Patience goes down drain
I’M renovating my kitchen. Many things are worse than renovation. Root canal. Teaching Scaramucci English. Dating O.J. Being
Eric Schneiderman’s headhunter. My new washer-dryer came computerized. We can’t operate it because its manual is in Spanish. And you can’t use bleach in it. For a thing that washes white linens and shirts, no bleach. Perfect.
My neighbor got this same appliance but couldn’t learn to operate it because the thing flooded. Water’s currently slopping all over her kitchen.
We installed a bright-red custom sink. Matching red faucets and spout. Stunning. Its care and feeding — which necessitates more gentility than I ever used toward my husband — comes with thick instructions. Can’t throw pots and pans in it. No steel wool. No chemicals. No abrasives. Also, this sink’s leaking. Refrigerator. Its water dispenser doesn’t. This new model undribbles barely a few drops. Theoretically, you must wait for another dribble session. To serve friends a cup of coffee, you have to nudge your dispenser six months in advance. I plan to tell this refrigerator maker where he can stick his dispenser.
Stove. Smart-looking special stove with red knobs. But the seller never mentioned that the stupid thing — which has a glass top — NO burners — only works with its own special pots. They must be — ready? — induction -compatible, whatever-the-hell that means. We’re talking a truckload of cash just to boil an egg.
My kitchen would be cheaper if I bought a coffee shop.
The ‘paper’ chase
WALLPAPER hangers believe Mondays are legal holidays. Never start a job early in the week so they maybe finish Friday. They always begin Thursday so your life can stay wrecked over the weekend while they lay around their own hut undisturbed.
In came a specialist workman. The fixed look of death remained on his brow while he announced whatever we wanted done was not his specialty. His specialty appeared to be flicking cigarette ashes on my new floor. To save my sanity I called our contractor. He wasn’t home. Thanks to my deposit he was in Ireland on vacation.
Let there be light
THE contractor omitted taking eyesight into consideration. He handled effect. Indirect lighting. So indirect that you can only read a shopping list if it’s pasted on your eyelid. He used phrases like “contemporary modern” and “end time grouping.” I replied with “lamps” and “bulbs.” Only in New York, kids, only in New York.