tell me that she realizes one of the windows was measured wrong so they need to order a new one, oh, and the basement window never made it onto the truck when they did the delivery, either.  She couldn’t tell me this on the phone?

Day 3 turned out to not be a particularly good day because after her departure, I got involved in a very long and boring conversation about the big window. The big window, you see, was not only really heavy, the crew wasn’t quite sure how to actually install it.  They decided a phone call to “the big cheese,” aka the “real” guy who would know was in order.

I sighed.

Two Weeks Later

The “real” guy and his crew were supposed to come this morning and install the big window, with the other two they had to re-order to be put in later in the month. At 10:30 a.m., the lady-who-has-no-sense-of-humor calls to tell me the window guys are running “late,” and they should be here closer to noon. The clock on my computer tells me it’s now 2:48 p.m.

So, if nothing else here’s how the windows that are installed look.

But here’s the thing.  Even if these double-hung vinyl replacements last 50 years (which they won’t), they will still never look as charming as the ones  that have been leaning against the back of the barn forever and ever. Not even “ein bisschen.”

Lovely