Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Bitching

. . . about the gendered dynamic of home repairs.

I feel violated--by the men who talk too much and show up late and know it all and never leave, by the ones who try to sell me $9.99-per-month "VIP Service" plans (it is NOT A COINCIDENCE that they make this sales pitch late in the consultation when you are tired of listening to your "options" and about how much pride they take in their work and are trapped in an enclosed location within your own house with the serviceman smiling between you and the nearest exit) and by the ones who stand too close and by the ones who ask probing personal questions ("No way! I thought college teachers were all old men with beards. You can't be that old!" and "You're a smartie, eh? Is your husband a smartie too? What does he do?") And I hate HAVING SO MANY THINGS THAT NEED TO BE FIXED BY MEN in my life. My car is now making clickety sounds like an old Model T, and the side mirror is dangling like a cheap earring and I know when I go it'll be several hundred dollars and men men men telling me what I need and what it'll cost.

I hate it that I'm totally at their mercy--they could say something will cost $10 or $100 or $1000 and I have no idea what they're doing or what things should cost--unless I take more time out of my work day to do evermore research on home repairs and have other workmen come to give counter-estimates and whatnot, which is the LAST thing I feel like doing when I've already warped my day to accommodate their "2-hour window" and made the ultimate sacrifice of banishing my dogs to a kennel across town so strange men can climb all over my home and quote me prices for work I must trust them to do--and then of course having them do the work means they're going to spend MORE TIME HERE with me and that I'll have to spend more time schlepping dogs to the kennel when all I want to do is STAY HOME ALONE WITH NO MEN and be with my dogs.

I'm so sick of men. Pushy alpha males and relentless runts and silver-tongued scamps who are ever-so-worried that I'll panic without VIP-level service in the event of a woeful weather incident.

I feel like I need to do a New Agey smoke and sage cleansing ceremony to get them all out of my house.

Seriously.

Tomorrow I begin consulting lesbian friends about handypersons.

Seriously.

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