Patiently Impatient

Like most people I know, I can be a very patient person, however, I can and often will find myself to be impatient. You could also use the word intolerant because while they are different in definition and emotion, they often go hand in hand.

We hired a private contractor to do some work that we found ourselves no longer capable of doing. We checked him out, and were told, “He’s good, thorough, and efficient. Just not very timely.” I asked what exactly that meant and was told that while he would show up for work, his day began whenever he arrived. If he said he’d arrive by 9am, we could expect him by 11am or maybe a bit later.

My husband called him and made an appointment to take place two weeks later for an estimate. He showed up three weeks later. We ignored his time lapse since it wasn’t critical we get the room painted quickly and also forgot about the 9am time appointment. He arrived around 11am.

My husband and I agreed that if he didn’t show up that day, we wouldn’t need him to show up at all, but he eventually did and gave us an estimate we liked. Taking is tardiness into consideration, we hired him with his promise to begin work four weeks later. He explained that he needed to finish his current job first. We understood completely and agreed.

Four weeks came and went. The fifth week did the same. Finally in the middle of the sixth week, he called saying he’d be at our home by 9am the following morning. As promised, 9am sharp, he was at the door.

You’re wondering why we waited so long and not fired him immediately. As I said, it was only a job to repaint two rooms so if he was a bit late, it was no big deal to us. He wasn’t going to get paid until the job was done, anyway.

He took our paint samples and he left to make the purchase. He’d drop off the paint at our house and begin the work the next day.

Ah, our painting was about to begin!

Normally, as I said, I’m a very patient person but I do often find myself intolerant of inconsideration. That’s when my patience goes flying out the window. The more inconsiderate a person is to me, the faster my patience evaporates.

Nine o’clock came but the contractor didn’t. As the hour hand on the clock snuck past the number 10, I tried to busy myself to keep from constantly glancing at it. Eleven o’clock passed as did noon.

I commented to my husband, “It’s a [expletive] good thing we didn’t pay him anything.”

At that point, we hadn’t even paid for the paint. That would all be included in his final invoice when the job was done.

He finally arrived at 2pm saying that he needed to make a quick trip to the hardware store and was delayed. I felt like screaming, “REALLY? IT TOOK YOU FOUR HOURS TO GO TO A HARDWARE STORE THAT IS ONLY ABOUT TEN MINUTES AWAY?” Not to embarrass my husband, I kept quiet.

WEEK ONE: we are at the end mark of the week and 4 out of 4 days, he’s been late. He has yet to show up at his promised time of 9am. In fact, he has not once arrived before 11am.

To his credit, he is not lazy. When he was here, he worked constantly. He didn’t leave until around 8 pm (which interfered with our dinner, but we managed).

You’re probably wondering why I haven’t confronted him about his tardiness. If it affected his workmanship, I wouldn’t have hesitated but as I said, his work wasn’t just decent, it’s good and he wasn’t lazy – just tardy.

The work we hired him to do should take no longer than two full weeks. I was eager to see if his tardiness would affect that deadline. It didn’t – almost.

Our friends who recommend him urged us to not speak to him or at least speak as infrequently as possible. This man loves to talk, and it wouldn’t matter what the subject might be. It can begin about the weather and before you know it, he’ll be telling you about the diamond mines in Africa. To avoid any lengthy conversations, my husband spent the day in the yard doing whatever he could find to do; I closed the door to my home office and tried to keep busy but there was still only so much to do in there.

As I sat in that small room, I started feeling restless. Oh, what to do! I can only clean and clear my desk so many times.

It was at that point when my brain’s lightbulb illuminated. Ah! Write, I thought to myself.

So, there I was, writing, and wondering if I can sneak out of there just long enough to make myself a cup of tea without getting caught up in a firestorm of time-consuming conversation.

Quietly, I opened the door and wandered into my great room (Florida’s equivalent of a large family room). Everything was quiet. I looked around. Where is he? His equipment was still there. I wasn’t about to call out his name, so I tiptoed into the dining room.

What the heck?

Using our back door, I quietly and quickly made my way to the backyard and suggested my husband follow me back into the house but cautioned him to be quiet.

There in the corner of the dining room, lay our painter, fast asleep!

I tried to suppress a laugh. The image was too ridiculous to spark any anger. Motioning to my husband to follow me into the office, I asked, “So, do we wake him up?”

My husband had a better idea. Exiting the house the same way he came in, he walked around the back yard, through the garage, then into the house using the garage door. He was definitely not quiet about it. That woke up the painter.

Ten days later, yes, three days past his time of completion, he packed up and announced he’d finished. We checked out each wall and the ceiling noting a few small spots he missed. He corrected those errors. We studied his invoice and found nothing out of the ordinary. We paid him and he left.

Yes, aside from his personal internal clock that never had the correct time, he did a decent job. Was it perfect? Almost.

About three months later, I headed out to my lanai and called my husband.

“Is this my imagination or is this what I really think I see?”

I pointed to the door leading outside.

This door is situated in the kitchen in a shady area so many imperfections go unnoticed.

My husband gave the door a very studied look and said, “Damn, you’re right! He never painted it!”

Rather than call the painter back, we chose to get the job done very quickly. My husband it! And there was no reason for me to become patiently impatient one again.