You Think You've Got Problems?

On Saturday, the paintner didn't show. What's that? Why do we, and by "we," I mean Jews of a certain generation, refer to those who inhale fumes for a living as "paintners"? Because our parents did. Lame answer? How dare you. You can be so insensitive at times. The one expert elderly Jew I could've consulted on the matter has left the paint store. So I'm taking an educated guess. Let's just say that newly-arrived Jews in America like my Russian grandparents who struggled, linguistically and otherwise, added an extra "n" and somehow it caught on. Anyway, back to my Update from Kvetch Central. It's been a trying few weeks, as I may have mentioned, what with the bamboo and the chronic noise, the re-piping and the city inspection that earned an F (twice), the Singing Dry Wallers who serenaded me for two days with Oldies - actually, their version of "Help Me, Rhonda" wasn't half-bad - and now, the phone call from Nacho, owner and executive paintner of Nacho's Paint-For-Less: "Mrs. Carol? I can't come this weekend." "Why not?" "I'm working." "Here. You're working here." "No, Mrs. Carol. I come on Monday." "Today, Nacho. Today." "I see you Monday, Mrs. Carol." "Don't do this to me, Nacho. Nacho?! Nacho?!"