I guess the word is fiasco. Today the insulation contractors came to spray foam my house. Yes, they came even when there was a huge winter storm. So last night I came in to finish off the small jobs that needed to go in before the insulation, and to run around with my next door neighbor, asking the people parked in front of my house if they could move for my contractor this morning. It seemed like things were in order, and my dad kindly offered to work from my coffee shop after making sure that the contractor was able to get in.
Short story, they didn’t. The truck was too big to fit down my street. After wasting the better part of an hour looking for parking they carried the spray foam components into the house. He walked through what needed to be done in order to get the drywall in. Unfortuately, they didn’t finish any of these things before they were called back to the office. They’ll be back to finish the spray foam, and next time neither my dad nor I will be involved. The cellulose that they will be blowing in is a different matter. They will need a spot at the end of the block to back the truck in. Worrying about that is a few days off now. For now, here are some photos of what they’ve done. You can see that the insulation on the inside walls in the living room is finished; the front living room wall and back bedroom ceiling that are getting Sheetrocked and then filled with cellulose are not. It seems like everything’s going to turn out fine, but I don’t know if I can do justice to how neurotic all this made me. A co-worker told me that I was cut off of the coffee this morning because he’s never seen me so hopped up before.