And so it came to pass that, after three years of searching, I finally found a crew willing to paint the exterior of the building in which I live, and for a reasonable price. During those three, haunting years, I was presented with bids as high as $45,000, a non-starter for a building with only nine units.
At the very beginning of my quest, which started right after I moved in, I did learn of an existing bid for $12,000 floating around in the ether, a reasonable price on its surface. Eventually, however, I came to understand that that painting contractor, for various and sundry reasons, never really never intended to complete the job.
You see, the brick building is five stories tall, so reaching the upper stories requires the use of a hydraulic lift or temporary scaffolding. In addition to the height issue, the north side of the building is defended by; 1) thick knots of electrical wires; 2) an active streetcar line, and; 3) an outdoor dining area, built on a wooden platform which cannot sustain the weight of a lift or easily be moved out of the way.
The first two of these problems are exacerbated by the city, which demands that any team working around the streetcar or electrical wires get permits to do so. The streetcar permit, especially, is a problem, as one member of the painting team, preferably the supervisor, is required to take additional training before the permit is issued. Though I’m not sure exactly what the additional training entails, my smart-ass brain tells me its likely full of informative, instructional nuggets along the lines of, “Make sure no one on your crew lays on the streetcar tracks,” and “Don’t spill paint on the streetcar.”
Despite the evil forces arrayed against me and my neighbors, I was nonetheless determined to get the non-brick parts of the building painted before the exposed wood began to rot. Now, I’m not sure exactly how much it costs to replace the window frames of a 160-year-old building, but I’m convinced it’s cheaper to paint them, even if the painting did, indeed, cost $45,000.
Time passed. Seasons changed. Hope waxed and waned.
Until the fateful day. On that day I was saved by what might appear to be mere coincidence, but is more likely due to the intervention of universal forces so powerful that mere mortals will never fully comprehend them. And these forces converged in the seemingly mundane forms of a thirteen-year-old greyhound and a gay bar. Here’s how:
You see, my thirteen-year-old greyhound, Goshen, is not in complete control of her bladder. So, besides administering daily medication to help her with this problem, I or my significant other make it home every day during lunch to take her outside. A few weeks ago I amble home for this purpose and, lo and behold, I spied a large construction crew in the process of remodeling the gay bar that abuts my building. The bar had closed a few weeks earlier, and now the building owner was getting it ready for the next tenant. Luckily for me, part of getting it ready included repainting the exterior of the building. So, there they were, guys on ladders, painting the building a muted purple.
I was awe struck. A voice in my head, one I rarely listen to, told me that this was my opportunity, that I needed to take advantage of this serendipitous moment or risk losing it forever. So, I approached one of the gentlemen not actively painting and asked him who was in charge. With a wave of his hand, I was directed to the interior of the building, where I found the building owner/ construction overseer. I will call him David.
After the initial exchange of pleasantries, I invited David outside and pointed to my building.
“Do you think your team could paint this building?”
“Yes, of course.” It was that easy.
“How much would you charge?”
Now, I won’t torture you with the ins and outs of the negotiation process. Suffice to say it was tricky, and often intense, mostly because of miscommunication about the scope of the project. These miscommunications were nearly all my fault, mostly because I was too excited about getting the building painted to listen to everything David said after telling me his guys could paint the building. Regardless, in the end the price was $16,500, and work started almost immediately.
My prayers had been answered.
Or mostly answered. One problem was money. Our building’s Home Owners Association didn’t have enough of it. Clearly, this was going to be a bit of a sticking point. But I remembered the Latin proverb “Fortune Favors the Bold,” remembered the voice, and decided I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by. I wrote a down payment check to David out of my personal account, crossing my fingers in the hope my neighbors would bail me out when the time came (which they did, thank goodness,) and the work began.
On the bright side, the transformation of the building was nothing short of miraculous. Every day Goshen and I would go out to find more of the building completed. Where there had been paint peel and exposed wood, there was now clean, smooth paint. Every day it was more beautiful than the day before. The death-defying ballet performed by the painting crew working thirty or sixty feet above us in the nest of the hi-lift was inspiring. What courageous souls they must be!
Now, to this day I’m not sure if David ever received the permits to work around the electrical wires and streetcar tracks. On this issue I’ve followed a “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy and, to the best of my knowledge, none of the workers was electrocuted or run over by a streetcar, and the job was completed.
Or nearly completed.
There is still the issue of the building numbers.
At the top of the double-door entrance to the building are the four numbers designating the street address. Two numbers on each door. Four total. These numbers were painted over, making them nearly impossible to read unless you stood right in front of them, so I brought the issue up with the crew leader. I will call him “Crew Leader.”
“Hey, Crew Leader, do you think you guys could go ahead and paint the numbers a different color than the door?”
“Oh, sure, no problem.”
Next day.
“Hey, Crew Leader, how about those door numbers?”
“Yup. We’ll get that done today.”
Next day. Same.
Next day. Same.
Next day. Same.
Finally.
“Crew Leader, can you just give me the paint, please?”
Two minutes later I received half a gallon of gold paint.
As of this writing, I have yet to paint the numbers, but it’s definitely on my calendar, and the building still looks amazing.