“And if my day keeps going this way, I just might break something tonight”

He stands atop my toilet, tools in hand, and scoffs at me as I lay the six dollars on the vanity between his materials. I mumble aggravated words that are still lost from my memory. A blank black emptiness is all I can recall.

“Excuse you,” he says, disgusted, looking back at me as he pauses from fixing the hole in my bathroom ceiling where the new ceiling fan doesn’t cover.

I don’t remember the all of the next words that come from my lips. Seething, there are stops and starts, a stutter fueled by rage and confrontation. I imagine this is what monster experiences just before it commits a heinous act.

He adds sharp and arrogant comments such as “I’m doing this for free,” “I’m very busy,” “I try to stand by my word,” and lastly, “Today is my daughter’s birthday.”

“Try?” I remember asking with an over-enunciated tone. “You said you do. That’s the one thing you’ve consistently said this whole time.”

I want to add, “The problem with that statement is there is no action to follow your words. Even when you apologize, there’s no changed behavior. In truth, you’re a man of manipulation.” I had practiced saying it, but right now I can’t. I’m too flustered. I know it. I walk away, physically removing my being to go to another room. I am so aggravated; I can’t possibly organize or comprehend my own thoughts. A flurry of nonsense from the previous six days moves like a tornado through my brain.

It began so innocently and hopeful. I replied to a town-wide Facebook post: “What is something you NEED but cannot afford right now? Everyone check to see what others say. Maybe you have it and don't need it or have a connection to get it. Never know who we can help or how we can help each other.”

With an open mind and a bit of humor, I replied, “An affordable contractor with follow-thru.” I know such a person doesn’t exist. I have proof from previous encounters, but in the season of miracles, I’m wishful. Later that afternoon, I received a direct message with bad grammar announcing the name of such a business.

Stupidly excited, we chatted on the app and agreed on a time the next day for a consultation. Prompt and full of cheer, the contact and the contractor arrived. Eager to take on the project, he quoted a price. As soon as I said, “done,” he added, “you know that’s just for a labor.”

Oh.

He took a literal step back, appeared to think aloud, and offered a lower labor charge. Then, told us the approximate costs of materials. I nodded. He added, “I can do it tomorrow. It’s my day off and if I don’t do something, I’ll be bored at home. I don’t want to be bored.”

Sold.

He promised to return at ten in the morning with printouts of a contract, replacement part suggestions for the bathtub and shower hardware, and the overhead fan. I gave him a check for a portion of the cost unaware that was the beginning of the end of normalcy.

The next day, he arrived an hour late and unprepared. With a nonchalance, he said his printer didn’t work. He maintained a playful and cheery demeanor, ignorant of his flub. He fumbled with his phone trying to navigate the Home Depot website all the while making excuses for his inability to reach the desired destination. He suggested we shop together at the store. As we walked toward the door leading to my driveway, he added, “You know your bathroom would look really great if you tiled it. I can do that.”

I think I rolled my eyes.

In Home Depot, we chatted and when he called me out on my off-putting demeanor, I reminded him he showed up late and unprepared. He was genuinely taken back, dumbfounded at my courage to call him out. He later told me he was previously a waiter who “played” his tables for bigger tips.

We returned to my house where he unloaded his tools and materials. In what seemed like a straightforward process of fixing the issues, he dilly-dallied. He took several smoking breaks, chatted incessantly, left to run errands, and told me he may not be able to finish the job in the allotted time frame. He also suggested a way to better ventilate the area, a semi-costly project, which he, of course, could do.

The project concluded in the original amount of time, but led to another task. He announced he’d return on a specific day to do the work and I was naively hopeful it would be a resurrection -- an opportunity to prove he’s better than what he had showed. Only, he didn’t come or give any indication that he wouldn’t do what he said. I called multiple times and texted. When he finally called, it was after sunset and he said he’d be back the next day. After all, he’s a man of his word.

He skipped that next day too.

When he finally returned, a week after this whole unruliness began, he bounded into the house with an arrogance, letting me know he’s doing me a favor. Yes, he agreed to fix the hole in our ceiling for free to reward us for our patience after day one’s shenanigans. He asked for six dollars to cover the cost of the sheetrock and I swear my mind leapt off the proverbial cliff. Soaring straight into Hell, whatever coolness I had left was gone. With a two-finger salute, my sanity offered a snarky “sayonara,” and disappeared. Alone with my sardonic self, I was off to the races letting my brain run wild. Of course it wasn't about the money, but rather the audacity he had to make a request after all of his drama. It was the final unnecessary stab to the lifeless body.

I placed the six dollars on the vanity, muttering the few words that have rebelled against my better self. I exited in a less-than slick manner and took a call from a friend who listened to my angry whispers and reminded me not to post anything that day.

My beloved other half steps in to do damage control, offering calm and friendly words to the man applying drywall compound to our ceiling.

Ironically, he initially asked me to refer him to others. That day I didn’t think I could. Today, I know I can’t.