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IT GETS WORSE
There's some pertinent information I didn't include in my previous post, which was (as this post likewise is) a continuing chronicle of my Agony in the Kitchen, aka My Kitchen Remodel from Purgatory. (I've decided it's not quite from Hell yet, but seems to be sliding further south by the day).
What I did share in my last post (https://www.ailantha.com/blog/the-agony-in-the-kitchen) was that the piece of Brown Latte quartzite countertop to replace the debacle pictured below,
What I left out was that the stone company rep absolutely assured me that my replacement Brown Latte countertop would absolutely be dried out and absolutely delivered and installed on Monday. Or if not Monday, maybe Wednesday.
Now, the reason I did not share this information is because, though the stone company rep all but swore on the head of their first, second, and third borns that my new sink countertop would be delivered on Monday - or maybe Wednesday - I did not, in my heart of hearts, believe them.
Everybody reading this gets one guess whether or not my countertop was delivered yesterday - yesterday was Monday - or whether it will be delivered on Wednesday.
Correct! My new sink countertop was not delivered yesterday. And it will not be delivered on Wednesday, either.
Why, you ask? Well here's how it was explained to me: Although the countertop was perfectly dry and ready to go yesterday morning, some idiot (their word, not mine, though, you know...) for some unknown reason subjected the countertop to high heat and scorched it.
Upon hearing this news I didn't know whether I felt more sorry for myself or the poor repeatedly abused countertop.
I was informed that the roasted replacement countertop was the last piece of Brown Latte quartzite left from the lot from which all my kitchen countertop pieces were fabricated. If fabricators were to make a new sink countertop from a piece of Brown Latte cut from a different stone lot than was used for the rest of my countertops, then the new countertop could not be expected to match the rest of the (perfectly fine) countertops.
I shall leave out the details of the conversation that ensued between myself and the stone company rep except to say that the rep had called his company's wholesaler and found out that the wholesaler had a couple of slabs of Brown Latte quartzite in stock and so the stone company rep exhorted me, if I still wanted Brown Latte for my replacement countertops, to boogie-oogie immediately to the stone wholesaler's warehouse at the other end of the county and lay claim to one of the remaining Brown Latte slabs because if the warehouse order was made by today then the stone company could absolutely have my countertops installed by next week.
And so drop everything and boogie-oogie across the county I did, because I did still want Brown Latte, I loved my Brown Latte, and I must have arrived at the wholesaler's warehouse looking as frazzled as I was feeling as several of the staff immediately came to my assistance and offered me something to drink.
Anyway, I told the kind warehouse staffers my tale of woe while they shook their heads in what I took for disbelief and sympathy. They told me to have a seat and relax while they sent a crane into the deep warehouse recesses to pull out the two slabs of Brown Latte quartzite left in stock.
Then one of the staff members walked me back through the slabs,
The staffer showed me the two Brown Latte Quartzite slabs. But instead of something closely akin to the light, creamy, subtle stone that I'd fallen in love with and chosen for my first round of countertops,
"No, no," I said, "these can't be Brown Latte! Neither of these look remotely like what I chose last time!"
I went on to describe to the staffer what the stone in my kitchen counters looked like.
"Oh, oh, oh," said the staffer. "Yes, I recall what you're describing." The staffer sighed. "That particular piece of Brown Latte that you got was from a very unique and unusual lot. I doubt we'll get anything like that lot again." They pointed to the two slabs before me. "This is a more typical Brown Latte lot."
I didn't tell the staffer that I hated both those pieces of Brown Latte, but I expect they could tell.
"Would you like to pick out something else?" they asked.
I told them I guessed I would.
I walked up and down the aisles, down-in-the-mouth, not liking anything I saw,
I just can't figure out what it is.
To be continued...