When I set up my home office in the cheery turquoise room, I had to plug my work laptop and other devices into extension cords from the living room.  I knew the house needed some electrical repairs, as documented in the 50-page home inspection report I had. The home inspector had recommended I get an electrician to fix the wiring issues, and I would kiss more money goodbye.

As a homeowner, I now knew how mentally exhausting it was to be assertive for my home, which was supposed to be my sanctuary from the outside world’s stress.  Since moving in, I had a locksmith, painters, movers, and a handyman working on the house, and I’m very aware that I’m a single woman being cautious. Everyone has been professional, and I’ve carefully checked that they are reputable businesses, or independent and very honest. And, if they are married, they always name-drop their wives, fine with me because I’m NOT vetting every male worker who shows up at my house, thinking “Is he dateable?”

I found the electrician, John, through Nextdoor (a local site to find reputable home services, etc.), and he had a lot of positive reviews on work quality and professionalism.  John was mostly retired from being a general contractor and home inspector, and bragged that he had often been called a “deal-killer” as a home inspector who was honest about house issues.   We talked on the phone about my house, and he came over in early January.  He was older (mid-70s), and seemed pleasant and competent, as we walked around my house and discussed the issues with the ”dead” outlets.

He tested some of the living room and office outlets with a digital multimeter, and confirmed that some did not have full power/voltage.  John seemed knowledgeable about older homes, saying that the baseboards in my house were the “Cadillac of baseboards, made of cast iron” and would last for more decades (they were 81 years old as of 2021).  Wow, SOMETHING in this house was best-quality/condition, and I couldn’t wait to drink to that later!

Next, we went to the basement to look at the wiring and John realized that those bad outlets needed to have their wires re-twisted to connect properly. He said it was probably sloppiness by whoever had done the previous electrical work, and said something I was more used to hearing in my house, “You’re lucky it hasn’t sparked and caught fire!”

We went to the fuse box, and after studying it, John said it needed some fixing to be more balanced.  I helped him figure out which fuse corresponded to the different outlets/lights/rooms, and he moved some of the wiring around to the different fuses. I learned how to turn fuses off and not be intimidated by it. And, with the fuses off, he also had me retwist a few of the wires, so I could learn how they worked. I appreciated the lesson on my house’s electrical system, because it was empowering to understand my house.

But, it wasn’t all enlightenment.  When we went back up to the living room, my dad was there, doing some other fixes on my house, and John immediately started talking to HIM about my house, NOT me, as though my dad was paying for it.  He’s not—I’m the sole homeowner (I signed my life away at the closing, remember?) so I was immediately irritated at the sexist dynamic.

I stammered something about us all being so busy, so John went to his truck to get some more wiring accessories.  My dad ducked off to the room he was working in, where his coffee was.  I told myself I’d say something if the electrician pulled that nonsense again, but he was on good behavior the rest of that morning.

The second time John was there for electrical work, he had an assistant, and they were busy going between the basement and attic, mapping what wires were routing to different areas and the fusebox.  I was attempting to do work, but had to pause it because they needed me to turn lights on and off, to see what corresponded to the different fuses, and then my laptop and the router were turned off.

When they were almost done, John and I sat in my living room to settle payment.  Previously, I had asked him what his rate was, and he had talked a lot AT me, how people don’t know how much to pay him.  I asked John how much he usually got, and he said “whatever people think I’m worth,” but at one point, he was less nebulous and mentioned a few hourly rates.  When I paid John for their labor, he said he was fine with my payment. It was fantastic that he was fine with it, because he wasn’t getting another penny from me.  I didn’t have any patience for this cagey “pay me the magical amount you believe I’m worth” contractor, especially since I was concerned about this weirdo trying to come back to me for more money that I didn’t have. 

I preferred how the handyman and I had handled payment: at the initial quote stage it was discussed, written down, and decided on before any work occurred, for zero surprises/miscommunications.  That was also how I dealt with vendors in my job, and it was very professional and transparent.

As John was putting the money away, he started to talk about one of his other clients, a woman whose walk-in closet he had done, and she said that she liked employing him because he was so “virile.”  I wasn’t sure what that woman’s taste was like, but I was definitely NOT going to agree with her since he was in his 70s, tall, thin, and resembled gnarled driftwood.

He looked at me, clearly expecting me to confirm her claim, but I replied, “Wow, it sounds like she has a real crush on you. Excuse me, I need to get back to my work emails.”

I didn’t need to check work emails, but they were much more attractive to me than his creepy comments. In my head, I was figuring out what I’d say and do if he got creepier, to make him leave. Worst case scenario, I was prepared to defend myself like a ninja and call 911.  17 awkward minutes later, they left without any drama.  John texted me the next week about possible plumbing work he had mentioned doing but I had never approved anything he suggested, nor had I given him any money towards it, so I didn’t reply.

I was able to use every outlet in my entire house, without fear of electrical shock or fire.  I could plug in my laptop in my home office, and it wouldn’t overload any of the fuses or burn out. And, I was wiser about my home and felt empowered to be more assertive in dealing with contractors in the future, to take care of myself.

Next week, I’ll talk about the ancient doorknobs and cabinet hardware!