THE PEACOCK: MR. FIX-IT

Renauldo is the maintenance man for a large upscale condo complex where 2000 residents will be depending on him, including me and my husband, Jon. He became part of the builders ‘package’ before the first residents (us) waited for our moving truck and furniture van to clear the security gate. We were excited and impatient.

In Renauldo’s electric orange cart, heralded by an orange and yellow striped flag blowing wildly in the breeze, he guided the trucks to our building, set up orange cones to warn any traffic coming in to go around us. He had prepared the lobby’s marble floors with long, wide cloth covers. The elevator walls were padded, ceiling spots protected with grills. The builders had a large bouquet of red roses welcoming us at our front door. ‘Mr. Wonder Man’, as Jon and I soon called him, was everywhere, guiding the cartons to their correct rooms, bringing us cold drinks from the stainless steel refrigerator he had set before we arrived. Plenty of ice cubes were in the bin. About an hour and a half later he disappeared as another resident was at the gate. Renauldo’s thoughtfulness, his knowledge, his smiles set the right tone for our new home.

We got into the swing of it but stopped when the door chime sang a tune. The Comcast service man arrived without our buzzing him in. The lobby door had been left wide open so he found our place without Renauldo. All that the service man had to do was set up our four T.Vs., be sure they were programmed properly. He started in the master bedroom, guest bedroom, kitchen and when he reached the den, he called us in. ‘There is no t.v. outlet anywhere in this room. Nothing else I can do. Call us when your connection is in. You’ll probably want your paint and wallpaper touched up first.’ I called Renauldo immediately but his message machine told us he was in building 2 and would not be available until the next morning at 8. He got an earful message from me. There was nothing we could do besides empty cartons and argue. ‘Jon, the A.C. works. The electricity is fine, hot water is good and hot, but–the master bath shower drain is missing its cap. I darn near caught my foot in the big hole as I steamed my whole body under the spray for rejuvenation. Get that idiot Renauldo up here early.’ Dry, still warm from the shower and hot from my near accident, I got a few pieces of computer paper out of a drawer and started a list, a to-do-list for the Man and the builder. Our heaven was already full of holes. Naughty imps were shooting arrows at our patience, or lack thereof.

Woodland Estates sent us a bottle of champagne, wrapped in yellow and orange foil that went in the fridge, but we were foodless. We dressed comfortably, casually, used the elevator to the delly on the mezzanine. It was open for business, almost. With Selma apologizing, we were given a choice of a dog on a bun, BLT or eggs, any way we’d like. It didn’t matter. Jon was sitting waiting for his hot dog, holding back as long as he could, blaming me for not seeing the faults during final inspection. ‘Were you wearing blinders, Smarty Pants?’ ‘Why didn’t you notice the shower drain?’ ‘Because I hadn’t yet taken a shower, that’s why. Jon, why didn’t you check the T.V. connections? You sit in front of that monster screen far more than I do, should know what is needed.’ ‘Vickey, it never dawned on me to check electric outlets. They are the contractors responsibility, aren’t they? What good are blue prints if the builder doesn’t check them?’

For weeks we kept adding to ‘our list.’ The list did not diminish. It actually grew a notch or two. Renauldo got a gift from a new resident, a huge, gray felt cowboy hat to top his 5'6" stature. He must have worn it even in the bathroom. It was ‘the new King’ who looked like a cartoon character to me.

As our first Christmas season at Woodland Estates neared, we wrote checks to our mailman, postman, service maids and the newspaper man.We hesitated over Renauldo’s gift but finally gave in sending a token amount. The change in him during our first year was blatant. His attitude of superiority, his growing power over us had been brought before the condo Board several times. Finally, when it was viable, they wrote a new contract, but the residents didn’t get to see it. ‘This is Board business,’ we were told, ‘ and does not call for a vote.’ It was signed by them and Renauldo and became a fait accompli. He got a $2000 a year raise, worked 1 Sunday a month instead of 2. On site he had to oversee all outside building painting next year. I shouldn’t complain about our Board, as I have never volunteered to be on it, don’t intend to either.

Our ‘List’ has changed dramatically. It now covers:1. A plumber whose name we took from the phone book. He came when he said he would, replaced a leaking toilet and was quite fair with the price2. An electrician who had to add a wall light switch so we could go in the kitchen from the hall and out the kitchen into the dining room3. A tile man who had to jack hammer ½ of our kitchen floor where the tiles had cracked two weeks after the guarantee was over4. A window company to replace at great cost to us the frames and glass in the den and living room. The building had settled a little and we could not open the windows5. A cardiologist because I’ve been getting nervous heart flutters due to so much guff from Mr. Man, Senor Renauldo, the King. It’s all my fault. I allowed this to happen and must take the consequences.

Jon and I have made many friends, love the neighborhood, the polite gate guards, the pools, golf courses, tennis courts. What’s not to like? The answer is short, one word, one glaring word, ‘Renauldo’.

We don’t even discuss it any more. We just haven’t sent him a Christmas check for ten years.