Like having termites isn’t bad enough. There is nothing more painful to a new homeowner than the T-word. It tears you up inside, you hear them gnawing at night, you wring your hands over the thought of your second story crashing down on your head as you watch Mythbusters. I have suffered this pain twice now in my new home over the past year and a half and have been relatively lucky (knock on uninfested wood) to have only minor damage from the little monsters. But even so…it is moderately distressing, and I think I deserve some sympathy for my plight. But no. Apparently, according to the nastiest exterminator in the world, I do not.
The only time possible for this guy to come dispose of my pests was Monday AND Tuesday between 10 and 5. Good God that is a ginormous time window, I thought to myself, but I arranged to be available on Monday and found someone to be there on Tuesday.
I waited, 10. I waited, 11. I waited, 12 noon! Where is this guy? 12:13 p.m. I hear banging and whistling coming from my backyard. Confused I go out to investigate. There is termite man with one hand and his head stuck in my gate banging on my fence.
Me: Can I help you?
Man: Finally! (under breath…apparently whistling was supposed to get my attention better than, say, ringing my doorbell)
Man: Can you unlock your gate?
Me: It is unlocked…you just have to push
Man: (pushes gate and enters)
Man: (no eye contact…silence)
Me: I was wondering if you could come into my house and do that part first so that I can leave for work.
Me: Umm…ok…well do you know when you might be getting around to that part?
Me: Is it going to be today?
Man: Later (shoos me away)
Now, I understand that termite murder may not be fulfilling work, and that the stupid girl asking silly questions might be generally annoying as you drip sweat and brush dirt and insects from you hands, but seriously…what a jerk.