Follow-Up on Pain Job

Paint job, that is.

On second thought, maybe that was not such a great phase one: I realized the day after the painters were here that they had used the wrong paint in both rooms. We asked them to use the same kind of paint as what was already on the wall: matte in the hallway, eggshell in the bathroom. They did the opposite. I gather matte paint is absolutely not the thing to use in a bathroom because of its lack of resistance to moisture and tendency to grow mildew or mold, and I can attest from personal experience that it looks dreadful, and is also unpleasant to the touch.

(The only horizontal surfaces in the bathroom where one might set down a toothbrush or a cup are the windowsill and a charming little fold-out shelf below the medicine cabinet; the latter is mainly where I have occasion to touch the new paint.)

I also now see areas where the primer wasn’t properly covered with paint, plus that the painters didn’t paint the windowsill at all. This is easy to notice since it’s a tiny bathroom and the windowsill is directly opposite the door.

In sum, I’m sure there must be even more ways a painting job could be screwed up, but I can’t think of any off the top of my head. All right, here’s one: The painters refrained from pooping on the floor before they left. But they did make sure to drip paint on every single surface in the bathroom: the toilet, the tub, the sink and the floor.

When I told the building owner about the swapped paints, it was clear she didn’t want to have a fight with the painting boss about it. They say that no one but a sociopath actively enjoys conflict, but I will freely admit that I would not mind having a fight with this idiot about what was done in my place. In fact, I would like to, but I will not; I know that no good comes of venting anger and that a better question is: How can the desired results be achieved in a harmonious manner? Also, how can I collaborate with others?

And: How am I thinking about this? I must admit I am mentally rehashing my grievances over and over, such that the matter now looms very large, which shows that my life is, on the whole, fantastic.

I am pondering the next phase of this job, which is the kitchen, which right now has ancient, beautiful, semi-gloss paint on the walls and perhaps enamel or semi-gloss on the cabinets. The building owner mentioned that the paint boss said he “might not” be able to get our desired color in the paint I requested in the first place. (Possibly the most vexing part of this whole thing is that I asked for a certain paint, and the paint boss said “Sure” and then showed up with something else. Withholding facts makes it impossible for people to provide informed consent and to exercise true autonomy. It is an ethical lapse.)

I am not sure why this person “might not” be able to get the right color, since ECOS does custom color matching. I think it is more that he “didn’t feel like it.” I am pretty much positive that on kitchen painting day, he will show up with the wrong color in the wrong type of paint: eggshell, perhaps.

I’m trying to decide how to proceed. I really don’t like the idea of my entire kitchen being wrecked. Maybe it would be better to have just half of it painted, or even just the areas where there is drywall. Honestly, maybe it would be better to live for the rest of my life with the unpainted drywall. It hasn’t bothered me much at all for the past year. I can probably live peacefully with it forever. Would whatever the painters do be an improvement, in that it wouldn’t be visible drywall, or would it be a disimprovement, in that it would make my beautiful, ancient paint disappear? (Not to mention the dings they would no doubt make in my newish refrigerator and stove.)

What if I were to get a call from my doctor with the bad news that I have metastatic cancer? What would I say about the kitchen then? The answer is: Who cares? Do whatever you want. Ditto if I learned that something had happened to one of my parents or one of my sisters. It is also often instructive to think about how Tom would react to something. (He has offered to help me patch the holes in the wall that the painters didn’t bother to patch before painting.) He would never even notice most of what I’m fuming about, and because of that, he enjoys many more moments of peace and happiness than I do.

So, two other good questions: Is there anything I can upgrade from a demand to a preference? Is there anything I can compromise on? I imagine there is.

However, I’m going to try asking the building owner if we can please engage a different painter to do the kitchen and the living room; we can pay the current painter for the paint he already ordered.

At work recently, I was with a patient when she had a seizure, a first for me. We were chatting away when all of a sudden her face twisted and her eyes opened wide and her body began to jerk. Her face looked like something out of a horror movie. The main things I felt were confusion and astonishment. Just at that exact moment, her bedside nurse walked in and called a Rapid Response. I asked her later what I should have done if she hadn’t come in just then. She said that stepping out of the room and yelling “Help!” is generally very effective, and she also pointed out the purple Rapid Response button on the wall behind the patient’s bed. This can be used if there is distress short of cessation of breathing. For that, use the Code Blue button.

The seizure lasted just a minute or so. The patient opened her eyes and appeared calm, but when asked to look to her right or left, or to blink her eyes, she didn’t or couldn’t; she stared steadily into my eyes during most of this time, but I don’t know if she was really seeing me. One of the responders said that certain antibiotics lower the threshold for having a seizure, and that quite often, it is never known why a seizure occurred.

On my bike ride home, I noticed many more people out on the street, the majority maskless, I would say. In front of my building, I had to wait while several people walked barefaced up and down the sidewalk before I could open our front gate. Something had changed, but I wasn’t sure what. I knew that “opening” was underway, but this seemed to be more of a do-whatever-you-feel-like thing; a loud and obviously large party was underway somewhere nearby. This is worrisome. It appears that those who really don’t want to get sick will have to limit themselves to essential outings indefinitely. A friend who falls into that category and who normally travels all the time, many trips per year, said she thinks it would be crazy to go anywhere at all before year’s end. How do I feel about all of this? Angry, of course.