The Cursed Roof

Driiiiiiiiip.

Driiiiiiiiip.

Driiiiiiiiip.

Fuck.

Nope. No, I am not going to look. I don’t need to look, because that problem has been solved. The leaky roof above of our kitchen ceiling has been fixed. 

IT. 

HAS. 

BEEN. 

FIXED.

Driiiiiiiiip.

Driiiiiiiiip.

Driiiiiiiiip.

For the love of… I square my shoulders and stand up. I walk over to the kitchen. The light fixture is filling with water… again.

Cue Heather, mixing her first Dirty Martini. At 10:42 a.m. On the last Saturday in April. 

In 2018, we’d been led to believe that our entire roof had been replaced. This was erroneous. The roofer we’d hired had not, in fact, replaced any of it. He had re-shingled it. We had to call him back six times to deal with our leaky eaves. SIX. 

But… GOOD NEWS!… after only six return trips, it was fixed.

HOORAH!!

Cut to Dec 2022, when our kitchen ceiling begins to leak…into our light fixtures. Through Google, I discover that not only is this phenomenon an electrocution hazard, but a house fire hazard. Who knew? 

This is when I start making Martinis. Because coping with alcohol is a great coping mechanism. (It’s NOT, kids.)  

Yes, we could have gone back to the original roofer, but given his track record, we didn’t trust his work product.  And frankly, winding up in small claims court with this roofing shyster seemed like it would wind up costing us more money. We get a quote from another roofer, and it will be $13,000.00 to replace the back part of the roof. 

THIRTEEN. 

THOUSAND. 

DOLLARS. 

For 400 square feet of roof.  We shop around, get recommendations and find another roofer. 

And they attempt a repair, with the proviso that if it doesn’t work, they will give us a deal on a more extensive roof repair. So, of course, it doesn’t work, and they have to do that roof repair, which appears to work… until today… when it doesn’t. And we are looking at another complete roof repair.

Which is when I start making Dirty Martinis. Again.

Because that’s what I have the ingredients for. I have vodka. I have olives. I have olive juice. (Up until 30 minutes ago, I had a 1/2 oz. of vermouth.) 

It might seem odd that someone with Meniere’s Disease (where you’re supposed to limit your sodium intake to avoid the worst of the symptoms that invariably have you falling to the ground when your vestibular system ceases to function) might choose to OD on the sodium found in olives and olive brine… but when the alternative is to run the airport with your Visa and your passport and go somewhere, ANYWHERE else in the world where one doesn’t have to contemplate a leaky roof and the thousands of dollars to repair it….

Two Dirty Martinis in, I’m no longer as worried, and strangely, the prospect of tearing down our kitchen ceiling to discover from whence the leak originates, seems no longer so daunting.

* written while under the influence of 2, no… 3… dirty martinis. 

Addendum:

After the initial leaks, we tore down the ceiling. 

During a downpour we discovered where the water was coming in.

 

However, after that downpour, regular rainy days haven’t created a single drip. 

With me in the kitchen on the phone looking at all the places the ceiling had leaked during the deluge, our roofer came back and spent an HOUR AND FIVE MINUTES trying to recreate the leak with a hose and couldn’t do it. What sort of crazy-ass weather system has to hit us to make it rain inside? 

What is today’s coping cocktail??