Deck

Pink ribbon standing in for 'caution' tape

Danger awaits

My mother always said, "If you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all."
She probably wouldn't believe me, but it's advice I actually heed and am usually successful.
But there is one thing around here I have a hard time biting my tongue over and that's the previous owners (PO): they really are a-holes.
Just when you think things are in hand and you've got one up on the place, something goes all pear shaped.

Assholes

Granted, I realize that's home ownership and it's expected not all systems are going to run 100% all of the time, but these jerks have left a legacy of fucked up shit for us to deal with which presents itself at regular intervals- count on it.
From small things, like when we discovered they'd HOT GLUED the 4th leg onto the utility sink after it'd apparently broken off, WHILE it was full of draining washer water, to needing a new well drilled.
Then there was having to hire an electrician during the holidays for rewiring the new hot water tank to meet code and discovering the pellet stove hadn't been serviced and was a fire hazard.
THIS from the Lane County Fire Chief. 

So yeah, obviously a great guy. (There are more personal examples illustrating his lack of character, integrity and honesty, but they don't really fit into the story here.)
I give you the above preamble to introduce this week's feature: The Back Deck.

As with much else around here, it was an accident waiting to happen, quietly plotting its self destruction at the most optimal time for injury.
This sorry excuse the PO left out at the back door was constructed from rotted wood held together by black magic.
CAM shored it up a bit at the end of last season and we stayed off of it pretty much and didn't allow others to tempt fate by using the stairs, but we knew it'd become a priority to replace with something safe and functional, especially considering big activity expected this summer.
Why on Earth the PO put that huge cowboy porch out front, practically on the road, but never took advantage of the peaceful, scenic and large back property was beyond me. (There's a creek! And a pasture! Huge trees! Loveliness abounds!)
After witnessing the time and effort it took for CAM & Dan to assemble the basic frame of the chicken coop, I decided to graciously decline their offer of building the deck and instead began a search for professionals.
Easier said than done.
This was all on me in that CAM would be in town during the work week and therefore not terribly helpful in the process.
Where to start?
I'd never done this sort of thing before- never had to.
What do I know from contractors?
I'd been a renter up until a few years ago, so you just call the landlord when you wanted something. And, done!
The Yellow Pages? Yes! Despite being pilloried for my insistence on living in the 80s in this regard, I still not only appreciate their annual arrival, but in fact, *do* use them, although I'm loathe to use the phone itself.
Of course having the Internet to support them is bonus.
So a Google search was on, too.
After reading some reviews and looking at pictures, I submitted a few on-line inquiry forms to set up visits for free estimates.
Then I went out back with tape measure and horseshoe flags to stake my vision.
Nothing too frilly, just straightforward and sturdy. Maybe later, contingent on finances and duration of ownership, we'd think about fancying it up with adding different levels, French doors, a hot tub, benches, plants and such.
The first to reply (and truly the main reason I contacted him) was a builder who listed different progressive and liberal organizations his business supported (Planned Parenthood! HIV Alliance! P-Flag!) at the bottom of his web page.
Most impressive to be so bold putting your politics out there and perhaps alienating potential clients.
Unfortunately for him, because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing or asking at the time of his visit, when his prompt bid arrived in the mailbox (Breast Cancer Stamp!) it was far more than I'd meant to spend.
There was a line item requiring 200$ to remove the pre-existing structure, which I found absurd in that I was surely capable of doing that myself for free by blowing on the POS.
In subsequent interviews, it was made clear that I'd be handling that and they need not concern themselves over it, nor charge me a King's ransom.

                                      

I'd also figured out not to be ambiguous; it was easier to give them the project's budget and have them tell me what they could provide for that price.
Scribbling copious notes, making no sense even now, I pretended to be knowledgeable about cost per square foot, pressure treated wood, support piers, etc., blah blah blah, which was ludicrous in part because I'd only taken a half year of shop in 7th grade eons ago.
Then there was the guy an hour later who essentially told me, albeit slyly, my piddly job wasn't worthy of his time and talent.
That humiliation lasted the better part of the day and further served to erode my already weak confidence.
There were a few others outstanding who'd not gotten back to me (good business practice there, chaps), so I did another round, this time through a service.
[Thumbtack, which I'm not completely sold on. The Rev.'s sorta listed with them, but I've yet to pursue their leads, mostly b/c they keep coming in from Portland and cost money.]
Eventually, over the course of a week and 5 visits later, I had a pretty good notion of the process and procedure and felt comfortable enough to make an informed decision and move on to the next step: hiring.
One last builder (and the only one to follow up from that site) got through and though I was fine with a phone interview, (because frankly, hearing "This is such a drive! I had no idea how far out you were!" was becoming tiresome.) he offered to visit in person.
"Danny Bonaduce" and his construction partner were quite a pair.
They stayed the longest, were familiar with the area, had many tales to tell with extreme enthusiasm, traveled with a Pomeranian and were keen to give me the biggest bang for my buck.
This was my job offer, as it were: "Greg and Scott-

