Relieve from floor-level frustrations

Could this floor replacement project be the one defined as the “project from hell”? It’s been over two months that we arranged (and paid) for the carpet replacement project to happen, and still no floor. Construction “began” last Monday but now the living room feels like a storage unit that has been packed to maximize the space for storage, not for living. The carpet was removed from the bedrooms, the soundproofing material laid- on the concrete floor and now it has to be inspected before they start laying the wood floor. The culprit this time was the City of Miami Beach (once again). First it was the lengthy (and expensive) process of approving the permit, now it is to have someone from the inspections department to actually show up to inspect the sound-proofing. It’s 5PM on Wednesday and I just heard from the installers that the City claims that the Inspector was here at 9:49AM and was “denied access to the building”. It’s difficult to imagine how a City official would have been denied access to a building, when they can ‘inspect’ any property looking out for rogue construction sites anywhere. Besides, our building has 24hrs security at the front desk, and whatever happened to the thing called TELEPHONE, which is used to connect with the homeowner in the event that they would need to be escorted to the construction site. Not a beep. In this age of technology and progress, some parts of the world still seem to be moving at the same rate as in pre-historic times. Am I being too demanding? It’s ridiculous.

To get a break from all the construction, yesterday , when I didn’t have to be waiting at home for the Inspector to show up, I went for a quick bicycle ride to the beach. I wanted to test how much stuff did I actually need to take with me to enjoy the water. I decided to take just the clothes I had on and of course, the bicycle. In just a few minutes I was right on the beach taking my t-shirt off and hiding it with my flip-flops under the bicycle. The water was as warm, clear and inviting as usual. Definitely a good way to wash off my frustrations and relax some from the activities of the day. For about 30 minutes I was with the water up to my neck at the same time that I was keeping an eye on the bicycle to make sure it didn’t ride away by itself. I dried off some with the breeze as I was pushing the bicycle out of the sand, then hopped on and rode around Ocean Avenue to see the sights and to find the usual volleyball pickup games. There were at least three courts that were being used and on one of them they were playing two-on-one so I figured they could use a warm body. Took my semi-dry t-shirt off and the softer body joined the tanned, hard bodies on the court. I definitely looked like a local, except for the few extra pounds that I struggled pulling from side to side of the court. The Cuban bread diet must be having an effect since I was branding the “keg abs” instead of the usual “six-pack abs” more common on the beach. I also felt it in my breath. By the end of the first game, I was huffing and puffing as if I had just ran a marathon. I bailed out as soon as their “regular” player arrived to fill my spot, and I couldn’t have been happier to leave. Right besides the court there are showers for those leaving the beach so I took advantage of that to remove the sand from my skin and back on the bike to ride home.

It was a nice experience and now I know that I can just get there and get in without a lot of protocol. Even though getting back home meant getting back to the tight storage unit where I couldn’t even find fresh clothes after the shower and then another day of waiting for city officials to show up. I know it will be done at some point, but the patience is running thin.