Еntitlеd Ноmеоwnеrs Rеfusеd tо Раy My Рlumbеr Dаd – Тhеy Тhоught Тhеy Wеrе thе Smаrtеst, but Не Наd thе Lаst Lаugh
When an entitled couple refused to pay my hardworking plumber dad, they thought they were clever. Little did they know their smugness would backfire, leaving them with a bathroom crawling with regret. Here’s how my dad flushed their entitlement down the drain.
Hey there, folks! Phoebe here, but you can call me Pippi — that’s what my dad does. Speaking of which, let me introduce you to Pete: 55 years old, ruggedly handsome with a white beard, and hands that tell the story of a lifetime of hard work. He’s your friendly neighborhood plumber and my superhero without the cape.
Dad’s the kind of guy who treats every job likе it’s his own home, redoing entire bathrooms if a single tile is off. But some folks see that dedication and think they can take advantage. That’s exactly what a pair of entitled homeowners tried to do. Oh, but they had no idea who they were messing with.
It all started a few months back when I swung by Dad’s place. I found him on the patio, puffing away on his cigar and laughing likе he’d just heard the world’s funniest joke.
“What’s got you in such a good mood, old man?” I asked, plopping down next to him.
Dad’s eyes twinkled as he said, “Oh, Pippi, you’re not gonna believe what just happened. It’s a doozy!”
Dad leaned in, still chuckling. “Remember that bathroom remodel I was working on? Well, let me tell you about the Carlyles, or as I likе to call ’em, the Pinchpennies.”
I settled in, knowing this was gonna be good. Dad’s stories always were.
“These folks, they wanted the works. New tiles, fancy fixtures, you name it. They picked out every little detail themselves… even down to where they wanted the toilet paper holder.”
“Sounds likе a dream job,” I said.
Dad snorted. “Oh, it started that way alright. But then…” His face darkened, and I knew we were getting to the good part. “What happened, Dad?” I asked.
“Well, Pippi, on the last day, just as I’m finishing up the grouting, they’re sitting on this couch, ready to pull a real fast one on me.” Dad’s voice took on a mocking tone as he imitated Mrs. Carlyle. “‘Oh, Pete, this isn’t what we wanted at all! These tiles are all wrong!’”
I gasped. “But didn’t they pick everything out themselves?”
“Exactly!” Dad exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “And get this — they had the nerve to tell me they were only gonna pay half of what they owed me. HALF!”
My jaw dropped. “HALF?? After two weeks of busting your hump to get their dream bathroom done. No way! What did you do?”
