Dealing with O Senhor Carpinteiro

I've heard a lot about our local carpinteiro (carpenter) since I've moved here. He's lazy, they say. He lies. He's slow.

Not wanting to succumb to local gossip right off the bat, I thought I'd give him a chance. My house is somewhat devoid of furniture, so two weeks ago, I asked the carpenter to make me a bookshelf. I showed him how big it should be, and drew a picture of what I wanted it to look like.

"No problem, no problem," he said, "I'll bring it on Thursday."

We agreed on a price, and I paid him part of it up front so he could go buy materials. He told me he would come find me in a week, on Thursday, to inspect the finished product.

Thursday (Expected Shelf Delivery Day): 

The day comes and goes with no word from the carpenter.

Friday (1 day late). 

Having forgotten exactly where the carpenter's house is, I ask my neighbor's daughter to show me. All her friends get really excited and want to come to, so I show up there with about a dozen children to ask where my shelf is.

"The man who was supposed to bring me my wood only came yesterday, so I haven't had time to make the shelf yet," the carpenter says.

"You haven't even started?" I ask.

"Unfortunately not. But I will be done by Monday. Tuesday at the latest."

"At the latest? You're sure?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes. No later than Tuesday! Promise!"
 

Tuesday (5 days late)

This time, only one child accompanies me to the carpenter's house. He smiles when I walk up, but looks visibly annoyed that I keep bugging him.

"Is my shelf ready yet? You said you'd bring it today, and it's already almost sundown."

He squirms. "Well, I needed glue to put the wood pieces together, and I only went the city to get the glue yesterday, you see, so I'll need one more day. I'll come find you tomorrow when I am finished so you can look at it."

I seriously consider telling him I'm no longer going to pay full price, but I think he might just take longer if I do that, so I hold my tongue. I tell him I'll wait for him at home tomorrow morning, and hope against hope that he'll come.

Wednesday (6 days late) 

I wait at home all morning. Nothing happens.

 

Thursday (7 days late) 

In the afternoon, as I'm heading back home after one of my classes, I spy the carpenter walking away from my house. I wave at him to get his attention.

"There you are," he says somewhat accusingly, "Where were you?"

"At school, teaching, like I am every afternoon." I say.

"Oh. Well I've finished your shelf."

Finally! I walk with him to his house and inspect the item in question.

Well...

My new shelf.

It's a shelf. You can put things on it. It's made of rough wood, sloppily nailed together, and it wobbles, but it looks more or less sturdy. There's a backboard behind it that doesn't quite reach all the way down to the bottom, leaving a gap. The corners don't quite fit together.

It doesn't look much like my drawing.

Still, looking around at the other projects in the carpenter's yard, I gather that this is about the level of expertise I can hope to enjoy from him, so I tell him it's fine, though secretly I'm thinking that I've made theatrical props in half an hour that look better than this piece of... shelf.

"Who is going to carry it?" he asks.

"You said you would," I tell him.

"Well, I can, but it's heavy. I'll want an extra 50 mets for delivery."

At this point I'm fed up. "Fine, add an extra 50 mets for delivery, but I'm taking 50 mets off since you're a week late," I snap at him.

Realizing that I'm not going to pay him to carry the shelf, he mandars a kid from nearby to come carry it. The scrawny twelve-year-old picks up the shelf, muscles straining, and starts hobbling towards my house with it.

In the mean time, I pay the carpenter, and start walking to my house to meet the boy.

On the way, I realize that the carpenter definitely isn't planning on paying that boy for carrying my shelf, and I feel bad -- it's really heavy! I should have just carried it myself.

Darn.

I make it home at the same time as the boy, and he puts the shelf on my porch. I give him some money and thank him profusely. He's dripping with sweat. He takes the money, panting, and wanders home.

At the end of this tale, I find myself having gained two things: first, a shoddily built shelf. Second, the knowledge that if I need any other furniture made, I am going to ask anybody but our carpenter.