Is it Dick Wads or Dickwads?
“Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not, in fact, surrounded by assholes.”
Or? Interacting with “dick wads”.
Several months ago, we received a letter from the company holding the homeowner’s insurance policy on our home in Richmond. The name of this company sounds like “Unravelers”… which is what they are doing to Andrea’s steely determination and patience for wide-ranging and far-flung bullshit.
The letter said they would cancel our homeowner’s insurance policy for non-payment of premiums.
Andrea called Unravelers and asked, “Oh. You mean the premiums that are paid through our mortgage?”
Those are, in fact, the premiums they were referring to. Once Andrea reminded them how homeowner’s premiums are ordinarily paid when one has a mortgage, we were all set. No cancellation.
Late last year, we had a leak in the bathroom that’s off the master suite. This probably sounds fancy but, the master “suite” used to be the attic. There are tiny little windows, ala Flowers in the Attic, so it is an ideal room for sleeping. Andrea had suspected a leak, and when she tried to get a plumber to see it, he failed to see it so the leak worsened. That guy? Also a dick wad (do you suppose dickwad is one word or 2? Like asshole is one word – it’s not ass and hole. Hm. Ponder…).
So, the leak came through the ceiling underneath that bathroom, and a large portion of the ceiling had to be removed to dry things out, test for asbestos (there was none), and pray there was no mold (dodged that bullet). Then, we were busy trying to renovate our cottage, which was a dump when we bought it. We took turns getting sick. The dog died. All of which is to say that we didn’t get to the business of fixing this until this year. And God love contractors, but they are slower than slow.
Approximately 2 weeks ago, we received ANOTHER letter from Unravelers threatening cancellation once more. Andrea called them. And it seems their titties were in a twist because we hadn’t sent pics of the completed work. So, Andrea sent more pics. Then, when she didn’t hear from them by Thursday, she called again, and they were like, “Yeah – no. Still gonna cancel your asses unless you do X.” (I’m paraphrasing)
Andrea called the contractor and was like, “Get out here. Our insurance company is going to cancel us if you don’t do X.” And the contractor dutifully came because, although he cannot get Andrea’s name right, ever, although she has signed NUMEROUS checks to him, he has the good sense to do as she says and quickly. He did X, left, I snapped a pic which Andrea submitted to the insurance company. Andrea called them yesterday, and they were like, “No go. You must paint the ceilings and THEN submit a pic, and you better do it by June 14th or we’ll cancel you.”
While Andrea was on the phone dialing painters, she received an email from Unravelers stating you are good to go! To which Andrea texted me, “What the fuck.”
What the fuck indeed?
It was midday when she bestowed the well-earned title of “dick wads/dickwads” upon Unravelers.
At night, when we climb into bed, Andrea is at her funniest. I once said that she should do a stand-up routine and she replied, “Well, I’m only really funny lying down.” And we talked about how she should be rolled onto the stage strapped to a mattress to deliver a stand-up routine. I think this would add to the comedic effect.
Last night, Andrea said, “And I even used the well-worn customer service trope with them, ‘Well, you know how to get a hold of me when you’re looking for money.’ I’m basically a Karen!”
Seriously. Why can’t Unravelers have emailed and said, “Get these 3 things completed and then send a picture.” It’s like torture. Waterboarding.
The guy who actually returned our call is the one we hired to paint the goddamn ceilings – both on the 2nd floor of the house and in our Flowers in the Attic bedroom where we’d replaced 2 brass lighting fixtures. If you thought the brass was the worst part of them, let me tell you that each had a brass nipple. I had told my contractor to please get rid of the boob lights, and he did, but the smaller lights are inset into the ceiling surrounded by a round, ring of areola beige. The boobs remain – until next Friday when the painter obliterates them. He’s also going to paint the ceiling in the bathroom which is painted with a glossy sheen of sadness that the prior owners had used. I don’t know why… clearly, poor decisions were made. I’m sure people have purchased places I’ve lived in and wondered aloud, “What the fuck were they thinking?!” Clearly, those people have bad taste but whatever. I mean – it’s not as if I ever installed brass nipple lights.
Let’s hope the painter is not a dickwad (I’m going with one word), and he shows up and we can submit a painted pic, and then those dickwads at Unravelers will not cancel us unless I cancel them first.