Meg Tilley Anderson
American
B. 1949-
Swept Off My Feet 8/19/2006, 8/29/2006, 9/15/2006, 6/07/2008….
19" h x 28 "w x 3" d
Roofing scraps
"You don't have to do that, we'll..." William cut off his announcement as I swept my magnet across the driveway. He knew there was no reason to hand me that company line. It was obvious; more nail sweeping by the roofers was NOT going to happen.
He'd already told me he's the one who follows the five man crews to fix the mistakes. He’d finished "Just go ahead and do whatever she asks so we don't have to go back!" at Chuck's direction over the phone at noon. I'd refused to hire his company under a new contract to put shingles where they'd started our complicated job a month before. Left 'til the end because I had to hire my own carpenter when it became evident that the woodworking skills of Chuck's roofing crew were adequate only where the work would never be viewed.
Nail sweeping was definitely not on the agenda. William was packing his saws, empty caulk tubes, imperfect shingles and flashing scraps in to the company van with his three prepubescent children. They'd come along because he had no childcare lined up for that Saturday. Our job carried over to the weekend when he didn't have the right saw blade to cut into cinderblock on Friday. On the plus side: his morning prediction was true. He said "The kids won't be a problem. They help me do roofing all the time."
