December 05, 2005
Unfortunately, there is a guy in Capitola that will tomorrow be on the receiving end of scathing phone call. Some time ago, I called my dad and... well, against my nature, whined about how I was supposed to install my new french doors by myself. A couple of hours after that phone call, I received a notice from my parents that they were coming out to help, and I had little to say about it. You know, you can't say no to your folks. Hopefully, Annie will learn that soon. As things go, that is to say... wrong... the doors in question did not show up on time. I was cool with that, though. You see, the salesman that told me that they would be here on time, further told me that they would not arrive like normal pre-hung doors. They would all be in pieces for me to assemble.
I was totally cool with that. I'd configure and build the jam. I'd mount the doors, and make sure that everything was plumb and square. No problem.
The door folks called me last Friday. The conversation didn't start out well, but I attributed it to the moron that they assigned to call people that day regarding product availability. Yes, he was a total loss at where I lived, and how I would pay for the doors. I informed him that all of this information should have been available given that they had delivered windows a couple of weeks earlier (when the doors were due as well). As if he were doing me a favor, he informed me that he would try to find my credit card information and bill them the same way (I was in my PJs and didn't have my credit card on me - not to mention, I was pissed that the doors were late). He arranged for the doors to be delivered today.
Now, when the salesman and I had talked, I told him that I was concerned about moving a six foot+ set of pre-hung doors by myself. He laughed and assured me that these doors did not come this way. I would have to closely follow the directions to make sure that I built the jam correctly and set everything right for the appropriate fit. Cool. I can follow directions. And, I can move smaller objects by myself.
Annie and I pulled into the driveway today to see a number of boxes in the driveway. I could almost not get out of the truck. One of the boxes looked frighteningly as if it had a set of french doors mounted in a pre-hung set of jams. It did. The box weighed in over 200 pounds, and spanned an area of about 6.5" x 7.5'. Print on the outside of the box said that it shouldn't be left in an area prone to moisture. Daughter of a Boar... I live in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and it's winter - or as good as. I had no where to put these damned things.
Annie was wonderfully supportive, and entertained herself while I started ripping out the wall. These doors were intended for a place that currently held a 4'x8' picture window from twenty years ago. I carefully hauled each glass pane to the truck. Fortunately for me, they were so poorly installed that each pane came out easily. I hauled the first one up the stairs with no problem. I slipped on my crappy deck stairs with the second one, and had visions of slicing my body up. I recovered and added a few choice words that I will share with the salesperson tomorrow. I continued working on a place to work the doors through. But, who was I going to get to help me?
After I sliced through the wall, and got it all clear for entry, I went to my next door neighbors. They are so wonderful. Tim had a stroke some time ago that has left his right struggling to feel anything, and, well, Connie is a lion heart, but exhibits this from a stature of less than five feet. I interupted them cooking dinner, but they came over, and we moved the damned' doors inside. I am so grateful. This is another example of why I'm so pleased to live where I do. I put a layer of plastic over the opening and screwed plywood over it to seal the opening.
I was thinking that I could install the doors without much pain. Stupid me. I checked the floor for level. It drops almost two inches across the area of concern. Nothing ever goes as easy as it should. This is part of God thinking that my life is the stuff of a very humorous play. Fortunately, I called my dad, and he had some great ideas about how to fix it. God's humor forgets that there are those of us who know that things normally go crappy, but there are ways of fixing it.
Deal Your worst, I can fix it...
I was totally cool with that. I'd configure and build the jam. I'd mount the doors, and make sure that everything was plumb and square. No problem.
The door folks called me last Friday. The conversation didn't start out well, but I attributed it to the moron that they assigned to call people that day regarding product availability. Yes, he was a total loss at where I lived, and how I would pay for the doors. I informed him that all of this information should have been available given that they had delivered windows a couple of weeks earlier (when the doors were due as well). As if he were doing me a favor, he informed me that he would try to find my credit card information and bill them the same way (I was in my PJs and didn't have my credit card on me - not to mention, I was pissed that the doors were late). He arranged for the doors to be delivered today.
Now, when the salesman and I had talked, I told him that I was concerned about moving a six foot+ set of pre-hung doors by myself. He laughed and assured me that these doors did not come this way. I would have to closely follow the directions to make sure that I built the jam correctly and set everything right for the appropriate fit. Cool. I can follow directions. And, I can move smaller objects by myself.
Annie and I pulled into the driveway today to see a number of boxes in the driveway. I could almost not get out of the truck. One of the boxes looked frighteningly as if it had a set of french doors mounted in a pre-hung set of jams. It did. The box weighed in over 200 pounds, and spanned an area of about 6.5" x 7.5'. Print on the outside of the box said that it shouldn't be left in an area prone to moisture. Daughter of a Boar... I live in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and it's winter - or as good as. I had no where to put these damned things.
Annie was wonderfully supportive, and entertained herself while I started ripping out the wall. These doors were intended for a place that currently held a 4'x8' picture window from twenty years ago. I carefully hauled each glass pane to the truck. Fortunately for me, they were so poorly installed that each pane came out easily. I hauled the first one up the stairs with no problem. I slipped on my crappy deck stairs with the second one, and had visions of slicing my body up. I recovered and added a few choice words that I will share with the salesperson tomorrow. I continued working on a place to work the doors through. But, who was I going to get to help me?
After I sliced through the wall, and got it all clear for entry, I went to my next door neighbors. They are so wonderful. Tim had a stroke some time ago that has left his right struggling to feel anything, and, well, Connie is a lion heart, but exhibits this from a stature of less than five feet. I interupted them cooking dinner, but they came over, and we moved the damned' doors inside. I am so grateful. This is another example of why I'm so pleased to live where I do. I put a layer of plastic over the opening and screwed plywood over it to seal the opening.
I was thinking that I could install the doors without much pain. Stupid me. I checked the floor for level. It drops almost two inches across the area of concern. Nothing ever goes as easy as it should. This is part of God thinking that my life is the stuff of a very humorous play. Fortunately, I called my dad, and he had some great ideas about how to fix it. God's humor forgets that there are those of us who know that things normally go crappy, but there are ways of fixing it.
Deal Your worst, I can fix it...