Thanks for your patience as I weigh my options regarding how to proceed with replacing the sorry excuse I have for a back deck.

Whereas some bids came in under yours, I really liked what you have to offer overall and would like to move forward.

I don't know if the 'good cop/bad cop' shtick was intentional, but it was effective.

I appreciated how you were willing to work within my means and came up with some clever ideas as to how.

Last night, I took another look at your portfolio and saw again how impressive your craftsmanship is.
Please advise as to the next step and more importantly, can you give me a timeframe, please?

This will need to be finished no later than the 4th of July and must reflect so in the contract.

Eager to get this show on the road and not walk out the back door wondering if this is the time I'll break my neck. Thanks again! -SSS"

Except that -contract- thing would prove to be a stickler and come back to haunt us later.
None of the estimates I'd received looked the least bit alike.
And despite conversations asking for something well, more contractual, that vague bunch of gobbly goo would be the final piece of paperwork.
There were a few quick calls and emails and they'd be rtg beginning that week!
And it would only take 2 days!
Too good to be true?
Perhaps. I guess it was just blind trust- so contrary to my true nature, a proven skeptic and disbeliever of human decency, I just went with it and for the most part was satisfied.
While I spent that Monday beating the shit out of the decrepit structure (so cathartic), CAM was signing the final paperwork and handing over the 50% deposit check.
It was meant to be only a short exchange, he felt terribly ill (Florence brew pub food poisoning the previous day?) and wanted to call in, but knew these previously made arrangements took precedence, so soldiered on.
Danny talked his ear off for well over an hour, and not altogether in an appropriate, professional way.
I'd an inkling that the camo-sporting, loud-motorcycle-riding rube was likely not someone I'd invite to a party, but figured for our intents and purposes he was tolerable.
I was mostly correct; however, we're still going to sage smudge his handiwork just to purify the final product of any lingering bad karma.
On the other hand, it was his second who actually convinced me to go with this team.
Also chatty, but deferential and conscientious, I chalked it up to his Midwest, Chicago roots.
Scott was the one who really got behind my financial limitations to create a workable solution while his boss was rather a whiny naysayer.
He was personable, brighter, agreeable and capable; were it not for him, I'd likely have chosen otherwise.

                                                          

Good Scott

A much larger truck pulled in at a leisurely 9:30 Tuesday sporting a "Proud American" flag sticker in the windshield. Of course.

