The Floor Wars Saga: Episode Three - Return of the Insanity

After three days of living in tetris-style hell, the CL (Crazy Landlady) finally decides to get something done on the floor. But before she does...

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"This flooring has a 10-year warranty, you know." Mm-hmm. That's nice. "It needs special treatment to preserve the warranty." Oh, great. Here it comes. "I have a print-out from the manufacturer. You'll have to follow all of the instructions exactly."

I have actually paraphrased the above slightly. The CL did indeed say all of that, but she took much longer and inserted many more words.

Also, she announces, the floor will need to be glued down and I'm not allowed to set ONE FOOT on it until it has set for 24 hours. Meaning, when I leave Sunday morning, I will need prepared meals for the day, plus plans for supper, plus have packed the next day's breakfast and lunch. The only advantage here being that the fridge is currently in the living room as well.

This conversation is also peppered with the warnings, instructions, and caveats of owning such an esteemed piece of flooring. I'm starting to wonder why the manufacturer of this linoleum markets it for kitchen use. Clearly it would be better suited to a museum as a wall hanging, with stand-away ropes and stanchions guarding its majesty.

Upon arriving home Sunday night, exhausted, I am told that the floor is installed but not yet glued down. I may walk upon it. (Oh, may I? I bow to the floor in gratitude.)

CL comes upstairs to give me further instructions. I find that I need to buy a new broom, as she has broken mine. "It must have been cracked," she explains. "It snapped right apart." Interesting. I have been given orders to sweep the floor DAILY. And vacuum the floor next to the kitchen. DAILY. "You can't allow any dirt or gravel to be tracked across it," she warns. Since my back door/main entrance opens directly to the kitchen, I'm finding it pretty unlikely that the floor will remain perfectly clear of debris.

And I wish this was the end of the saga. I really do. But, like Star Wars itself, the franchise keeps growing. The last thing she says to me, as I stand on my empty (museum-quality) kitchen floor with appliances surrounding my loveseat:

"I'm pretty busy for the next little while. I don't think I'll be finishing this until April 27."

Sure. It seems perfectly reasonable to expect your tenant to live in that condition for another 3 weeks. Absolutely.

Give me a light sabre. Somebody. ANYBODY.

The Floor Wars Saga, Episode 2: The Linoleum Strikes Back

It's unfortunate that it took a number of months for the CL (Crazy Landlady) to finally get around to replacing the crumbling kitchen tile on my level of the house.

It's doubly unfortunate that she decided to do it, nearly 2 weeks later than planned, just as I started the busiest 5 weeks of my life.

In early April, she finally announced that she would be starting to rip up the old floor. I was told to move everything out of the kitchen. I told her I wasn't moving the appliances. After a long pause, she said she guessed that she and her assistant could do that. This left me with a kitchen table, 2 chairs, a stand-along pantry and all of the contents, a 3-drawer bin with cat food, a 3 bin garbage and recycling can, and a portable dishwasher - all of which had to be moved into the postage-stamp-sized living room.

I spent a couple of hours moving things one evening - after putting in a 13-hour day between 2 jobs. Parked things in the living room, my daughter's bedroom - every corner that something would fit and still make it possible to escape should there be a fire. The contents of the pantry landed on the kitchen countertops, but I figured it would only be for a couple of days. A few dishes remained in the sink, but again, I can put up with that until the floor is in, right? I mean, how long could it take? The space is only 8 feet by about 13 feet.

The next day CL comes up to do some measurements. "Oh," says she, "You'll have to move everything out of the living room too."

Pardon?

"We have to cut a template for the floor. So I'll need a space larger than the kitchen floor to lay it out."

PARDON?

Where, I asked politely, did she think I was going to be able to move everything?

"You'll just have to move it."

I pointed out that there really wasn't any place that it could move. I wasn't prepared to haul a portable dishwasher up a flight of stairs, and I wasn't going to sacrifice my safety, and my daughter's, by blocking exit points.

So she stood there for 20 minutes, verbally telling me how I should rearrange everything Tetris-style, so she could cut out a paper template. To her, I smiled and nodded. To myself, I thought - fat bloody chance.

Perhaps I can blast the floor out and save her some time.

Now, after rearranging my living spaces, she announced that she would be up on Friday to lift the old floor. Friday night I arrived home - to a room completely untouched. Saturday - same thing. Nothing had been done. I can't cook, I can't clean, I can't eat, and I can barely sit down.

She calls Saturday evening - she'll be up Sunday to do everything and what time could she come up? Thankfully I'm leaving for work by 9:30 AM, and tell her so. "Oh. Is that the earliest I can get in?"

Does anyone have a tie-fighter I can use?

The Floor Wars Saga, Episode 1

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... wait, sorry - just last year, in my kitchen.

Any likeness to 'CL' is purely coincidence

Now, wear and tear is normal in any household. And one of the (very) few advantages of renting over owning is that when repairs are needed, the landlord is responsible. That would make me happier if my landlady weren't some kind of evil force bent on ruling the Empire with an iron fist. The Empire being my levels of the house.

When the kitchen tiles started crumbling, I pointed it out to her - politely. (I am always polite to this woman's face. I just keep telling myself - I can't afford to move right now.) When they worsened and cracked and started sticking to my feet in chunks, I pointed it out once again. Tile after tile was lifting and shifting and leaving bare wood behind.

I was told that a little area rug would cover it nicely until she could take a look at it.

That was last summer.

So, after months of tripping on two rugs in front of my fridge, and seeing even more tiles crumble underfoot, the CL (Crazy Landlady) finally called (in January) and said that she'd be replacing the floor. During spring break. The one in March.

OK, I thought, that's good enough for now.

The next couple of months were peppered with occasional comments and warnings about what was to come.

"You'll have to move everything out of the kitchen before I come up."
"You'll have to sweep and mop before I pull up the old floor." (Really? Because it's important to throw away clean crappy floor?)
"I might have to have the back door open for a while. You should probably lock the cats in the bedroom." (For what - the day? The week?)

Spring break comes... and is almost over when I finally decide to call her and find out what's going on.

"Oh... yeah... right. I guess I'll have to go pick up the flooring on Friday." Did she mean Good Friday, I asked? "Friday is Good Friday? Do you think anything will be open?" No, I believed everything would be closed. "Well... (long pause)... I guess I could try to get it Thursday after work."

The next day I got a call, telling me that the work would be postponed until the following weekend.

To be continued... and continued... and continued...