Meet Frank

Let’s say you’re a Hollywood casting director and you’re shooting a film in New York and need an extra to play the bit role of “classic-native-New Yorker-do-everything-handyman.”

Most likely you’d search for a Italian guy in his 40’s or 50’s with a bit too much belly and a penchant for Marlboro Reds.  If you’re really lucky you’ll find someone with a thick, nasally accent and a name like Donny or Tommy, or Tony.

I’m no casting director, but I was in the market for a handyman who could paint our apartment for a fair price.  And while I didn’t get a Tommy or Tony, I did find a guy (through the magic of Craigslist!), who fit the mold in every other way.

I got Frank.

After making a few calls on Wednesday in search of the right man for our job, it became clear that Frank would be my guy.  He fit three very important criteria:

1. He answered the phone in clear English
2. He quoted what I thought to be a fair price
3. He could do the work the next day (Thursday)

So after a couple quick conversations, Frank and I agreed to meet at the apartment at 11:15 this morning.  I was taking a bit of a flyer by picking up a random guy off the Internet to do my work, and was more than a bit concerned that Frank wouldn’t show up.  Yet, my fears were proven to be unfounded when I walked to the front door of our building at 11:15 and found my man standing in the hallway waiting for me.

Frank turned out to be a gregarious guy, and it wasn’t long after walking into the apartment that we started chatting about his family and background, in addition to the job at hand.  I was already feeling good about the decision I’d made - I really liked Frank.

Just moments after walking through the project details, Frank informed me he’d have to run to the hardware store to get some supplies.  He’d pop in to a shop around the corner and then get started so he could finish by mid afternoon, in time for him to make his 6pm plasma TV install in Long Island City.  This all sounded fine to me, as I could work from home and wasn’t in a huge hurry.

After about 45 minutes of waiting, I began to think Frank had gotten me.

He had seemed so personable and fun-loving; but was Frank some sort of sicko marauder who masqueraded as a handyman to gain easy access to apartments for his pillaging pleasure?  That was just one of the countless scenarios I played out in my head as I waited in silence.  I silently berated myself for picking some stranger off the street.  How could I be so stupid?

That’s when Frank called from downstairs, soaked in sweat and carrying a couple bags of supplies - turns out the hardware store was 10 blocks away, not around the corner.

I suddenly felt silly for making Frank into some sort of monster.  As he began to meticulously paint the trim and corners of our living room, Frank let me know that he’s a “really good painter” who takes great pride in his work.  I admired his confidence and his apparent attention to detail - what I wasn’t so enamored with, however, was his pace.

I quickly learned that Frank works slowly, and takes frequent breaks.  While he clearly was a skilled handyman and painter, Frank had the stamina of, well, a 56 year old man who smokes 2 packs a day.

By 3pm it was clear that Frank would need to push it to make his 6pm appointment.  Yet that didn’t seem to change his cadence.  If anything, his breaks became more frequent and varied - smoke break here, phone call there.  Before I knew it the clock read 6pm and Frank was only 25% done with the bedroom.

My patience was beginning to wane, and I could tell that Frank was getting frustrated as well.  He cancelled his TV install and not so discreetly hinted that this project was “much more detailed than he thought it would be.”  I began to get the sense that Frank was going to want much more cash than originally quoted.

By this point, Tracy was home and we sat together, trying to fill the time - which seemed to pass more slowly with every second.  After what seemed like an eternity, we heard Frank cleaning off his brushes in the sink and I walked out to meet him and finalize the transaction.

I was dreading the conversation, as I knew he’d want to bump the price.  But once again Frank surprised me.  He did indeed want a bit more dough, but he wasn’t at all pushy or aggressive with his request.  Frank very rationally explained his case, with his combination of NY savvy and one-of-a-kind flair.  I agreed with him, and we came to a simple and effective conclusion, courtesy of a couple extra $20’s.

As Frank packed up his rolling cart around 9:30 and headed out our door, I turned around to find a beautifully painted apartment which looked every bit of what we hoped it would.  Sure, it took 10 hours, a wad of cash and more patience than I thought I owned. Yet as we go to bed tonight, our walls are painted and we’re a little bit wiser of how things work here in the city.

I guess that’s what happens when you get Frank.

AFTER FRANK