They'd brought along a third- Tom, who was their soft spoken foil.
Minimal pleasantries were exchanged as equipment was quickly offloaded, work area set up and plans arranged.
Not physical, tactile, ink on paper plans mind you.
Was I just being naive? Had I spent too much time in college around architecture majors?
It seemed to me reading specs and measurements off of a drawing might be the proper way to proceed.
Despite what I thought, staying out of their way was what I ended up doing.
Just as well.
It was going to be a loud and long 2 days.
Mutt and Jeff went at it like hens, "Measure this! Cut that! No! Yes! Borderline polite disagreement! Funny aside! All is well!"
Builder behavior- so foreign.
By noon they'd left.
The remaining supports I couldn't remove now were and posts and beams had been cemented in.
Wednesday began earlier by 1/2 hour and it was serious business.
All told, it was a fairly easy project and they'd obviously knocked similar out before. Walking into the kitchen at 11:30, I did a smiley double-take noticing they were enjoying lunch on the recently uncovered picnic table.
Zabbers was keeping them company.
I was just relieved they'd chosen not to visit the Diner cum Meth Den up the way, where our addition would be the talk of Redneck Peyton Place and perhaps nefarious schemes might be afoot again.
I was on the way outside to my own project of painting the interior of the chicken coop, so stopped for a chat.
Considerate Scott asked if it was OK if the black, walking stomach we called a dog could have some of his tuna fish?
She eats cat food tins, so no worries.
Turkey and cheese sandwich from the foreman was already working its way through her digestive tract.
Pleasant weather made for cheery workplace and the mood was light.
I'm not sure if they realized I was able to hear a lot of their conversation, so when he appeared at the door of the coop I was ready for him.
No, you may not scoop up the gravel in the driveway for the step pad.
I suffered acute bronchitis for that job (funny look) and anyway, you were supposed to use the humongously heavy leftover stones for that (won't work) even though the "contract" said cement pad (never discussed.)
Grumble and consternation and not so hushed whispers, I followed out a few minutes later and directed him to a pile of bits he could use, or well, find an alternative.
It must have all worked out, because by 4pm they were packing up to leave after making tremendous strides.
They'd not counted on returning for a third day, but the railings were unfinished (per code, yadda, gotta have bars every 4", gah, babies falling out, yeah yeah.)
Quiet Tom and Danny would finish it off the next morning as my guy had another gig lined up.
Uuuuhhhoo Kkkaaay, see you then.
I'd be lying not to say I was worried. Would this be the ol' we'll be back soon, but not show up again for 10 days?
I trusted his bank account had a strong pull and he'd very much want the remaining balance.
In the mean time, we were just thrilled with this impressive structure being erected, so much so that we took chairs out and ate dinner surveying our domain.
My demands and expectations were fairly non-existent; I thought I was a pretty chill customer.
I find it easier to not be disappointed this way. It's a new tact for me and I'm not sure if it comes with country living or age, but relaxing a bit and releasing some of those type-A behaviors has been liberating.
Despite its basic design, this new deck filled me with joy.
But there was one niggling issue- it would appear those generous stairs would not be getting handrails. 

My view from the hen house: looks great, but where's the handrail?

As he would periodically, Danny proudly called me out to admire his handiwork (they had indeed, thankfully, returned at the bright hour of 11:30 am.)
Honestly gushing over its beauty I came round to the "where's the rail" question CAM and I had been rehearsing.
Though delivering it coolly and casually, my stomach was in knots; the look on his face told me that we had a problem.
I knew enough (thanks, last bidder) to pull out "built to code" rhetoric.
We brainstormed some ideas for awhile and I stressed the fact that it was needed for safety reasons- I actually preferred it aesthetically without- and only one side would work fine.
See, I had too many cripply folks (read: drinky) likely to take a header if there wasn't something to hold them steady.
Quiet Tom, whom I'd teasingly chastised the day before for switching the oldies rock station to new country (he turned it back when we all ganged up on him), suggested a pre-fab. Fine with me.
I'd also been clear I wasn't planning on paying extra for this oversight.
That this flew, I think, was a combination of assured, expert delivery and the camaraderie I'd established earlier.
And maybe because he didn't want to jeopardize any future jobs that might come his way from this place that can obviously offer many more.
Danny didn't mask his displeasure well, but did step up to make it right.
Always the consummate passive-aggressive, they headed back to Jerry's, but by the end of the day, I had my rail.
And it was stunning.
I think Danny's ego wouldn't permit him to screw on some cheap wrought iron monstrosity, so they very cleverly fabricated a solution.

Boss 'Danny' and Quiet Tom

Yes, it was more work and cash out of his pocket that could have been avoided if they'd known beforehand, but that's where that -contract- thingie comes in so handy. I'm just lucky to have had it go my way in the end; I realize how fine a legal line there'd been.
I also felt it his penance for questionable transgressions, unPC comments and not accepting credit cards (I missed out on a hell of a lot of 'Thank You' points.)
Wrapping up business on good enough terms, the guys enjoyed delicious micro brews atop their creation and we took some pictures.
I promised to submit an on-line review as requested.
CAM (bless him) stained the whole thing by hand after he determined spraying might leave drips.
The dog promptly got muddy paws all over those pristine steps.
I purchased solar light post caps and an umbrella for the table and chairs my friend left behind after moving to Germany.
(CAM wants to sand and stain those, too, but ugh! Big job. Not for me.)
It is heavenly. How something so simple can bring such pleasure is beyond me, but we have just been over the moon.
See here for yourselves-

-The Emily S. Memorial Back Deck-

         

Camera phone panoramic- look at CAM's hand!

 

Inaugural meal- veggie stuffed peppers

Dammit, RC! Don't you muck up this deck, too!
(First one up)