Non-Wiki Leak

Taking a day off from work was a great idea. These days, I normally spend 8+ hours in a chair responding to emails and [hopefully] moving some projects ahead. I’m pretty good at this, and most days progress is made. But today was different than most days.

For the second time this week, I spent my day with a contractor names Sasha. His shirt announces that his business is the “best and reliable in town.” Never mind the omission of an adverb preceding “reliable.” This guy is a character. He moved here in the ’70s during the first modern wave of Soviet-Jewish immigration and ensconced himself in the diaspora, working as a cabbie, then spending more than two decades in the construction and home improvement sector. He knows how to steam clean a roof so it’s “clean as a cat’s balls,” likes his sandwiches with “mel, salt, and pepper,” and boasts of sexual and anatomical prowess that keeps female demand at “six times a day,” which is “too much.”

Why am I spending my days with Sasha? Because of a leak in the apartment below me. Through some enterprising salesmanship on Sasha’s part and an unusually open fiscal mind on mine,  a simple grouting job has somehow snowballed into a wholesale gutting and renovation of my bathroom.

It all started with a trip to Home Depot to pick up a new tub…

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Ex-Soviet immigrant turned wanna-be scribe. I bite off more than I can chew, but at least I've got good teeth.

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