When to turn around and leave

[Geoff Sykes]

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OK, gang. Here's my last question for this year. Is there a filth level =
at
which point you refuse to work on the piano? Or, for that matter, even =
enter
the home?
=20
In the last month I've had two customers where I had serious second =
thoughts
about even entering the home. Please indulge me as I share these two
adventures.
=20
The first one was a middle-aged lady who, as she opened her front door,
asked me if I would be bothered by her collection of teddy bears. She
followed that by emphasizing that she meant a LOT of teddy bears.
No-problem. But when I entered through the door and found out why it
wouldn't open all the way I paused. Did I say A LOT OF TEDDY BEARS? She
lived in a single that was literally hip high and wall-to-wall teddy =
bears
and other stuffed animals. And what turned out to be a fairly decent =
Kawai
console was clear at the other end of the room. I was not aware of any =
real
furniture. I waded across the room, took my hat and coat off and laid =
them
in the lap of one of the larger TB's. She immediately grabbed them up
telling me that putting a hat on a bed is bad luck. There's a bed there?
Anyway, the piano was ok, and while I was tuning she ran off to do some
dumpster-diving, (her words), to collect some bottles for recycling so =
she
could pay me the balance after the check that her mother had provided =
for
half of it. Took me weeks to spend $4 in pennies, but she was overjoyed =
at
having her piano sound right again and said it was worth every cent, and
more. Something sort of rewarding in satisfying a customer like that.
=20
The second was an old curmudgeon tow-truck driver, again living in a =
single.
He'd lived in this apartment with his two pianos, one bed and one TV and =
no
other furniture for ten years. The windows and shutters had never been
opened and the place had never been cleaned. There was music covering
everything, most of it in tiny little shreds. And dust and detritus was
measurably thick over the floor, the pianos and pretty much everything =
but
the TV. Both pianos were easily 100 years old and neither had seen =
service
in close to 30. I spent half a day on one of them and we agreed that the
other would be rescheduled. He then proceeded to stiff me for half my =
bill
saying, essentially, that's all it's worth to me, that's all I got, (as =
he
peeled off a C-note from the outside of a wad of bills), take it or =
leave
it. Needless to say I won't be going back.
=20
So, have any of you ever refused to enter a home because of filth? Or
refused to work on a piano because there was more dirt inside than you =
were
willing to take care of? Or perhaps even just because you get a real bad
vibe from the people? And what do you tell them?
=20
-- Geoff Sykes
-- Assoc. Los Angeles

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