How to handle "workers"

So no matter how much money you pay a month in rent, you can't guarantee that shit won't sometimes hit the fan. Flashback: Christmas time when my gross neighbor's bathtub pipe burst above my bathroom causing my ceiling to leak black sludge water. I just wanted to watch my Real Housewives in peace, but no, I had to handle this bullshit. So since I'm not equipped physically, mentally, or spiritually to handle that sort of problem I had to arrange for a couple of workers to come over and fix my ceiling. The problem with workers is that they are like dogs, they come in and lay their scent all over the place. Not to compare people who are workers with dogs in the sense of worth, because we all know I love dogs way more than that, but you get where I'm going.

So this pack of guys come storming in with their impersonation timberland boots on covered in all sorts of mud and disease and start talking really loud at me about what they have to do. I understand maybe 1% of it and couldn't care less about that 1%. Then they start "working" which includes taking their busted handheld radio and putting on the most annoying music imaginable at the highest volume possible. Nothing is worse than having to listen to "teach me how to dougie" amidst static. My upper middle class sense of worth was quickly dwindling. I needed to intervene but I also needed them to fix my ceiling. Crisis.

So I did the only thing I new how to do and that was grab a glass of Pinot (refer to the SPANX diet) and blast Lana Del Rey as I drank myself into an afternoon coma. During the climax of my buzz, one of the workers stormed into my bedroom to report on their progress which consisted of close to nothing. At this point I was more mad that my buzz was mellowed than I was that the ceiling was still busted. That's the thing with workers, they always have to report to you about every single thing they do. Like I don't care if you caulked the tub or sucked a cock really just get out of my apartment!

But the thing to remember is that they always leave at some point. No matter how frustrating it is to listen to their horrible music, smell their musty aroma, and bear the subconscious anxiety that they will rob you, they always return back to the land from whence they came. So my advice is just drink and think about something else until it's over, like you do with bad sex.