In 2001,my boyfriend had a great great year. He saved his earnings and decided to buy a house the following year. I actually found the house online, and instantly fell in love with the modern,albeit eighties, vibe and the amazing views of downtown. It had been owned by two gay men, evident by the black marble floors throughout the kitchen and dining area,a floor to ceiling faux Greek column in the foyer and a mural on the two story living room wall that was purple and gold. I finally understood their intention with the mural on the first morning we woke up in the house. The sun rose and lit up the purple wall like something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark. It was a cool effect, I guess, but a little much for every day living.
The house had five levels: one had the master, one the kitchen,foyer,dining room, the next the living room, the next a guest suite with its own entrance and the last was two bedrooms and a screening room. It had decks on all levels and a total of five doors that led to the outside, each containing two locks. Soon after we moved in, I made the requisite call to a locksmith I found in the Yellow Pages to change the locks.I made an appointment for the following day between noon and three.
The next day, as three approached and no locksmith arrived, I started getting aggravated. Home ownership is overrated, in my opinion. It is a whole lot of annoying attention to detail that I would rather leave to a landlord, but there I was, ten past three and no locksmith. I called the number and the same guy answered.
ME :Uh, Hi.. ??I had an appointment between twelve and three and it is now three fifteen.Are you guys coming?
HIM: oh, yes, we got another job this morning. a really big job. you know the Troubador? the club? they had a break in and we were down there all day, like three thousand dollars .....
ME: ?? Uh, okay, so you aren't coming because you got an better job?
HIM: yeah, you want to reschedule for tomorrow?
ME: Uh, I don't think so, you have basically just wasted my time.
I hang up. I am furious. Fucker. Who does that? What happened to customer service?
The phone rings about two minutes later. I pick it up.
HIM(menacingly): Cunt. I like wasting cunt's like yours time....
I hang up again.This time I am mortified. In a total panic, I realize that he has my address and is obviously more than a bit unstable. I rush to the phone book and look up the listing. John's Locksmith Service in.... Oh My God, there is no address?! Why did I pick the only place with no address?! He could be a guy working out of his fucking car for all I know! I call my boyfriend and, as I tell him what happened, the hairs on the back of my neck are standing straight up. He demands to have the number so he can call the guy. While I am appreciative, I remind him that the guy has our home address and detailed directions to our house. I remind him that the guy is a fucking psychotic locksmith, not someone you want on your bad side in a house with five doors that lead to the outside.He is quiet for a moment, then he agrees. I hang up and go around the house and make sure all the doors are locked, like it is going to make a bit of difference. That is what you get when you blindly call an add in the Yellow Pages.Only morons like me do that, or people in horror movies.
I then call another locksmith with a clear physical address that I cross check on the computer and make an appointment for the next day at ten. When he arrives, at ten on the nose, I have a screwdriver in my back pocket and enough adrenaline to kill a woolly mammoth if need be. Who knows, they might all know each other, right?
The moral of the story is get a reference, that is all I am saying.