Either way, we're locking our door

A few months back in the sticky dead of summer we had a little problem.

The bathroom ceiling on the first floor was dripping water like it was crying during the scene from Old Yeller. It was gushing. Cheese immediately called our landlord, who promised to send someone over the next day.

***

The next day at about 5 p.m. a crew of three men arrived and set about removing the water-logged drywall and tossing it out. Apparently, that was good enough for the day, because they left shortly thereafter.

A few days later a crazy dude showed up and installed the new piece of drywall that serves as our ceiling. This was not the end of the crazy.

About a week later a man showed up to work on the bathroom. He was an older black gentleman with big, thick glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. His white T-shirt was stained with sweat and other mystery substances from his laboring hours and his jeans matched. He also carried something in his hand.

Ole' Dude: "Yo, you don't mind if I drink my 40 while I work, do you? Is been a long day."
Cheese: "Uhhh, sure."

The man set about to working. As he was spackling the ceiling he emitted noises that are usually reserved for hard-core porno flicks. So loud were these wails that they actually woke me up as I napped upstairs. I stumbled down the steps expecting to see Cheese doing things that you just don't do in the living room when I saw the guy. Cheese and I exchanged a look.

After about an hour he emerged from the bathroom, face and glasses covered in drywall dust and spackle spittle. He told us he was leaving and promised he would be back the next day to finish the job.

About a week later on a Tuesday night he arrived, this time sans 40 oz. Our friend B was over and we were hanging out, trying to ignore his wails and grunts that once again echoed out of the small bathroom.

At one point we all started to head outside to smoke and the man, sensing that it was time to take a break, decided to join us. Now, even though up to this point he never spoke a work to B -- who is also black -- he apparently decided this was the best time to do so.

Ole' Dude: "Girl how you gon play me like that?
B: "Uhhh, what?"
Ole' Dude: [chuckling] "Nuttin, forget it."

Awkward.

A few hours later as he was wrapping up for the day Cheese and I once again headed outside to smoke. As we were puffing away the Ole' Dude stepped outside to grab something. He looked at us and said "Shiit, I didn't wanna even work today, but you white people pay so well."

[awkward chuckles from Cheese and I]

Me: "Uhh, yea."

Very awkward.

I didn't bother telling him that we, actually, weren't paying at all. Our landlord, who is also black, would be paying for it. But I think the point would have been lost on him. It's tough to understand things when you're high as a fucking kite on crack.

So, clearly this guy is a little crazy.

***

If you step into our bathroom right now you will see clear evidence of a job left unfinished. The swaths from the paint roller extend to about a foot from the floor, there's still a little drywall dust on the carpet, and the exhaust fan remains uncovered.

Princess was tired of waiting, and informed our landlord of what was going on.

I returned yesterday from a run to find Cheese outside on the porch.

Cheese: "So, you know the guys that own the company, the guys that sent the crazy guy out here to fix our bathroom?"
Me: "Yea."
Cheese: "Well they stopped by to look at it. I could barely hear them but one of them was like, 'Man, he said this was finished.' I think they're going to fire that guy."
Me: [wide open eyes] "Oh shit."
Cheese: "I know."
Me: "That's not good for us."
Cheese: "I know. We're totally locking the doors."
Me: "Oh fuck yes."

I mean, I didn't want the guy to get fired, I just didn't want him coming back. It was that weird. But I guess it was inevitable. There's only so many times you can show up for work with a 40 oz. and expect to keep your job. Trust me.