Hell Hath No Fury

I've seen Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife's rage at it's full flood  just a few times. The other day I got to see it directed at someone else for once. As I should expect of her, she's capable of great acts of kindness interspersed with going at it hammer and tongs when her ire is well and truly up. 

    Construction on The Compound , the house we're building in Brazil, was negligible in April. The builder warned us that he was having some issues, but we had no idea that things were at a standstill, until earlier in the week, a relative who lives down the road from the house stepped on by. She found one worker, a mason, sleeping in an alcoholic coma in the middle of what will eventually be the living room floor in the the main house.  Kicking the man in the legs and ribs failed to rouse him, so she stepped over his smelly ass and had a look-see, taking video the while. 

            I found out about all this while my wife was warming up to hand out clusterfucks and pink slips over the phone.  

         The builder is still the builder. He got a good tongue-lashing about minimizing the depth of the shit he's in labor-wise, and then a coaching session about American plainspoken-ness, which she now embraces on at least a half-time basis, and then she and he, after commiserating, conference called me, who played the stern and disappointed foreign patriarch very well, thank you. It helps that the builder speaks no English, and frowns are translated universally in every language. Plus, the reserve and coolness of a New Englander being known even in the US, a stern but reserved demeanor is understood in Brazil to be barely-tolerant disapproval, which was the look I was going for.  

      My wife then proceeded to fire the architect, who failed twice to deliver documents on time to the builder, saying that she felt no need to accept his excuses, as he was easily replaced, and in failing to keep his deadlines, he was untrustworthy and dishonorable, and will see no further business from us. She didn't say anything about the man's mother, but she sure leaned heavy on his probable upbringing. 

         The drunk in my living room? She has a soft spot for alcoholics, her father having struggled with the issue, and asked the builder to have a come-to-Jesus talk with the man, explain who exactly saved his job, and ask him to keep it in check while he's on his last shot. Thus far, the past two days the guy's been active at least. 

     So, construction being mostly halted, we're actually ahead on materials on hand, which is not a given in Brazil, so the mason has all he needs to complete the rough work on the main house and the annex, which is where we'll stay. The walls are at a standstill- about 10' high, but untopped until an electrician pulls cable and wires them up for lighting and cameras and shit.  That's supposed to happen this month. 

      The Compound is supposed to be habitable by Thanksgiving. The builder says he can still make it. I hope so.