Filling a Niche for the Rich
Filling a Niche for the Rich
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before but other than self-employment, there’s not much work down here on the South End. The neighbors think retirement is Hard Work, but other than paying well, it really doesn’t qualify. Even under our bohemian standards. Hell, everyone practically’s retired down these parts. We just don’t get a pension or Social Security yet.
The best way to make a so-called Living here is to find something the retirees need. Pet grooming. House sitting. Lawn care. Koi pond maintenance. Security system installation. Probably not preschool or daycare. Although …. Down the road we’ll need adult daycare. Half of us do now. We just won’t admit and if we got cable TV, we can bluff our way a little longer.
Freddie the Handyman is a good example of ‘filling a niche for the rich’, his unspoken motto toward his clientele. He can repair a garage door or add a deck out over the bluff, he can replace a garbage disposal someone tried grinding a spoon in or change out the original sink. I worked a few years with Freddie, mostly the dumb end of a shovel or the crawling part of a crawlspace work. When Freddie needed a second pair of hands or just someone willing and desperate enough to tackle the gruntwork, I was his boy. We replaced rotted beams under old homes, we we installed electric water heaters, we built additions and we tackled leaky roofs, although Freddie would take a look, shoot some caulk or smear some tar, but roofs, he said, were a money pit, probably lose on the callbacks. So we stayed near the ground mostly. Too near, in my case. I was always face in the dirt, burrowing my way through decades of spider webs beneath floor joists, doing god knows what Freddie had contracted for.
“When I retire …” was Fred’s favorite topic at lunch breaks. “This will all be yours …” was his second favorite as we munched sandwiches on the tailgate of his beat up Ford pickup. Ladders, extension cords, toolboxes, chopsaws and all the detritus of the current remodel awaited me like a City of God, if you believed Freddie.
Well, Fred retired and moved to California to be near his daughter. Said the cost of living was cheaper, which might be true. Sold his house in the Country Club and rented a space in a mobile home park for more than some mortgage payments. The living might’ve been cheaper, but probably not easier.
He would ask, when I’d call every month or two, if I’d carried on the business or was even considering it. “You were the brains, Fred,” I’d say, “and I was the grunt. Too many water heaters hooked up backwards, I guess.” “Learn on the job,” he’d advise. “Good money!”
Folks ask me all the time for the name of a good handyman. I tell em Freddie’s gone and there isn’t anyone I know. Although, since the recession, most of the house builders are available. Until the economy heats back up, there’s probably a glut. Just costs twice as much as Freddie…
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Tags: Handyman on the South End, Working without Permits