We passed our rough framing, rough electric and rough plumbing inspections, which we credited completely to Jay’s engineering talents and hard work. We have a little help from our friends. We also passed inspection on insulation. But that almost didn’t happen–the insulation, I mean, not the inspection.
Let me reiterate for those of you who don’t know Jay and me well. He is the engineer, mechanical one–picture brain, we call him. I am the writer, producer, organizer, budgeter–word brain we call me. Jay says I am mechanically declined. That is true.
So as I waited for the spray foam insulation guys to arrive, sitting on my steps, because there are not a whole lot of places to sit near the front door, since most of the area is down to studs–waiting for insulation, I was getting antsy. They were supposed to arrive at 8 am. The time slid by, and by 9:30 am I was worried. I called the company, and they thought there may have been an accident on the 91 Interstate.
At 9:35am, I got a call from Dan , the driver/technician.
“Um, we can’t get under the bridge,” he said. “The bridge is 12’8″ and the truck is 13’1”, “he further explained.
“You have to be kidding me,” I panicked. “Didn’t your estimator, who has been here, tell you which truck to bring?”
I was beginning to feel myself getting to that wild idea stage. This was my third reschedule as it was.
Dan said he would call me back after speaking with his supervisor. I have been talking to that supervisor three times a day on schedules, reschedules, and complications, so I was confident.
But, if the insulation had to be rescheduled, then inspection had to be changed, dry wall schedule would be upset for the third time, and appliances and cabinets couldn’t be delivered at great penalty–like paying for cabinet STORAGE. It HAD TO HAPPEN this day.
I jumped in my ’97 racing green Jag and drove the 1/4 mile to the bridge. Got out, and started studying the bridge from his side. There is no access to our dead-end street except by going under the railroad bridge.
Funny thing happened to word brain. She SAW something. The bridge was not straight across. It sloped a little UP at the left side. And the road wasn’t level. It was a little depressed, with a storm drain on the left side.
“But, my truck was scraping on the bridge,” he defended. “It isn’t my property,” he said.
“I know, but look! I see at least 3 inches on the left. Just try it. You won’t scrape. I am sure of it.”
He backed up, and tried it. The truck got through with a half inch to spare.
They arrived, did a great job and were ready to leave when I was coming back to my house around 4pm. I saw a fire truck coming down the road, and, of course, was a bit concerned, since there are only five houses here and a fire truck is not normally cruising by.
“Any problems?” I asked.
“Just training a new fireman where these houses are,” he answered. That is a comfort. They care.
Then I told him the bridge story and asked if they were going to make it out, since I realized the truck would be higher after getting rid of hundreds of pounds of spray foam.
“You’re lucky.” the fire chief said. “It’s a hot day, and the bridge expands in the heat. They will be OK.”
They were. They got out. I had had fears that they would have to wait at the boat dock for a barge to get them out.