Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Beard FaSay and the sexist plumber.

It's Beard FaSay! & the sexist plumber.

Im not sure how many tampons I have flushed down the toilet in a previous life, but it seems my run of bad plumbing luck has yet to run it's course.

It all started on Monday.. Remember Monday? I know it was only two days ago, but you know when so many things happen on those few days that it feels like a long time must have passed?

Monday saw the arrival of the insurance assessor, to assess our claim for the busted pipe in between the bathroom and laundry wall. A lovely man, with a snappy
Little camera, who wore tweed pants and a friendly smile framed by a big white beard.

He introduced himself, I promptly forgot his name, it flew straight out of my head the minute he said it... I think it was because I was far too infatuated with his beard. It was perfectly round, like a paper plate.
The kind cheap kind that pre school children use for craft type things, it was as though someone had stuck one of these paper plates on the lower portion of his face and cut a perfect rectangle where the mouth should be.


Anyway.. I decided to christen the insurance assessor, Round Beard Facé, like off scrubs, because that is how my brain works. He had a beard, it was round, I desperately wanted to catch cabbages attention, just so that I could whisper, "it's Beard FaSay" but I couldn't, that would be rude, I don't know whats wrong with me.

(Turns out his name was Gary), and I suspect he must have sensed my distraction during our introduction and handed me his card, which I promptly put it in my pocket so I could refer to it like a cheat sheet while he was there.
 (However, when he was gone... between you and I, he will forever be known as good old Ed Sheeran's man Round Beard FaSay.)

Meanwhile, Round Beard FaSay was busying himself between staring at my laundry wall as though he were admiring a Van Gogh and knocking on the tiles of my bathroom wall, I briefly thought about knocking back from the laundry, just to freak him out, but I thought... No Emma, don't be a dick, this is important. Beard, and I didn't.

He asked if cabbage and I could please turn on the water, and we obliged.
The water was not on more than ten seconds before he came ball tearing out the back, hysterically hands waving in the air, yelling...  "TURN IT OFF!!! TUUURN. IT. OFF!!.

Like that.

He was still instructing us to turn it off, long after it was, such was the importance of turning it off.. So I had a moment a moment to behold his hysteria.

I saw him on the back stairs, one hand still hysterically waving, the other on the stair rail, with his round beard and his eyes large, panicked and just as round.

I thought.. For fucks sake woman.. don't laugh, DON'T. LAUGH. Which was difficult, because it was comical, but I didn't.. I stared off uncomfortably in the distance, furrowed my brow and squinted my eyes at the sun to disguise any involuntary facial amusement.
I also dared not even glance in cabbages direction because I knew.. One look at him and it was all over. We would both be rolling around on the grass with tear inducing soundless laughter.

Anyways, despite my immaturity, our insurance claim was accepted and diagnosed as a definite busted pipe, and so, cabbage left for work, Round Beard FaSay left with a promise that a plumber, electrician and builder were dispatched, and not an hour later, the plumber arrived.

Is is when the all the pleasantness in the world contracted the herpes and died.

The plumber looked me up and down, and asked me where the man of the house was. I told him that I was the man of the house for now, and would he like to come in.
He did, and then promptly told me that he did not take orders from women.


I thought this was a bit rich for a man who spends his day in the company of stool, but as I make a living, (not a very good one either) from complaining about things, and pretending I know about things. I thought I'd best just bite my tongue.

I know.. Don't say it.. I am just as disappointed in myself. It Seems my dance with Karma may have damaged my smart ass, because all I did was call cabbage & explain  (all be it loudly),  that there was a Neanderthal in the house, and he would have to return to rescue me, also make all the important decisions, so that I could call the plumbing police and report him.

This confused cabbage greatly, so he hurried home expecting a mental health emergency,  and as soon as he was in the door, I picked up Andie and  together with our useless vaginas, stormed over to the neighbors for a coffee and a whinge, also to bitch about it on twitter. I have powerful friends there.

Seething slash spying on him from the safety of my neighbors verandah, I saw him packing up his tools so I left Andie to play with my neighbors children and stomped in to inspect his handy work.

I know what your thinking...
Is this blog post over yet? and no it isn't.. Because I walked in to see many broken pieces of fibro from my laundry, all over the floor.
I demanded to know what the fuck he thought about the asbestos risk?

He replied.. Wait for it...

Not my problem lady, you have mopping to do, whilst gesturing to a large body of water in my hall and then asked where my husband was.

I have to stop here For a minute to breathe deeply, but not too deeply on account of the asbestos..

I told him that the mopping was my husbands job, and that he old now get out of my house, because the bullshit intolerant job was mine.

He left, I then called Round Beard FaSay, who promptly ordered our evacuation, offered his sincerest apologies for the behavior of the contractor, and made a further promise to immediately dispatch an emergency asbestos team and whoop some contractor ass.

So that was Monday.

The asbestos team have been done the clean up and gone, the risk was deemed quite low, as the fibro was wet from the broken pipe, also this particular type of fibro is more hazardous if it has been exposed to fire rather than being disturbed.
Good to know.
currently there are various whirly machines collecting samples of air from my house, I'm not sure why, but I expected people to go in with sample jars catching air from inside my house in them, but no.. They do it with whirly machines.

The results when collected, take 24 hours and until then, and pending the all clear, we are not allowed back in our house.

I am writing his blog post from my driveway, on my iPad which is infuriating if you have ever attempted to do so, you know my pain, so please excuse any grammar or spelling errs, also the lack of witty's all just too hard.

For now though, I'm better safe than sorry, a whinger, slightly shitty, a little hungry and I have the shakes from drinking too much coffee, but I do feel a little bad ass from staking out my house from the car, drinking coffee like I am on law and order or something.

Chat soon, hopefully
Emma. xx

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