Lileks: Stop calling me about my roof

The other day my phone rang, which is never good news.

What brute calls people? And talks? We all text now, and soon that will feel too intimate, and we will e-mail people videos of ourselves using a semaphore signal lamp. But because I was expecting a call, I answered it, even though the number was unknown.

"Hello, James? This is (false name spoken with cheerful confidence). I'm from Ripamoff Roofers, and we're going to be doing work in your neighborhood tomorrow and wondered if we could come by to (my address! He said my actual address!) and have a look-see if you have any hail damage."

"First of all," I said, "I don't think you are coming to my neighborhood tomorrow, and second, I've already had an inspection, and never call me again, ever, or I will so not answer the phone. I will not answer the phone so hard you won't know what happened. Aside from me not answering the phone."

"OK! Fantast ... "

But I'd already hung up. No, I was not being nice. But I'm tired of these calls. I've gotten so many over the past few years that you'd think everyone reroofed every three months, probably on top of the last reroofing job. Hey, in winter, you've gotta layer.

In fact, I haven't seen any roofing companies around my neighborhood. So the guy was lying, and I think that merited hanging up before he said goodbye. Yes, nerves are that short around here.

We'd been thinking about the roof because we've never done anything except assume it was up there. It hadn't been shingled in 20 years. People had been born, graduated from high school and amassed $150K in debt since the roof was new, so perhaps it was time to hire some people who were not $150K in debt but made $150K a year replacing roofs.

Or maybe they were $150K in debt and working off the college loans by roofing. An English major comes in handy up there, I imagine.

"Say, doesn't this pile of shingles on the ground below strike you as a metaphor for those people who serve in silence for years, but earn not a single valediction when their service is over? It reminds me of a line by Keats."

"Hey, could you pick up the pace, Hemingway? You've taken off two shingles in the last 10 minutes."

No slur against English majors; I were one myself. And that's the problem. When I try to do useful, practical things, I am reminded that I am neither. Oh, I can do simple around-the-house things like unstopping a drain and then calling the plumber, or installing a new faucet and then calling the plumber, but big stuff is daunting.

"Say, I have a pipe, and it's leaking."

"PVC?"

"No, it's a pipe. Oh, I get it: polyvinyl chloride! Didn't know we'd be slinging the technical lingo. No, it's metal, and it's corroded. I was looking at what someone had done with the pipe years ago, and it looks as if there's a sleeve I could put around it and then cinch it tight. Does that sound right?"

He gave me a look that said, in essence, "It's a miracle you've lived this long." But he humored me, showed me how I could buy some PVC pipe, and then "you'd take a reciprocating saw, zing, zing, attach it with these."

When I heard "zing, zing" I saw my fingers flying off. This called for a professional.

It's dangerous up there. You have to do physical labor while leaning. It made me think I should ask for a raise, and if the bosses cock an eyebrow with amusement and say, "Oh, do go on," I'll say this:

"You wanted me to work from home, right? Well, I've set up my desk on the roof. It takes specialized talent to write while leaning, and I'd like to be paid accordingly."

I can imagine the response. "Hello, James? We're going to be in your neighborhood slapping sense into people and wonder if we could drop by your house."

Point taken.