People say that life could be divided into good periods and bad periods, but these are the bad periods that leave you with many good stories to tell. This is one of such stories.
Six months ago we bought a house that was almost perfect. All we needed is an extra unit (room+ bathroom) on the roof and new stairs, all 50 of them. The owners' style was classic and modest but a bit outdated for our taste, so we thought why not fit it to ours: add some color and light. People warned us, joked about their experiences and pointed to the couples that divorced after the renovations. But we thought - it is a small job, we have a contractor and a designer in the extended family, we can trust them, we would tell them what we want, give them the keys and two months after we will move in.
Five months later, double the budget, exhausted and not quite happy with the result, we are still not living in it.
From the very first day, our renovations turned into a tragic comedy. The actors are:
- Black kippa contractor that appears at the site once a week, usually to pick the check. Not much can take him out of his balance.
- Russian immigrant project manager that hourly rushes in-between all 6 of his construction sites and is easily inflammable. He screams daily that everything is a BIG AND IMPOSSIBLE PROBLEM, but cools down shortly and does it.
- Two to four Arab workers that have been working with our contractor for 20-30 years, some since they were 14. They live on the territories and have to wake up at 4 am to stand in line for a border control in order to get to our house at 7 am.
- A wooden stairs expert that behaves like a prima donna and is hated by all of the above but paid by me.
- Two joyful AC experts (black kippas as well) that seem to like everyone and be liked by everyone.
- A cousin designer who is patiently ushering us into her idea of what we need.
- A carpentry shop that is making what we should have bought at IKEA many months ago.
- An Arab carpenter from Nazareth that did a quick and reasonably priced job but he doesn't acknowledge that there are many different shades of white in the inner part of the closet he built for us. For some reason he is not very much liked by the Arab workers from the territories.
- A door expert - it is still unclear whether the character he is playing is good or bad.
- Five town hall personas that I visit weekly to get all the building permits.
- A person at the National Institute of Standards that showed me that even standard fees are negotiable.
- Neighbors, that include a powerful ex-wife of a local celebrity and an unidentified photographer that sends us pictures of the garbage our workers leave behind. Among the neighbors are those that are happy to see our renovation delays since they could use our free-for-now parking spot, and those that seem genuinely supportive comparing our renovation saga to theirs.
Scene 1:
First planning meeting in the newly purchased house. The contractor, who is also our relative, realizes that he made a big mistake, but it is too late. He promised us, we promised him, he is our brother-in-law and intends to keep it this way. We start working together.
On a second meeting our designer suggests that we made a big mistake. Everything here is either modern or country style. But we want retro, plus an orange-and-brown kitchen, plus keep the blue Belgian windows. "Your taste is so different than mine. Why did you chose me?" Well, she is also our relative... We are trying to convince ourselves that she is a professional, she knows better and we should listen to her.
We are shocked to realize that nothing works smoothly without our micro supervision. I leave all the consulting jobs aside and show up daily at the house managing the project manager and the project.
Tens of bureaucracy steps. Among them, taking pictures of our bomb shelter and proving to the Home Front ministry that it is up to standard. In my purse is a 5-inch screw from the vent tube of the bomb shelter and I am hopelessly trying to find where to purchase 3 more of those so that our Arab workers can secure them. By chance I notice that screws in the playground have the same print on them. No, I didn't unscrew the playground.
We realize that we do not have a measuring tape with meter marks at home - only inch-marked tapes. We use inches and convert them to cm on our iPhones.
Scene 2:
A few months later.
The newly purchased meter becomes the most useful item in my purse, credit card is the next. Through trial-and-error we seek experts in various fields. The experts didn't always like each other and we find ourselves mediating the tension. Every two weeks the contractor sends our project manager to a few days off at home to recuperate his nerves.
We finally agree with the designer that orange-and-brown kitchen may get tiring soon and switch to a white and gray-wood-print pattern. Few weeks later, unable to find the right gray, we give up to the simple white-and-oak. Even the carpenter is shocked by our change of heart.
The planned small job has slowly turned into what seems to be an infinite spiral. There are many more parts to this house than what we thought. Floor panels that no one has noticed before suddenly become a major issue. The designer explains to us that ceramic floor should have stone panels as ceramic panels have an un-interesting edge. I spent a few weeks searching for the right panels for each room. Panel tips have weird names such as bird beak and alligator head.
I discover the stores and prices and shocked to realize that half of our budget should be set aside for building materials (stone, windows, carpentry, sanitary equipment etc). We learn that no one likes to pay the 18% VAT tax on work and goods while we are used to being good citizens.
We are losing sleep, walking around angry and irritable. There are moments, when I am hoping Iran will bomb us now and free us from this renovations nightmare.
Scene 3:
A few more months later.
Iranian intelligence has undoubtedly spotted the disaster of our renovations, and afraid to inherit them, the Iranian president is starting to broker the peace. There is no escape for us from the renovations project but to pull it through.
Things are starting to come together but there are problems everywhere and we are starting to just ignore most of them, anxious to wrap it all soon. We learn that we can disagree with our designer and still be friends. I happily sidestep from the color white and buy a bright red lamp but the designer allows to hang it only in the kitchen. We still want painted walls but the designer thinks it is too simple. She suggest a wall-paper. It is too expensive. Walls stay white. We buy ceramic panels with a flat tip. We now know how things should have been done but it is too late: never again will we repeat such adventure.
At the basement entrance we have a row of 6 light switches. It takes up to 12 tries to turn the desired light into a desired state because each light could be also controlled from one or more light switches spread throughout the basement.
Every second night one of us is having renovation nightmares. We are still married but drained and pale. Our kids couldn't hear any more about the house project. They are not interested in seeing its progress either. Our son spends two weeks in the US and on his return suggests we go back there. "But what about the house?" we think.
Our friends decide to forgo renovations on their house, likely influenced by our experience. A neighbor describes her nightmarish 4-year long renovation at a block party and we feel good.
