Remodel Set-Up Crew: Fill & Download for Free

It wasn’t in my driveway: I was parked on the side of my road. There were builders working on the house opposite mine in the residential road where I live, like everybody else, in a terraced house: there is no off-road parking.As a single woman, living alone, it appeared that the little gang of builders thought of me as a joke. They often “double-parked” in front of my car (parked in front of my own house, as often as not), and kept me waiting some considerable time when I asked to be allowed out (treating me as if I were a “nuisance”, for asking). They filled my front garden with detritus from their work (old cement sacks, cardboard tile boxes, random bits of plastic), and, when I carried these items back to their skip, sniggered amongst themselves. The items would reappear minutes later. (Actually, my next-door neighbour, who was a local councillor-and who, like most of the other people down my road, hadn’t been targeted as much by the bullies-noticed what was happening and reported them to the council. The council workmen came around and, having cleaned up the building mess, then charged them a fat fee).“Gentrification” has got a bad name, but in the context of our area, I love it. My house wasn’t liveable in when I first moved in, and I made a LOT of improvements. I’ve also supported 100% all my neighbours’ remodelling work. As far as I’m concerned, people who are working-and paying-to improve their and their family’s lives are to be welcomed. So I almost never kick up a fuss about any inconvenience caused by building work, and often had friendly relationships with local builders .However, these men were different-and really, NOT in a good way. It seemed to me that their working practices had led them into a vicious circle. They were disrespectful to the neighbours on the job, which tended to make neighbours hostile. Which encouraged the builders to habitually think that all neighbours are the enemy. From day one. This led to defensive, then bullying behaviour, and, as a lone woman, I was an open target. I was counting the days for the work to be done.For the sake of my neighbours, who I knew really needed the building work done, I grit my teeth and put up with it as best I could, but one day was the worst. I was going up to London for an important meeting, and when I came out to get into my car, I found that TWO of the builders’ vehicles were boxing me in (a truck and a van). I went to the front of the house opposite to call the builders. I have to stress here: ours is a polite, genteel road. One simply shouts “excuse me”, if one has to shout at all. I could hear the workmen within, but there was absolutely NO response. Eventually (against what I really wanted to do), I picked my way up the path and shouted through the front door. A man came out and simply said:“We’re busy. Forget about us moving. You’ll just have to do without your car today.” He turned to go back into the house.I said: “Very well. I will call the police and have your vehicles towed. I can photograph them immediately and you will get two fines [actually, I think that they had at LEAST five vehicles in the vicinity: not one of them with the correct permit], because the vehicles blocking me have no permits for this road. I will also report you to the council. I imagine that they will issue you with further fines for all the detritus that’s in the road right now.” I didn’t even raise my voice.I then turned around and walked back towards my car, but as I did so, the whole cohort of builders (about 7 men) all came out of the building and started cat-calling me. They moved the obstructing vehicles but stood in the road shouting nastily and gesticulating (like schoolboys) as I drove away. I have to admit, I was intimidated. I decided that if I had any further trouble with them, I would definitely call the police. I felt vulnerable from then on, but luckily the job finished fairly soon after that and my road returned to peacefulness. I cleared the considerable mess out of my front garden with a sigh of relief.The following year, a delightful couple of women moved into the house next to the one that had been remodelled. I had known one of the ladies (vaguely) from before, and she and her partner immediately slipped into our little local society straight away. We exchanged biscuits and jars of jam-and talked about setting up a little club to watch films. I had known all along that the women, “Jane” and “Helga” were going to remodel their house. They had a HUGE budget and big ambitions for an amazing house. I couldn’t have been happier.One night, we were chatting, and the subject of builders came up. Because my awful experience had occurred some time before (over a year previously), I could see the (slightly more) lighthearted side of things, and told some wry anecdotes about what the awful builders had done. Notwithstanding the merriment caused by a few glasses of wine, I could see a thunderous look spreading over the married couple’s countenances.“It’s OK!” I said. “I’m sure that the builders you have lined up for the job are lovely! Most of my experience of builders down this road have been fine!”The ladies exchanged glances.“Sadly,” said Jane, “we’ve more or less arranged to have the SAME builders! They were recommended by our next door neighbours!” (These people hadn’t been living at the house while the work was being done, so had no idea how horrible their builders had been).I knew that, at such short notice, for such a HUGE job, the ladies probably couldn’t afford to change things, so I smiled as warmly as I could and told them that everything was fine. But I have to admit, I went home and had a little cry: this job was going to take at LEAST three months, and I was, in all likelihood, going to have a HORRIBLE time. I have a partner now, but I was alone at the time. I wasn’t looking forward to it at all.The next time I saw Jane, she told me that she would like a little word: we trooped into her house and she got out the coffee.“I’ll get straight to the point.” Said Jane. “I’ve worked ALL my professional life dealing with organisations and personnel, and so has Helga. In the early days, the misogynistic, homophobic attitudes we had to fight, tooth and nail, would be considered outrageous nowadays. We didn’t come this far to tolerate the continuation of sexism, bullying and victimisation. We’ve had a word with the building company, and agreed on some protocols. Unfortunately, the boss seemed to feel that the men concerned are in all likelihood going to continue to offend. So they’ve been replaced. There will be other tradesmen on the job. He will never prioritise using those men again: frankly, he’s hopping mad that their childish behaviour has nearly cost him a job and he can only conclude that they will be liabilities in the future.”“So it’ll be a completely new crew. However, if you get any more trouble, Helga and I would like you to tell us straight away. There’s going to be ZERO tolerance on this job, and their boss strongly agrees. It’s a big job, and we will not HESITATE to cancel the whole thing unless they can act as professionals. We DON’T care if it’s inconvenient to us. You have to understand, Emma, this is VERY important to us.”I looked at Jane and realised that it was more important to her even than it was to me! I was full of admiration: if our society had advanced during the past few decades, it was because of professional women like this couple.I hope those builders got alternative work that summer (that’s sarcasm: to be honest, I don’t give a rat’s arse): they definitely weren’t on THAT job. The builders who ultimately turned Jane and Helga’s house into a thing of beauty were professional, affable, courteous, businesslike and efficient.

