A guy came to my house to measure my floor this morning. The flooring place had told me he’d arrive between 9:00 and 11:00 a.m., and when he knocked on the door at 9:45, I did exactly what Oprah and Dr. Phil say you’re never supposed to do. I opened the door and let him in. Without asking for ID, and without first calling the flooring place to confirm that he was their employee. As soon as he was in the door, I remembered all the precautions that women are supposed to take before they let a strange man into the house, and I remembered every daytime talk show horror story I’ve seen dramatically re-enacted. But by then, it was too late.
As he kicked the snow off his boots, he commented on the cold outside. It was about eight below zero out there, with something like a -20 wind chill (gotta love winter in Minnesota). Trying to make lighthearted conversation, I replied, “Yeah, it was freezing in here a little while ago. I have the thermostat programmed lower during the day when I’m at work, and I forgot to override it this morning.” He chuckled politely, and I realized I’d just told him that my house is usually empty at this time of day.
I showed him to the sunroom. He took out his measuring tape and a note pad, and as he went to work, I wondered if the flooring company does criminal background checks on these guys before sending them out to people’s houses. He didn’t really look like a serial killer. But they never do.
Ten minutes later, he had the measurements he needed. He said that if I want sheet vinyl in that room, it’ll probably have to wait until spring, because the adhesive doesn’t work unless the temperature of the floor is above 70 degrees.
Then he packed up his tape measure and his notepad, and he left…
...without making me
into a lampshade, which was
nice of him, I think.