Independence is something most of us clamour for from a young age, we cant wait to cut the apron strings and rush into life. I say most of us as some people prefer the apron strings are attached with lead and are very happy to live their lives like that. I myself was always a bit of a dreamer. I dreamt of moving to the big city and gaining my freedom. I got a little taste at university however you can hardly call it independent when I came home every Friday to have my washing done, typical Irish son!
I gained my first true sense of independence when I moved to Englandshire about eight and a half years ago. I went from having all my meals cooked and being taken care off to doing it all myself, well sort of. I remember ringing mummy after the first day I got a bus. I stood at the bus stop eyeballing the number 22 to the Trafford centre. The cheeky thing just kept on going. I was rather bewildered. I thought I am definitely going to make a complaint about this really rude driver who is in a massive rush. I was so flummoxed the first thing I did was ring mummy. She would understand my woe. I explained the whole scenario to her and she calmly and quietly answered, “did you put your hand out to wave him down?”. Did I? Of course I didn’t. We both laughed hysterically at the notion that I thought a bus just presumed I wanted to get on it. I was rather naïve to the workings of public transport so I just thought everyone got picked up. Silly Michael.
Id love to say that is where the silliness started and ended however it was not the case. I rang mummy after bleeding my radiators as I thought I would be dead grown up and bleed them. In my head that was something ‘adults’ did every so often. I wasn’t sure why a radiator required being drained of life fluid, I also didn’t care for the imagery. I just knew in my head that if I was to be a fully functioning adult I would one day be called upon to be manly and bleed a bloody radiator. Of course I did. Water went everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Towels were flying out of the press and onto the corresponding puddles of dirty water. After I dealt with the tsunami or bleeding radiators I soon realised that my heating wouldn’t work. Typical. Why the hell did I even start this escapade? In her quiet wisdom, she said, “you will have lowered the pressure of your boiler too much”. Ok how did she know all this?? How was I supposed to know their was a direct correlation between water pressure and heating. I thought magic elves lived inside the boiler cupboard and made the whole hot water experience happen like magic. I presumed their was a foreman commanding the worker elves under a very tight schedule or twists, knocks and bangs to release the magical hot water waterfall at precisely the right time when I was heading to the shower. I was wrong.
Another adult thing to do of course is changing things in your apartment. A bit of DIY is always good for the soul. Unless you are Michael who thought DIY was just a television series on Bravo. I decided to start small(ish). I decided to change my shower door and replace it with a brand spanking new one. I found a chap from one of those handymen websites (be warned). The chap called round looked at my shower door and said, “I’m afraid the adhesive is too strong, we will need to take the tiles off surrounding it”. Ok… that seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to say, I thought. “Also, they don’t make those tiles anymore so you wont get a perfect match, I would be better retiling the whole thing”, this should of been where alarm bells started to ring however I was new to this whole thing so decided It was perfectly logical. I queried how much? £200.00.
This was a little more than I had invested in for a shower door however I thought why not lets give it a go. He asked for the money upfront (WARNININGGGGGGGGGGGG), which I assumed was standard practice and let him get on with it. He came 2 days later than he said with chap Jr in tow. The hammered and banged for a good hour and a half then came out and said they needed to head to another job. I thought this odd as I was a paying customer and it seemed illogical to take another job while working on one. I’m a completionist who likes to start one job and complete before starting another. I presumed this was how the handy trade worked. He dazzled me with some complex wordplay about how my walls were complex and he needed to get more tiles, he required another £200. I started to get a sinking feeling in my guy at this point however I reluctantly handed over another wad of cash.
That was the last I heard from that chap.
I left phone calls. Text messages. Sky writing. None were answered. He was gone and he was £400 richer. I felt like a fool. I rang mummy distraught. Not only had he made away with my heard earned money, he had left my bathroom and absolute mess. Their was holes in every wall, half with tiles, half not. Needless to say no new shower door either. Mummy couldn’t believe I gave him the money up front, and to be honest looking back neither can I. My stupidity had led me to this mess and I just wanted mummy to make it all go away. I resented my independence.
She said I needed to speak to someone in work and get someone on personal recommendation. Off I trotted into my job and spoke to a few of the lovely ladies I worked with at the time. One lady called Joyce gave me the number of a lovely handyman who does all her jobs for her, at a decent price. His name was Charlie. I sent Charlie a text and within a few hours he rang me back. he came round to see the bombsite I had been left with. He looked horrified. I told him the whole story and he looked at me like a child and said, “I could of taken the shower door off without touching the tiles, he was conning you”. At this stage I was thinking, “yes Charlie I realise that now”. I asked Charlie how much to fix it all. He charged me “120.00. It also included all new tiles. I think he really felt sorry for me. Charlie came one afternoon and was done in a few hours. My bathroom never looked better and I handed Charlie £150.00 and I was so happy, he wouldn’t accept the £30.00 extra however. Charlie has been my handyman ever since.
Independence has been amazing in some ways, the freedom you feel is amazing. When things go tits up its another story. No one can help like your mummy. Sadly without choice I have complete independence. I am completely free. I have no other choice. I don’t have mummy to lean on anymore. I am an adult… whether I like it or not. One thing I am grateful for Is all those little hiccups (we only touched the iceberg this evening), I think they have made me stronger and more prepared in this world. I think she would be happy about that. A parents job is to make sure a child can look after themselves in a big bad world. I might not always have the answers and I may not always make the right choices but I feel I can think of her when a crisis emerges and imagine what she would say.
Also how she might giggle at me.
Silly Michael
xx
A Grievers Guide to the Galaxy 