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Very, very, very pissed-off. And tired, and stressed-out, and generally in a murderous-rampage mood.
My flat is located in one of those 1870-s buildings, where the ceilings are high, and there are double doors. Said doors have been redone during the renovation, and let me tell you, it wasn't cheap -- they're big, and they have these (original) ornamental elements, which are a lot of work to sand and paint etc. For the amount of money I had to shell out, however, I think I'm justified in expecting *good* work.
Due to the movers coming today, I had to lock the cats into one half of the flat -- Lola gets kitchen and bathroom, Rambo and ze boyz the bedroom and wardrobe. Imagine the outburst of swearing when I discovered that the carpenter, who may get an itchy rash, and his fingernails fall out so he can't scratch himself, had simply put one or more layers of varnish over the bolts that securely fix one half of the door to the door frame and floor. (I hadn't realized this before, because the doors are always open)
Impossible to move the bolts; they're literally glued down, i.e. I was able to close and lock the doors, but the slightest amount of pressure -- from the outside, thank God!!! -- would make them open. So I put a chair against the kitchen door, and since this isn't a locked-room mystery but I had to close ze Boyz' room from the outside, I'll just have to make the movers put something right in front of the door so nobody pushes it open by accident. It won't be for long, just until they've unpacked the few pieces of furniture and brought up all the boxes, but for that hour or so, the entrance door must remain open...
Later on, when I've finished all the work, I'm going to call the company who oversaw the renovation and give them a piece of my mind. And demand that the carpenter be paid less. He ought to be glad that we're not in the USA, because there I'd have already got a lawyer and sued him for irreparable damage to my nerves caused by stress.
Bastards.
Never, ever, ever, EVER! am I ever going to move again. NEVER. EVER.
And where the FUCK are those movers?????
And, can I please have a mortar and a few grenades to fire at the car parked in the specially established no-parking zone in front of the building??? Not at the end, no. Right in the goddamn fucking middle, so that the movers' lorry probably can't park...
If I didn't know that it would cause more damage than satisfaction, I'd punch the wall.
My flat is located in one of those 1870-s buildings, where the ceilings are high, and there are double doors. Said doors have been redone during the renovation, and let me tell you, it wasn't cheap -- they're big, and they have these (original) ornamental elements, which are a lot of work to sand and paint etc. For the amount of money I had to shell out, however, I think I'm justified in expecting *good* work.
Due to the movers coming today, I had to lock the cats into one half of the flat -- Lola gets kitchen and bathroom, Rambo and ze boyz the bedroom and wardrobe. Imagine the outburst of swearing when I discovered that the carpenter, who may get an itchy rash, and his fingernails fall out so he can't scratch himself, had simply put one or more layers of varnish over the bolts that securely fix one half of the door to the door frame and floor. (I hadn't realized this before, because the doors are always open)
Impossible to move the bolts; they're literally glued down, i.e. I was able to close and lock the doors, but the slightest amount of pressure -- from the outside, thank God!!! -- would make them open. So I put a chair against the kitchen door, and since this isn't a locked-room mystery but I had to close ze Boyz' room from the outside, I'll just have to make the movers put something right in front of the door so nobody pushes it open by accident. It won't be for long, just until they've unpacked the few pieces of furniture and brought up all the boxes, but for that hour or so, the entrance door must remain open...
Later on, when I've finished all the work, I'm going to call the company who oversaw the renovation and give them a piece of my mind. And demand that the carpenter be paid less. He ought to be glad that we're not in the USA, because there I'd have already got a lawyer and sued him for irreparable damage to my nerves caused by stress.
Bastards.
Never, ever, ever, EVER! am I ever going to move again. NEVER. EVER.
And where the FUCK are those movers?????
And, can I please have a mortar and a few grenades to fire at the car parked in the specially established no-parking zone in front of the building??? Not at the end, no. Right in the goddamn fucking middle, so that the movers' lorry probably can't park...
If I didn't know that it would cause more damage than satisfaction, I'd punch the wall.
