"Mom!", or The Heiress and the Heirless

Paris Hilton and I had something in common today: when things fell apart, we called for our moms. The only difference is that my mom took care of business and dropped some fools (and I didn't throw a hissy fit.)



We continued to war with Able Home Inspection (I'm using the name to try to warn off any would-be customers) to pay to so that both of our tubs and our shower didn't leak. Song, the Japanese plumber who came out, found a number of problems, including on the hall tub that Able's guys supposedly fixed. His bill was upwards of $900 and included problems with a jacuzzi motor power switch. Ralph from Able told us that we were on the hook for half the bill since the switch was electrical, not plumbing.

Angry and irritated as I drove to work, I called my mom, our realtor on the deal, and sent her to do battle. Despite stonewalling by Able, she got a copy of Song's proposal and reviewed each item on it with Song (I have no idea how she did this over the phone since his English is very limited.) Verdict: ALL of it was related to leaking, including the switch. My mom called Ralph back, and despite his efforts to weasel out, got him to agree to pay in full. . . before I was done with lunch.

Ralph's last throes of denial were saying that we couldn't find an inspection company in the state that would guarantee everything we were getting them to cover--well, they weren't stupid enough to mess with my mom.

Song should come tomorrow to fix all of the leaks. Knock on water-damaged wood, that will be the last of it.

Thanks, Mom! We couldn't have done it without you.


(Oh, and congrats Paris for making our blog--I never thought you'd make it on here. Since you've got some time to think in jail, your koan for the day is Don Henley's lyrical lament: "This year notoriety got all confused with fame.")