2 Letters to Men I Did Not Send

Dear Home Depot Man,

When asked what you thought of my use of a ratchet strap, (YouTube a video right now on how to use this handy tool if you have no idea what I mean. You’ll learn a lot and also look really cool the next time you’re around someone who needs to use a ratchet strap and has no idea how to make it work.) you sighed and said, “Hmmmmm” and furrowed your eyebrows. You look like someone who has used a ratchet strap more than I have and so I immediately began to doubt myself. (Welcome to being a WOMAN at Home Depot) I said to you, “Oh, you don’t approve do you?” I challenged you as you sat back and watched me tie down a load of 34 cement boards into the bed of my truck. I used two ratchet straps and did not even get them stuck while I was tightening them. I was VERY proud of myself. But you, Home Depot Man, you did not seem proud of me. You seemed skeptical and judgmental.

When you originally came out to the loading dock, you were mumbling fuck underneath your breath. You did not seem  like you wanted to be at work Home Depot Man. After a few minutes, a couple of your buddies (José, Matt and Anthony I presume) joined you in the back. I figured you all wanted a cigarette break but I was standing in the way of you and freedom — me and those 34 cement boards. You all talked to one another, ignoring that I was there, tying down 34 cement boards into the back of my truck. I said nothing because I wanted to maximize the shock value of you watching while a woman used a ratchet strap all by her tiny, little lonesome. But again, you did not seem impressed. You scoffed at me Home Depot Man.

You made a suggestion to me as to how I could tie down the cement boards better. I hate when you do this Home Depot Man. I hate when you make suggestions to me unprovoked but I also feel like I HAVE to ask you for your opinion being that you are Home Depot Man and I am using cement boards for the first time in my life. And also, you are a man and I am a woman — this is the cultural expectation right? (Don’t worry, I’m working on this. This pattern is moving toward its death inside of me.) You asked me, “How far are you going?” And I said, “Far enough.” Mostly because I was feeling salty and annoyed that you were not helping me and then you were critiquing me. Yes, I have to drive an hour north with 34 cement boards loaded into the back of my truck with the tailgate of my truck open. And yes I DO SEE the thunderheads approaching Mr. Home Depot Man. Thank you very much.

But my most favorite thing that you said to me was, “You know, once you leave Home Depot property, none of this is our liability.” Thank you Home Depot Man. Thank you for helping me take responsibility of my own life and my own home projects. If you had not said that, I would have blamed you when the 34 cement boards rolled out of my truck bed and onto the highway. I would have frantically called Home Depot and filed a report on you about your negligence and how none of this catastrophe was my fault. I would have blamed it on my period and my hormones and we all know how well THAT works. If this goes badly, Home Depot Man, I’m coming for YOU. You know us gals, we’re always looking for men to blame for our problems. And JUST SO YOU KNOW, I did make it home with my 34 cement boards and not one of them fell out on the highway or onto our gravel driveway. And then, this morning, me and the farm crew transported those 34 cement boards to their rightful home on our property. YES, I am buff and YES I can lift (some) heavy objects. Thank you, Home Depot Man, for the wink and the fist bump as I was getting ready to head out. You were so encouraging in that last moment — I think you were just grateful that I was leaving and you could finally smoke your cigarette and say fuck while not being in front of a customer.

Dear Negligent Contractor,

When I got your text yesterday morning, I almost threw my phone out the window. You were asking for money — the money I owed you for the last time you were here. You asked me to mail it to your PO BOX as if I WOULD NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN. That’s what it feels like. I am being broken up with by my contractor. You are never coming back. But now, you’re really never coming back because I fired you. I fired you because for the last 6 months, I have seen you once a month and that means, you just show up whenever you want. That means, it has taken you nine months NOT to finish our chicken coop. That means, I am cleaning up your mess of concrete, wood scraps and leftover wire that is all over our property. That means, I just finished securing the chicken wire you “forgot” about on the backside of the chicken coop. That means, you’re so, so, so, fired. You have been fired in my heart for much longer I just finally got the nerve up to do it today.

I am not used to firing people. I am used to asking people why they feel the way they do and compassionately listening with my head tilted to the side. I am not used to texting people, I WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU YOUR CHECK IN PERSON IF YOU EVER SHOWED UP TO WORK. But it felt right. It felt necessary. It felt like the only slice of dignity I had left in our relationship. It felt good to tell you I had met another contractor but not as good as I thought it would because I wasn’t mean or vindictive and I wanted to be. I wanted to be SUPER SALTY to you but I restrained myself because we live in a small community and I just can’t have that kind of energy in the space where I live. BUT, I also can’t have you taking advantage of me (presumably because I am a woman) and treating your male clients like high class royalty. You would never miss a day of work for them. I’ve seen the castles you’ve built. I’ve seen the ceiling beams you’ve installed. Because you held me hostage to look at all your photos when you were here last time. THAT’S RIGHT. I sat through photos of your grandchildren and the elk you saw in the woods and everything you built for everyone else but could not manage to finish the project you started for us. We were kind and accommodating to you and you took advantage of that. You didn’t even seem to care that we fired you! You sent me a thumbs up in response. You were like ALL THE BAD BOYFRIENDS I ever had rolled up into one, negligent contractor. I really wanted to send this letter to you but I am not going to — back to that whole small community thing. So I am writing it out because I like catharsis and the Full Moon was in Aires and I am not out on the HUNT for more direct conflict.

But yes, you are fired and you will remain fired and at least you put the roof on the chicken coop before you decided to never come back. Everything else, we can figure out. And I say that with 100% confidence. I watched a YouTube video last night on how to screw cement board into plywood before laying my Saltillo tile down and it did not end in tears. Do you know why? Because I felt like I could do it. I actually did not feel overwhelmed. I felt like this project was within my range of competency. And you know why I felt that way? Because you stopped showing up for work and I had to start learning how to do things myself. Thanks Ghosting Contractor Man. You are helping me to become an even more astounding woman.