I have something of a complex when it comes to dealing with construction guys. If I have to walk past a bunch of construction workers on break, I always feel the need to quicken my step lest one of them jump up, throw me in a headlock and give me a noogie, thus causing me to drop my Au Bon Pain roast beef­brie wrap and get balsamic vinegar stains on my khakis.
    I mention this because there’s been a high density of construction workers around my apartment for the past couple of months, and I’ve been doing my best to stay out of their way. As anyone who’s had their apartment gutted down to the bare frames could tell you, however, staying out of the way can be difficult when a job is in progress. When a building contractor comes in and starts ripping up walls, floors and ceilings, you expect that there’s going to be an adverse effect on your living environment. It would make us feel a lot better, though, if said contractors were actually working on our apartment.
    I’d ventured into the condo upstairs a few times to use the phone after locking myself out, and I’d always thought it looked pretty nice. It occupies the top two floors of the building, and it has a balcony and a big fireplace. The floors appeared to be level. To appropriate a phrase, I wouldn’t have kicked it out of bed for eating crackers. But the new owners saw it as a blank slate, crying out to be gutted and remodeled to their liking. Enter my new friend, Greg the Contractor.
    Actually, Greg is more than a friend. For all intents and purposes, Greg lives with us. I have not seen my roommate Dave in four days, but I see Greg early in the morning and late at night. We hang out and drink beer. He has keys to my apartment. He uses my bathroom.
    There is a conundrum. I like Greg, and not just because I’m afraid that if I weren’t friendly he’d rip my arms off and beat me with them. But the phrase “bull in a china shop” springs to mind. While Greg seems genuinely contrite whenever part of our apartment gets destroyed because of work going on upstairs, that does not reverse our inconvenience. Our bathroom was never going to be featured in Better Homes and Gardens in the first place, but having a leaky pipe upstairs blow out an entire ceiling panel, covering the sink and floor in rancid water and sopping debris, did not help matters. When dirt comes out of your can of shaving cream, you’ve got a messy bathroom.
    My roommates and I always call Greg when something like that happens. I won’t go into every sordid detail, but let’s just say that there have been problems upstairs with keeping the elements (rain, in particular) from finding their way inside and soaking through our ceilings. One night Scott and I had to cut the screen door upstairs and break in to put down buckets, lest we end up running around our own apartment screaming “Schnell! Mein Gott!” while our apartment filled with water, Das Boot­style.We’re currently on our second new bathroom ceiling, which, while it is hardly prettier than the cracked and discolored original, at least provides a physical barrier between our bathroom and the goings-on upstairs. It was unnerving, to say the least, on the few ceilingless mornings when I could note the progress of the work upstairs while lathering up my Head & Shoulders.
    Scott, Dave and I have been pretty accommodating with Greg, but our patience is starting to wear thin. We feel that we should be compensated in some way for enduring the noise, inconvenience and squalor that has been visited upon our home. Scott ventured one day to ask Greg about some sort of rent compensation, and he said he’d have to ask Larry.
    Greg describes Larry as “my boss, my landlord and the guy who owns the car I drive.” I guess Larry is the general contractor. The odd thing is that Greg, like Visa, is everywhere I want to be (even when I don’t want him to be there), but I’ve never met Larry. To add to the intrigue, I often hear Greg arguing loudly with someone upstairs, but I only ever hear Greg’s voice. Could it be that Larry is what we called in first grade a “make-believe friend”?
    Greg, and therefore Larry, hasn’t gotten back to us about the rent. I’m not sure what to do about that, and everyone has different advice. I have one idea, though. Greg says the condo upstairs is going to be a palace. And the new owners are apparently going to be elsewhere on weekends. Greg has the keys to the place... Who wants to rent out my weekend duplex? Don’t worry, if the owners happen to come home, you can just say that Larry told you it was OK. *