We ended the last post with me discovering lies from my contractor.

After I called around town to confirm his claims that he was getting permits (he wasn’t), ordering the electrical inspection (he wasn’t), and picking up the bathroom vanities I ordered (spoiler alert! …he wasn’t), I started growing more concerned. Sometimes I would drive by the job site unannounced, and I’d find his two workers and him sitting on the porch smoking and chatting away. They’d see my car and immediately start scurrying around trying to act like they were working. Other times I’d drive by, and no one would be there.

“Oh, we’ve got this other job we’ve been trying to finish. As soon as that’s done, I’ll have multiple crews of guys here.” Mmm hm.

I started searching for a new contractor.

The thing about small towns is everyone knows everyone and often jumps in to share their opinions. I Googled contractors and called countless people, most of whom were not interested in taking the job themselves but were quick to tell me who else to stay away from. I’d start with a list I found from Google and gather more names as I went. A normal morning would go something like this:

Me to Contractor 1 from my list: “Ok I understand you aren’t interested. I’ve also heard of [John Doe] – any candid insights into him?”

Them: “JOHN?! Oh, you should run.”

Me: “….Ooookay. Anyone else you would recommend?”

Them: “[Bob Smith] is ok.”

Me to Contractor 2 from my list: “Ok, I understand you aren’t interested. What are your thoughts on [Bob Smith]?”

Them: “BOB?! Never work with Bob…..”

And on it would go.

I even tried folks out of the immediate area and was told “we don’t take jobs in that town because it’s nothing but Meth Heads and you can’t get anyone to work.”

Reeeeeally trying to stay positive here, folks.

Meanwhile I tried to continue to play along with the GC I had, hoping to get value out of him in the meantime since I’d already paid him thousands of dollars and struggled to see thousands of dollars’ worth of work done anywhere in the house.

The excuses continued to flow. Sometimes, the GC couldn’t work because he had “had a rough day,” or “had a stomach bug,” or his girlfriend had to have dental surgery. Then various people in his life died, which might have been true, but by that point he could have said he got called for a special unicorn mission to the depths of the Pacific Ocean and it all would have sounded equally as plausible to me. I was astounded at how much one person could lie with no shame. I began observing it all with detached curiosity as if I was taking part in a behavioral science experiment rather than being strung along in the money-leaking nightmare I was actually in. I continued to plot my next moves.

It was starting to feel impossible to find a) a properly licensed GC anywhere in that area and b) anyone, licensed or not, who would work on the house at all.

I have yet to mention the entire house was made of concrete. Walls. Ceilings. It was a challenging project to be sure. I continued calling contractors while continuing to prod my GC to get something done in the meantime. But I was losing the ability to hide the burning rage inside of me that, if left unchecked, had potential to fuel fantasies of oh, I don’t know, maybe me chasing the GC with that excavator I paid for that never showed up to gravel the driveway…

One day, he texted me that he still hadn’t gotten the electricity on so he couldn’t really get work done. I began laying out the multiple ways I’d documented his lies.

I told him I knew for a fact he never called the electric inspector because I called them myself. I told him I also knew he didn’t get permits. I called him out on his elusive crews that never seemed to materialize. I told him the two men he had working would never be able to finish the job and I told him he needed to start texting me exactly what work would be completed each day.

He got defensive.

Where’s that excavator….

He began text-yelling at me with multiple exclamation points. He played the innocent victim, and acted hurt that I was questioning him and didn’t appreciate how much he was doing for me.

Yes. What would I ever do with myself if I didn’t have you at that house smoking and leaving Dr. Pepper bottles everywhere? You truly are a gift I should never take for granted.

His task lists each day were vague and included items like “work on balcony.”

Me, “Thanks, but I need to know what that entails. Did you order the spindles we need?”

He got more defensive.

“I have to put the floor on the balcony first and no, the spindles are not ordered, will have to order them tomorrow. I’m tired, good night.”

I’m tired, good night??? I fought hard to view all this as an amazing opportunity to exercise self-control instead of doing what I really wanted to do, which was to poison his Dr. Pepper bottles yell at him.

He knew he was getting backed into a corner and switched full force into victimhood and indignation. I mentally strapped in for the ride.

At some point, he announced he had decided the two guys on his “crew” just weren’t cutting it (you don’t say?) and he was making the responsible choice of replacing them. Sounds like a fantastic, original idea. Let’s see what you bring in next.

I eventually saw what he brought in next. It was one guy. I kid you not.

But let’s back up slightly. Around this time, I had finally located a licensed GC in the area who agreed to take a look at the house. Once I heard my GC was firing his crew of two, I figured there would be a transition period until he brought in anyone else. So, I scheduled the new GC to meet me at the house the next morning. We’ll call him Pete.

The next morning, I drove up to the house and saw two giant, sturdy looking trucks and three capable-looking men already standing in the driveway, early for our appointment. It felt like a mirage, or like a scene in a Western when the cavalry finally comes into sight. Thank the Lord! I’m being rescued! I wanted to cry.

We walked the house and I felt confident they actually knew what they were doing and had the crews and equipment to do it. They hadn’t fully agreed to do the job, but I was feeling hopeful. We ended our tour of the house and two of the men left while Pete and I kept chatting in the driveway.

Then my GC pulled in the driveway. He recognized Pete as a fellow local contractor.

Whoopsie! I felt like I was caught cheating but I also kind of didn’t care. I smiled on while Pete played it off that he and I merely had mutual acquaintances (true) and were just innocently chatting (kind of true, if “innocently chatting” means “mounting a coup”). If my GC got the point that I was trying to replace him, he didn’t let on.

Pete left and I felt I had no choice but to continue letting my GC “work” as much as possible until I could secure Pete’s support. The new “crew” of one dude that my GC brought in quickly got to work.

That one dude also quickly got to work turning against the GC and trying to plot a coup of his own —or something worse — with me as an accomplice.