Sometimes, even your best friends can still surprise you with their kindness. And when it happens, it makes you appreciate what you have even more.
My home, for some reason, has always been the gathering place for my friends and I to watch major sporting events. If the Yankees are in the playoffs, which they usually are, I can usually count on a room full of guys to be watching the games throughout the entire month of October. I’ve got a finished basement, which serves as our official sports room. It’s decorated with some nice memorabilia, it’s got plenty of seating, a big TV, a fridge, plus its own restroom and entrance. I can’t even tell you how many games we’ve watched down there over the years or how many laughs we’ve shared. We call them our “gatherings,” and we’re good for about a dozen a year.
Recently, however, my basement wasn’t up to the task of hosting a “gathering.”
I’d had a bit of a groundwater problem in one of the basement's rooms for years. Usually, it would only happen about twice a year after a major monsoon, but the excessive rains of 2011 had made it a more prevalent problem. In late summer, when hurricanes and tropical storms seemed to visit us on a weekly basis, I decided to finally get the problem fixed. After consulting with several professionals, it was clear that I needed a French-drain and sump pump, and that it was going to be a pretty big job. They’d be lifting the carpet, jack-hammering the floors inside the house, ripping out some of the drywall, pouring concrete and generally making a big mess of the place. The upside was a lifetime guarantee of permanent dryness. The downside was that once the drain and pump were installed, the company’s work was done. Getting the room back together would be my responsibility. I’d have to find another contractor to replace the drywall and do all of the other work to get the place back in order.
It was a bit daunting, but I had no choice. It needed to be done.
I hired them.
This was back in October, and because the company was still so busy with all of the September flooding, they said they wouldn’t be able to do the job until early December. I said that was fine, and one day, shortly after I’d signed the contract, I was riding out to Yankee Stadium with a few friends when I told them I was finally going to get the water problem in the basement fixed. I told them all that what was involved, and that even after the drain and pump were installed, I’d still have lots of additional expenses in fixing up the room. We were just chatting. I wasn’t seeking any help. And I had no idea that some of my friends knew how to do such work. I was just venting about what a mess I was going to have in my basement and how expensive it was going to be.
“Dude,” they said. “Don’t pay somebody to do that extra stuff. We know how to do it. We’ll help you.”
They explained that dry-walling was easy, and that what might cost me a few hundred bucks to have somebody come in and do could actually be done for much less. I graciously accepted their offer, and told them that after the holidays, I’d be ready for their help.
The big day came about two weeks ago on Saturday. The drain and pump had been installed and my basement was indeed a mess, but I was not surprised at all that the guys that had told me they’d help me three months prior all showed up. I put out some donuts for breakfast, ordered some pizza for lunch, and the plan was to get the project done in one day.
Not happening.
We continuously hit one snag after another. The drywall that was removed while installing the drain was not cut evenly, making patching in the new material much more difficult. The support beams that were partially removed were also not cut evenly, making attaching and securing new wood much more difficult. Even the new concrete over the new drain was not smoothed evenly, which made everything more difficult.
“Those guys,” said my friends, “did a hack job on your house.”
This was frustrating. But through it all, I also I saw what type of friends I had. Clearly, this was going to be bigger job than they’d bargained for. An expected trip to Lowe’s turned into four or five as new obstacles were encountered and new materials were needed. My driveway looked like a lumberyard, full of fine tools that were not mine, but theirs. Some of the guys were back again on Sunday, and even during the week in the evenings. And yet amid it all, we had lots of laughs. Whenever a new unforeseen problem was encountered, we called it a “Funt,” in reference to the late Allen Funt of the show "Candid Camera." And there were lots of “Funts” throughout the week. Too many.
Laughing, occasional swearing … it all happened in the basement as boards were cut, walls were replaced and the radio played. And the conversations were engaging. Who knew that one friend was so disenchanted with Alex Rodriguez that he wished the Yankees would ship him out? Who knew, until an AC/DC song came on the radio, that the same friend preferred Bon Scott over Brain Johnson? Both of these topics led to spirited debates.
Finally, after a week of sawing, nailing, spackling and sanding, the dust settled, both figuratively and literally. And last Sunday, we all sat there in our usual seats comfortably watching the NFL’s Championship Sunday. We had set Championship Sunday as our goal to complete job, and we did it.
Well ... my friends did it.
Throughout the week, I frequently thanked them for all of their help, to which one flatly replied, “This is how America was built. People helping each other out.”
Maybe it is that simple. But their gesture was not. They gave me a lot of their time and put in a lot of work. And though I wasn’t around when America was built, I do know how my basement was rebuilt.
It was done with friendship.
