Nothing about this house is easy, not even buying stuff for it. That’s all I’ve been doing for the past three weeks, and I would almost rather be drywalling.
Last week it was the hardwood. After our trial box was missing three square feet, I started researching it and ordered some cheaper online. Whether or not that was a good idea remains to be seen, but I hardly see how it could be worse than missing boards.
Now, it’s the bathroom tile. Back in July, we exchanged four boxes of rejects and ordered two new boxes. Our mistake was assuming the six boxes we got would contain at least enough decent tiles to finish the bathroom. Joe decided to go through them today, and to our horror, every single tile was defective.
Now, I know marble has a lot of natural variation, but it wasn’t that. These had huge cracks, awful putty-looking patches, and they were all—ALL—riddled with rusty brownish impurities. The ones we’d returned had been better.
By the time I drove all the way to Bridegwater, NJ, to return them, I was in top ass-kicking form, but I didn’t meet much resistance. I actually got an apology, an acknowledgement that the tile was screwed up, and a personal guarantee from the manufacturer’s rep that he would handpick the next six boxes from the factory and get them to us this week, before Roy comes back.