For the 3rd time this week, I am waiting for the man to come and change my locks. He may discover, if he doesn’t get here today, that I have very strongly formed opinions on the iniquities of messing me about like this. I am the daughter of the kind of workman who does this to people without letting them know he’s going to be late/can’t do the job/takes on too much work and whilst I am very accepting of the fact stuff goes wrong, I am not at all accepting of rudeness in the form of failure to communicate lateness/inability to turn up/putting all the onus on the customer to phone and find out. (If I were paying for this, I’d be sorely tempted to deduct the cost of phone calls and my time taken away from other things from the final bill. I’m only putting up with it because I’m not paying. I will also, if asked, suggest my landlady does not use this man again.)
I think I spent far too many years in the parental dwelling dealing with/coping with fall out from the angst caused by workmen failing to turn up when they said they would… I’m sure this is why I prefer to do the work myself where at all possible.
I’m also waiting for the music shop to phone and say they have my piano. Sighs…
Still, I’m going out once it’s done, to get new library books, and other nice tasks, which have been waiting until the work was done.