The mold man came today. I knew he was coming, I gave him a housekey. He told me the offending areas would be partitioned off with thick plastic. And that there would be loud particle scrubbers in the house, one on the main floor and one in the master bath upstairs. I was prepared for this.
When I came home, poor little Havok came down the stairs, crying all the way. He did not approve of what had been done to the house. After some poking around, I decided I did not either.
I have been blocked out my kitchen. So, ok, it’s just aluminum poles, plastic, and masking tape, so I could get in if I wanted to bad enough. But this plastic is protecting me from potentially toxic stackybockus. So I dare not mess with it.
My kitchen is where I keep a lot of important stuff.
Like the cats’ food and water. They have not been able to eat all day.
Like the husband’s heartburn drugs.
Like my zyrtec. My dear, dear zyrtec that I bought at the pharmacy counter at Target after they scanned my drivers’ license so I could be put into the national meth-head database.
Like MY FOOD. ALL OF MY FOOD IS IN MY KITCHEN. I must eat every 2 hours. Or I will surely die. You can ask the husband. You can ask anyone who has ever worked with me. You can ask anyone who has ever lived with me. You can ask anyone who has ever been to the Renaissance Faire with me. I am always eating. I eat a snack when I get home from work every evening. Except for this evening.
Like the answering machine for my home phone. I called my kitchen man over the weekend, to see if he’d come look at my bathroom. And now I won’t know if he called back till Wednesday …
Like the thermostat that controls the temperature OF MY ENTIRE HOUSE. I am wrapped in blankets and freezing. Because this is Virginia, tomorrow it will be 80 degrees. And I will be sweltering. Because I cannot access my thermostat.
If the mold man had TOLD me, oh, btw, you won’t be able to get to your kitchen for 3 days, I would have done some things differently. Like got the cats’ food and bowls out of there. And all the drugs. And some food! I guess there’s not much I could do about the thermostat.
So the husband and I just got back from a shopping extravaganza: cat food, new cat bowls, taco bell/kfc, zyrtec, snacks (slim jims and powdered donettes, mmmm), oh yeah, and DUCT TAPE. Cuz part of the kitchen-blocking plastic fell down. And because we don’t want to die, we decided to tape it back up. (The part that fell did not provide access to the kitchen. Otherwise, I totally woulda gone for it.)
So, yeah, don’t let your house get moldy. There is nothing good about it. The mold men take all your money, so you can’t even rebuild a nice bathroom afterwards …
3 replies on “grrrrrr”
Man, I would be so furious. I would insist that they fashion me a little plastic tunnel into the kitchen.
Yeah, I was expecting a tight squeeze into the kitchen – perhaps even one that the husband couldn’t make it through. But they DID NOT TELL ME that I would have NO kitchen access. Even if there was just a hole for my arm, that would have been nice, that’s all I need to work the thermostat.
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