Today we are getting a new roof. Right now, I imagine, the pfft-thunk of nail guns is ringing through our neighborhood and the neighbors are breathing sighs of relief that the hobbit house down the street can finally be scratched off the 'eyesore' list. Our mossy old roof was 'past its prime', by which I mean it had mostly blown off and been run over by the lawnmower, and that was last year.
Not only are we restoring the lustre and durability of our home but we are doing so with the Dave Ramsey-approved method of remaining debt-free. None of this would be possible without the pity and courage of a lost salesman, a long-forgotten act of God and the ancient brotherhood of those who know how to splice a triple-braid hawser. Let me explain:
Posted prominently on our front door is a "NO SOLICITATION" sticker which we, and apparently no one else, take very seriously. When the mouth-breathers who don't know what solicitation means ring our doorbell, we open the front door, sternly and silently point to the sign from behind our locked screen door, then sternly and silently close the front door and forget all about them - unless they are children selling fruit or cookies because we want to encourage that kind of entrepreneurial spirit, at least until they're older and selling textbooks or salvation, then we discourage it again, sternly and silently.
One evening, Tammy answered the doorbell to a man who looked to be a cross between a smarmy mortgage broker and Al Pacino who was conciously ignoring the "NO SOLICITATION" sticker. Normally, this situation would squeeze the bellows on Tammy's ever-glowing furnace of indignant rage, but providentially for us all, he had the courage to ignore her burning eyes and pinched lips and she, in turn, swallowed her umbrage and listened to his plea.
He was a roofing rep, lost in the neighborhood and was turning around in our cul-de-sac when our mouldering roof transfixed him, much like conversing with someone who has never had dental care. Horrified, he slammed on the brakes, sprang from the car and sprinted to our door like a medic at an accident scene. His eyes very nearly swam with tears as he begged for the opportunity to provide relief for our obvious misery.
Several years before, after a hail storm swept Charlotte, it was all the rage to get an insurance estimate for roof replacement. We'd joined the fun, had an inspector come out and been humiliated when he laughed at our 'hail-damage', telling us that it was time, not hail, that had damaged our 'roof', if that's what we wanted to call it. After that, we'd shopped around a little and gotten some breath-takingly discouraging estimates on a new roof. Refusing to go into debt for it we resigned ourselves to years of saving our pennies, crossing our fingers that water damage wouldn't bring the house down around our ears. Therefore, Tammy was justifiably cautious when this man swore that he could get us help from our insurance company. He seemed so genuinely moved by our plight and so kind in his confidence of help that despite her reservations she started the paperwork right there on the porch in the gloaming.
Last spring had produced another hail storm and, after inspecting our roof again last week (this time with a representative from the roofing company) our insurance company decided the hail had caused enough damage to justify our claim. There was, however, the issue of the $2500 deductible. We had only saved $1000. If you're not willing to go into debt, being short $1500 or $7500 amounts to the same thing - you're not getting what you want right now. It hurt.
When the contractor came out to discuss options, Tammy and I were on tenterhooks. We wanted the roof done, he wanted to do the roof - all that stood in the way was the insurmountable $1500 we didn't have. But we weren't going to tell him that. As the conversation warmed he and I started discussing our backgrounds and it came to light that he had served 6 years in the Navy. I thanked him for his service and asked what his rate was. A 'rate', in nautical terms, is a specialty, the job an individual has been trained for. Not many people outside the nautical tradition know this nomenclature; it's an inside language - a code. He looked up from his paperwork with an appraising eye and asked if I'd been in the Navy, too. I shook my head; "Coast Guard, 5 years". He nodded thoughtfully, scratched some more on his paperwork, squinted at it for a bit then said "I could give the $1500 on this". We sat mute, not really daring to believe what he'd said. He noted our blank stares and said "What I mean is, after the insurance payment, I'll waive the extra $1500 and you'll just owe $1000". I rubbed my chin, pretending to think it over. It took considerable effort not to kiss him. "That sounds pretty good", I said calmly, while my heart did cartwheels.
So tonight, when I get home, I'm going to stand in my front yard and gratefully survey our new roof for a while. Then I'm going to open my front door and carefully peel off that ridiculous "NO SOLICITATION" sticker.
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