The plumber, the insurance agent, the damage repair company assessor, the damage repair company workers. . .we’ve had a new person every day at 9:00. This morning David and I were still in our pajamas. The walls are soaked and even though the carpet feels dry to the touch, when their moisture probe went in, the evil red light came on—still wet. They ripped out the pad, put down disinfectant, and turned on lots of dehumidifiers and fans. Our poor tenant is tiptoeing through the heavy equipment.

I had an interesting/shameful racist moment around all this. Two men did the work this morning. One was mid-twenties, white, very friendly, very easy to talk to. The other was mid-thirties, Hispanic, more taciturn, thick accent, and obviously not fluent. It took me two conversations with them to realize I was directing all my questions and comments to the white guy, and he was deferring to the Hispanic guy. Then the Hispanic guy would explain, and I’d have to turn back to the white guy to make sure I’d understood. The third time, I asked my question directly to Miguel. And sure enough, he had the papers for me to sign; he was the boss of that crew. It would be a nice excuse to say I relied on the white guy because he was the first one through my door, he was so friendly, and I could understand him, but I suspect it was straight up racism—I see a white guy, I think he’s the senior partner. I bet Miguel deals with subtle racism like this all day long. I’m ashamed, I’m sorry, and I’m glad I got it right in the end.