The third day of construction is not construction at all; it's my electrician pointing up at the ceiling and asking what fan is going there and what light is going there and what new track head is going there.
While he's in the kitchen, I call Lowe's and get passed back and forth from person to person. I'm not happy about it.
I am asked to come into work the next day for a meeting, and now, because of the way things are going, I'm worried.
The electrician's still in my kitchen when I leave to get a crown. I'm in the dentist's chair crying. Everything hurts—brain and teeth. I'm shaking. It's already been a full week.