CONFLAGRATIONS
Nothing Like a Little Fire in the Kitchen to End the Day
We didn’t get much done, but it sure was exciting
Steve, our contractor, turned his truck into the driveway about 10:15. He was late, which is the norm, although he has been early at least once. Like most contractors, his philosophy of time is fluid. He calls just before he comes, though.
My hope was to dispose of several small tasks left unfinished the last time Steve was here. We had gone over the work then, and Steve had assured me it could all be accomplished in a day, but it wasn’t, so here he was again.
I made the mistake of asking how he was as he climbed down from his truck. This was a mistake because Steve talks too much. He immediately launched into the tale of a tenant he had evicted, a young man Steve had tried to help. Steve felt hurt and betrayed by the problems which had suddenly developed. If that wasn’t evident at first, it certainly was fifteen minutes later as we still were standing in my driveway while Steve recounted the circumstances, actions, conversations, and consequences of the eviction.
The French have a word for someone who has nurtured someone else as though they were their own child and has had the relationship sour.
