speak of the devil

without fail, the ghost of our evil contractor haunts the air of our dysfunctional abode. excruciating reminders exist at every corner: lopsided pocket doors, exposed outlets, hazardous pot lights swinging on wires. however, the marks left by our nemesis are not indelible. the renovation recovery is in motion, where we'll gradually erase the memory of incompetence.

one sunny afternoon, a knock at the door. before i could emotionally process the high noon showdown, he-who-must-not-be-named was before me in the flesh, silhouetted in sunshine. while he shuffled through his copy of the electrial fines he'd been served, i stepped into the shadow of the cove, effectively guarding the front door.

the papers shook in his dirty fingers, mimicking the vibrations in my chest. my nerves pulsated from a combination of emotions: outrage, fear, exasperation. i glanced at his remaining tools leaning against the garage, a gleaming pickaxe and sledgehammer, and envisioned an epic backyard battle for supremacy.

after all the atrocities, he had the audacity to solicit our financial assistance for his meagre fines. naturally i declined, and attempted to defuse the tense confrontation by suggesting he visit the electrical authority himself to dispute the futile complaint.

he left in a huff, and left me shaken. i made a mental note to immediately acquire a deadbolt lock, and hoped the intimidating apparition and all his slipshod efforts would be fully exorcised as soon as possible.