I was coming back from the shops and when I got to my gate I saw Preston Glazier and Reglasser. Really, I thought. Just what I need. Right at my door too. I wonder if he’ll be back soon? At which point, I large cracked pane of glass comes towards the truck with a man attached.
“Are you interested in a small job?” I ask. “My kitchen cupboard doors need new glass in them.
“Youa show moi.”
The glass man came into the kitchen with his tape measure.
“I can’t match this a glass,” he said. “But, I have a something with a smaller stipple?”
No sample, I guess? “Sure,” I said. “Sounds fine.”
So if they come back with blue bottle glass I only have myself to blame.
“The glue was nevera any gooda. Cheap,” he said. He held his hands in the air to make a point.
He gave me a price and showed me how to unscrew the cupboard doors
“You a putta ‘em in moi truck and I go finish the job I am doing, which I did.
He came in later and gave me his card. He said something about when he’d have them ready, but I couldn’t understand his thick, I think, Greek accent.
“I see you… couple a...” He points. “Johnston Street.”
“Okay,” I said. What does Johnston Street have to do with it?
“Okay.”
And away sailed my cupboard doors to be re-glazed, finally. The first one was broken by my boy friend Lauri slamming it in anger, over ten years ago and the rest have progressively dropped out since then. As I watched them go, I thought, I never gave him my number.
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