Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect...*

After months of living with various workmen in the house, remodeling is edging towards completion. Due to the language immersion of the past four months, I have learned the rudiments of contractor speak. This language has a similar sound to Klingon, as it is usually spoken through a mouth full of spit and dip and/or chewing tobacco. This strange breed of men appears to subsist on little more than nicotine, Tahitian Treat, and Nutty Bars.

Contractor: We will definitely be done by Friday. (Translation: It will be done by A Friday sometime in the unforeseeable future. The Friday in question may be as near as two weeks away or as far as the next appearance of Halley's Comet.)

Contractor: So it looks like everything is finished. (Translation: "Looks" is the keyword here. This means everything appears to be finished, but lurking behind the walls are loose wires waiting to detach at the slightest breeze and cause you to lose electricity in the kitchen and dining room area during your first post-construction dinner party. The pipes beneath the house are connected with chewing gum that will soften in the heat causing a leak that will only be discovered when raw sewage begins to seep up from beneath your original 1940s old growth pine wood floors.)

Home owner: So when do you think you should wrap things up? (Translation: When are you going to get the hell out of my house so I can change the locks and shower without fear of interruption?)

*by The Decemberist