My childhood back in the late 1940’s and early 50’s required me to invent ways to entertain myself. The default setting otherwise being boredom. To that end I managed to both imagine dramas I could participate in with friends and use items for other things than their designed purpose. As I grew, my creativity provided me avenues of pleasure and popularity since I could readily think”outside the box”. What children are famous for being able to do naturally I managed to carry well into my early 30’s. At that time I had learned about installing hard surfaced flooring. I had a van full of tools, a brain full of methods and installation requirements and my creativity. My new routine was obtaining flooring from a store, driving out to the customer’s home with their purchase and installing it as a sub contractor (Maple Leaf Remodeling). On the very first day, working alone, I stood by the back of my truck and looked inside at the 350 pound roll of flooring I would have to install in their kitchen that day. I—was—-all—-alone. For a moment the doubts flooded in. Then my creativity stepped up. In the next minute it changed my broom, dust pan and brush into a “clean up crew”. My floor grinder, spud bar and other tools became the “take up crew” and later that day I would send in the “flooring installation crew”. By the time I walked up to their door and knocked I was the “front office PR man” and to get him out of the truck in the morning I used the phrase “Lets go meet the natives” as a self-hypnotism prompt. From that day on for the next 34 years I carried a whole crew of men around with me in my truck. They enabled me to, literally, do the work of two men, as the man I was working for as a sub contractor often told me.I believe that first five minutes in back of my van that first day enabled me to have a great flooring career filled with relevancy, recognition and a decent living. The human brain does not seem to know what limits are. When I was genuinely tired from tearing out a floor, I would tell myself to send in the clean up crew and I would feel refreshed by the time I had brought in that broom. It was a source of amazement to me (the doubting Thomas) but not to my unfettered creativity.

I was actually the employee in this instance.In graduate school, I taught physics classes. I got up, I ate, I showered, I got dressed, printed out quizzes for the day, and was heading out the door.I had 20 minutes to take a 10 minute walk to my classroom on campus, so I was in no rush. That is until I got outside…I locked my second story door and whipped around the corner only to see what wasn’t there… My stairs.Not my actual stairs, mine were outsideIt takes me a moment to realize what I was seeing. Apparently there was a lot of remodeling going on, and this morning was when the construction crew decided to remove the stairs.I called the building manager, and she told me that the crew had forgotten to install a set of temporary stairs until the new ones were built.The well-meaning manager told me that they would get the crew on it ASAP, but that didn’t help me - the clock was ticking. After dealing with this lack of oversight, I just scooted off the edge and somehow avoided twisting an ankle. I got to class just a few minutes into class time with a crowd of students outside the locked door.They all understood, and I was joyed to see the temporary stairs to my apartment upon my return.