Progress

A worker arrived this morning around 10:00. He carried a dingy ladder, and a few buckets full of powders and brushes. He spoke no English.



Clearly, his intention was to get right to work. After speaking words to me that I did not comprehend, he set the ladder up in the middle of the living room and began scraping at the ceiling. My frantic calls as I raced toward him seemed to catch him by surprise. He had not moved any of the living room furniture, toys were still strewn about the floor, and he was making no effort not to drop bits of plaster all over the apartment.



Another man in a suit arrived as he and I spoke at each other in different languages. The man in the suit spoke some English, and explained that the worker simply planned to paint the ceiling. All of his tools were clean, and there should be no problem.



I made my disagreement well known. Discussions with people who speak poor English often compare to talking with a 2-year-old. There is a lot of repeating yourself, and asking questions again and again. No doubt, they would say the same about me.



Repeatedly, I told him...



that the furniture needed to be both moved and covered.



Repeatedly, he replied...



that the worker was quite clean, as was the paint.



Repeatedly, I told him...



that the water damaged ceiling must be removed before he painted.



Eventually, he spoke to the worker. Apparently the worker and I were in agreement on this fact.



So we were back to the issue of cleanliness. As the two men stood discussing some facet of my request in Chinese, I - with a crying child in my arm - began to move the furniture out of the room. The men politely allowed me to move all of my own furniture by myself. The couches out of the way, I asked the men to move the table which serves as both toy box and entertainment center. Atop this table is our television, DVD player and stereo system.



The men balked at my suggestion. Repeatedly, they told me that the table was surely too heavy to move.



I replied that it was clearly not too heavy. I had moved it myself earlier that morning.



They took another approach, suddenly having access to drop cloths.



Both of the men disappeared, the worker reappearing later with a pile of folded cloth and styrafoam. He first laid the cloths over the television. Clearly, these cloths had originally been used as tablecloths. Lace tablecloths. That's right - the complex's only drop cloths are full of holes.



I balked.



They covered the lace dropcloths with styrafoam strips, and I gave in.



The girls and I shut ourselves into their room for the next 3 hours, with a break for macaroni and cheese eaten off of the kitchen floor.



The worker scraped away all of the water damage from the ceiling. The floors and furniture were covered with scraps of plaster, which he removed fairly comprehensively. As he left, I noticed a fine layer of dust covering every surface including the floor. I spent the first half hour of naptime scrubbing the floor, and now sit in the middle of my otherwise empty living room. But at least I sit on a very clean floor.



I am told that the plaster man will return to reskim on Thursday. I have not cancelled my playgroup for Friday - I can not bear to. Woody has also promised me to finish all of the other work I have requested for months during this time of renovation. We shall see.