Ah yes, fun with flooring.
We - or, to be brutally honest, I, since I'm not certain BB's fully onboard with this - finally decided to pull up carpet in our postage stamp-sized dining room and replace it with wood flooring. Why? Because I'm a slob and can't keep carpeting clean when it's next to the kitchen, and is on a direct path to the cat box. It's the end point and depository for food, cat litter and much more, and I have never been able to keep up with the daily or every other day vacuuming and regular shampooing that is called for.
Soooo ... with my brother coming down next month, I decided it was time to spiff the place up, starting with exterminating the dining room carpet.
We decided to go with bamboo flooring for various green-ish reasons (it grows faster than traditional hardwoods, so using it isn't depleting the world's forests quite so quickly, and the stuff is both pretty and pretty sturdy.) A couple of weeks ago, we got the materials estimate, and a week or so ago we got the installation estimate. So far, so good.
Then, when we went to the materials store with what we believed was the final list of materials, one that the installer sent us, the callow youth who informed us he was "head of the wood flooring department" at the store insisted that he didn't understand the list, that he'd never heard of one item on the list, etc. He was generally determinedly non-helpful.
Nonetheless, we managed to get at least a majority of the materials purchased. Then came the next fun part. Putting 116 square feet-plus of heavy bamboo flooring, packaged in five separate boxes, into our little Hyundai, along with thin wooden lathes that were significantly longer than the car, which I think are what the installers will connect the flooring to around the borders of the room.
The unhelpful gentleman loaded everything in, but we should have paid more attention to how he did it, because, since the back hatch had to stay open (tied down but still open) in order to accommodate the lathes, we hadn't gone more than two block before one of the boxes of flooring slipped from the car like a ship sailing down a slip to the sea. It was promptly run over and turned into flinders by someone behind us.
BB and I weren't happy campers, but it was pretty clearly our responsibility, so back we went (driving carefully) to the flooring place to replace $60 or so worth of flooring. We drove home - again, very carefully - with a new box of flooring and lugged at least some of the goods into the house. One of the lathes broke, but we don't think that's going to be a problem. Dear lord, those boxes were heavy!
I keep mentally replaying the one box sliding out of the car, with a mix of astonishment and amusement: "Bob, I think it's going to slide out if we're not careful!" "What's going to slide out?" "A box of the floor— OH MY GOD it's sliding —" "What?" "The box of flooring!" "Where is it?" "It's fallen out of the car." "What fell out?" "A BOX of the FLOORING!" (I was a tad exercised at the time.)
At this point, I'm working on giggling. It was just so surreal.
And expensive, but at least I actually have the money for this job.
As of today, the contractor is going to pick up the item that the "flooring manager" claimed he'd never heard of, and we're scheduled to have the carpet torn out and the flooring put in on the 24th. I feel positively upper middle class.
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