The chimney guys arrived at 10:49. I was on the phone with the landlord’s wife at the time, because she’d called to see if they were done yet.
These guys look SO YOUNG. I mean, I wouldn’t mind seeing them pumping my gas or flipping my burgers—but they’re supposed to be installing something that, if it goes wrong, could lead to the house burning down. And 11 months of incompetence from people in their profession leads me to be wary, anyway.
The first kid got out of the van and walked past me without saying a word, heading around to the side of the house with a tape measure. The second kid sat in the van for a few minutes (and as loud as I could hear the music outside the van, I don’t think he was sitting there having a phone or radio conversation), then got out and perkily said “Hi, how are you this morning?” I said, “Well, I’m a little grumpy since my day is nearly three hours off schedule now.” He looked shocked that I’d mentioned their tardiness and said “Oh.” Then walked around the house.
They’re making lots of noise now, which I think is related to pulling out the defective pipes in the chimney. Their conversation comes through great, though. “There ain’t no (something something) or five shots neither. Who put this fucker in?”
