I like to think of myself as an above average communicator. In fact, much to the dismay of those around me at both work and home, I tend to "over" communicate (the eye rolling of others usually gives it away).
I must confess that the "great" communicator fell far short of that moniker two weeks ago. Let me share with you a tale of woe.
On Friday, July 12, my youngest daughter and I joined another mother and her daughter on a trip to Greenville, S.C ., to see the Black Keys in concert that night. My husband left for a five-day fishing trip to Louisiana early the next day. This seemed like an opportune time to have a bedroom painted in our home.
I left everything in order for the painter, and spoke with him when he got to the house Saturday morning to make sure everything was okay. Let me preface by saying that he has painted a tremendous amount for me in the past and has done a very good job.
When Ginny and I got home Saturday afternoon around five o'clock, I couldn't wait to see my freshly painted bedroom. It was absolutely beautiful. However, what I was not prepared to see was the complete and total demolition that had been done to the hallway bathroom next to it. Walls down to the studs, floor tile ripped out, and toilet in the bathtub. There is no way that I can articulate the utter destruction. It literally took my breath away.
It was so bad that when I texted pictures to a contractor friend for help, he immediately called and asked if this was a joke.
Here is the very expensive disconnect. I had told him that I needed some tile taken out of one of the bathrooms, and he agreed that he could do that. I had even purchased replacement tile and a sink for that bathroom. However, it wasn't the bathroom that got ripped out. He was simply anxious to get started, and thought the bathroom that he demolished was the right one.
What did I learn? Be very, very clear in what you would like to have done. There is no such thing as over communicating in that situation, and keep checking in with those doing the work. You do not want to be on the wrong side of an accidental demolition. It puts you in a very small and painful club.
As for my husband, I didn't tell him until he was on his way home the following Wednesday. In that instance, I chose not to over communicate. FYI, his response:
"Merry Christmas, sugar."
So, until next Tuesday, I bid you au revoir.
Got a scoop for Jan? Call her at (912) 489-9463 or email her at firstname.lastname@example.org