Going Local

It’s officially halftime. Everyone is feeling a little under the gun. Five days in and we’ve made some crazy progress, but pealing back the onion isn’t making it any smaller. We have yet to paint six of the seven rooms and the ceiling is somewhat prepped. We have all the materials for the deck, maybe. I can envision the final product, but as of tonight it’s still a pile of boards.

Scotty, Diana, and Kéa rallied, meticulously prepping our expanding paint venture. The house is taped, plastic wrapped, dry-walled, and ready to accept various hues of color. You’ll notice that I didn’t include myself that last sentence. Or really any sentence. The reason for this is that I suck at painting. It’s not that I’m just a bad painter or not patient enough. I’m actually horrible. I’m a menace. I have the innate ability to turn any paint worksite into a monstrosity. I could make a living threatening professional painters to turn up and “help.”

This isn’t what it looks like…

During this phase of the operation, I’ve been reduced to a modern day version of a 1950’s housewife. Clearly the most useless member of our team, I made the executive decision to be the errand boy. Someone had to drive north, fight Providence traffic, and resupply our needs. It just made sense for me to go. That, and Scotty paid me to leave.

Home Depot has always been slightly* overwhelming for me. It’s like being in a foreign country where you can’t read or speak the language….and there are no maps. If you can’t find some guy in an orange apron you’re completely fu*ked.  Even if you do find one of those orange apron guys, whatever they tell you makes absolutely no sense. “Yeah, the countersinks are in the bath area by the tube lumber and concrete wire.”

I wandered aimlessly through the dank aisles of Home Depot for about three and half hours. Dehydrated and suffering from exhaustion, I managed to find seven of the 18 items I was sent away to collect. Eventually I found my way to the check out aisle where the clerk immediately rubbed salt in my wounds. “Did you find everything you were looking for?” NO! This place is a massive maze of impossibly confusing parts of random things and when I feel like I get close, you close the only lane that might harbor the one thing I actually came in for so you can drive a forklift up and down for your own pleasure because you are cruel awful orange apron people!

Ok, that’s what I wanted to say. I just muttered a yes.  Then came the crushing blow. “Do you have a Home Depot card?” NO I DON’T HAVE A FU*KING HOME DEPOT CARD!! Because you assholes made me apply for a commercial card which took 90 minutes and three phone calls and a fax (A flipping FAX for god sake!) and in the end you DENIED my application because I don’t have a business! I told you that a rental home is not a business!

Ok, I only said that in my head. But now I was mad. During the drive back to South County I made myself a promise to never visit another Home Depot ever again. My new favorite hardware store of all time is Arnold Lumber. After using big names like Home Advisor, Home Depot, and Terminix, and being severely disappointed, I’ve been exceptionally happy with the little guy. Arnold Lumber, in business since 1911 outfitted us with high quality lumber, everything we needed for our project, and I didn’t get lost or see evil people with aprons.


George only took cash. I was happy to give it to him and not Lowe’s or Home Depot.
Respect the cone.
Going Yard

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