I’m angrily getting over a miserable cold. I’m angry because I think I know where I picked up the nasty, germy bug.
It most assuredly happened the last time I was there.
As I was bending down to tie my shoe, I heard it. It was a wretched sound. My head shot up. I had to know where that awful noise was coming from. And there she was, sitting all alone, down in the pit of the very lanes that I would be bowling on, practically right in front of me.
It was not a polite, “I’ve got a little tickle in my throat” cough, cough. It wasn’t a watery eyes, sneezy, “The goldenrod is terrible this year, isn’t it?” allergy, cough, cough.
In fact, I can’t even classify it as a cough. The woman was hacking. She was deep down gurgling, whole body shaking, hacking.
And I? I was terrified.
I pointed her out to my team mate. “Do you hear her?” I asked. “What is she doing here?” I wanted to know.
Okay, so there is this ritual at bowling. I don’t know if it is a standard world wide practice. But in our league, whenever a bowler makes a spare or a strike, she gives a hand tap, high five to members of her team and also to the bowlers on the opposing team. Apparently, it’s a way to graciously pass on good luck to the other bowlers.
I told my teammate Diane that I most certainly would not be touching anyone’s hand that day.
And I didn’t. Well, except for that one time. I got caught up in my own excitement. The excitement of making a turkey. Three strikes in a row. It does’t happen very often for me.
So, as I walked back through the roaring, cheering crowd, after my third strike in a row, my turkey strike, how could I deny the others a hand tap, high five?
I couldn’t. I didn’t.
Two days later, there I was. A coughing, sneezing, sniffling, sore throat, achey NyQuil ad.
So, again I ask the question. Why was that woman out in public? Why was she not home in bed?
We’ve decided to replace the whole floor. Not just the kitchen, but all of the hardwood floor throughout the house. We also decided to go with a lighter wood. The dark Brazilian cherry is beautiful, but it’s tough to keep clean. Especially, with a Rico dog,
To go along with this news, there is a cautionary tale to tell.
When Lou (the guy who came out to give us an estimate) told us what the square footage measurements were, we immediately realized that they did not match up with the measurements from the last time we had the floor installed.
In a phone conversation, Ross brought this to the attention of Dominic, the owner of the flooring business who would be doing the job. Dominic off handily chalked it up the necessity of having to add in a 10% waste factor.
Ross, who taught Math for 30+ years, knew that a 10% waste factor could not possibly add up to needing an extra 200 more square feet. He had a strong suspicion that Lou made an arithmetic calculation error.
I think that Ross is probably the best arbitrator and negotiator in the world. No, really he is.
He simply told Dominic that he wanted to give him our business. “Especially,” he said, “since you did such a fine job for us last time.”
He asked Dominic if he would personally come out to do another measurement.
“It would put my mind at ease,” he said.
How could Dom say no? He couldn’t. He didn’t.
What is it that they say? Measure twice. Cut once.
As it turned out, after Dom did the second measurement, the square footage was 200 square feet less than what Lou came up with. That translated into $1800.
We went into the store the next day. Lou was there. He apologized. He showed us where he made the mistake. When he measured the hallway leading into the bedroom he forgot a decimal point. Instead of 24.5 square feet, he wrote down 245 square feet.
Buyer be “A ware”.
I exaggerated a little about the reaction to my Turkey. hehehe