Beware of the Irish Bearing Gifts

The doorbell sounds in the afternoon. Buddy gets there before me and snuffles and scratches at the bottom of the door. He is kind of loud to anyone listening from the outside.

I open the door and the guy in white overalls has retreated to the gate.

He says something about Buddy.

“He won’t hurt you,” I say.

I walk out to the gate.

“I’ve been working in the street this week and I have been noticing your roof...”

What was it that I heard, be careful of Irish roof plumbers coming to the door and offering to do work uninvited? They've been ripping off the old and the unaware. Good thing I read newspapers, I guess.

“Oh yes.”

“See how the iron on your roof…”

“Where are you working?” I ask. Good question to flush out the cheats, I think.

“The white house.” He points in the distance.

There are a number of white houses. “Which White House?” I ask.

“Mr Caulfield, I’m working For Mr Caulfield, down the road.”

“So, you said, what house was that again?”

“The one with the scaffolding, you may have seen it there this week.”

No, I didn’t.

I was hopeful when he came to the door, concerned about my roof which needs some work, I thought maybe someone cared. Really? I didn't think this was the guy, though.

“See the bump?”

No.

“See the lump?”

No.

“See how your roof bows?”

No.

“Well it shouldn’t do that?”

“Do what?”

“It should be straight.”

How stupid does he think I am. I was kind of exciting, though, having the enemy standing right in front of me.

“I could get my boys to have a look.”

“How much did you say?”

“We would film it.”

“Film it?” Goodness my, why on earth would you film it, you charlton?

“To show you what’s given way.”

“How much did you say?”

“As it turns out my boys are free. Free today.”

“What about Mr Caulfield?” How long was I going to toy with him?

“We’ve almost finished doing him…” over... “his job.”

And that Irish accent. “How much?”

“Usually, it would be 15.50, but the special price for you today is 900.”

15.50, I think. How much is that? Oh, that’s thousands. He means $1550 dollars to have my roof inspected.

“It is up to you,” he says. “Just say the word.”

Nice move, make me think I am getting a good deal. But $900 just to get my roof inspected? That still seems an awful lot for an inspection. “I’ll call you,” I say. “If I want you to do it.”

You big fat pig. You are a liar and a cheat, I think, as I head back inside.

“I’m just here to help,” he says.

Oh please. I give a withering smile. What tradie ever says he is just here to help? Really? Too funny. I try not to laugh at him.