Shingles, Showers, and Shenanigans

Dear Mr. Anderson,

Last week your accomplice tiptoed across our roof and punched a banana-sized hole in it—just in time for the worst rainstorm in a decade.

The ceiling promptly collapsed around our ears.

Bravo!

This slapstick stunt pretty much destroyed our den.

It also short-circuited half my computer. As you may not know, microchips don’t thrive underwater.

(Keep that in mind before scuba diving with your laptop.)

Currently, I’m sitting in our den, contemplating the rafters. Normally, you can’t do that because of something called a ceiling.

But thanks to your scamp’s skylight improvisation, we now have an “open beam” concept.

Our open-beam feature is educational. You can study a decade of rain impact in real time. There’s virtually no damage—except in two strategic locations.

One is where your accomplice performed an unsolicited core sample and forgot to patch it.

The other is around a metal conduit that channels our air conditioning.

The conduit leak was sealed with 50 cents worth of Henry’s roof tar. Rhoda applied it with the flair of a pastry chef.

The core sample leak was more theatrical. Ron Mosley—your fearless superintendent—had ordered nails hammered into our roof.

Because nothing says “leak-proof” like roofing nails.

Rhoda tracked down the nails and smothered them in sealer. Voilà—bone dry.

The ceiling will be replaced soon, ideally with something less rain-permeable.

Now about those core samples: I created three of them myself—each about 2’ by 2’.

You may be wondering how I acquired these samples. Power saw. You’re welcome.

Yes, I cut holes in the roof. And yes, I installed skylights in them. And yes, I now have stargazing windows over my bed.

So, what do these core samples tell us?

Simple: Don’t let unqualified people drill into your roof during a monsoon.

Also, our roof is excellent.

The leaks didn’t start until your accomplice practiced amateur mining.

Twelve years ago, Glen Knupp—a real contractor and fellow resident—oversaw our re-roofing.

He said the roof was first rate… with one small caveat: it would need to be maintained.

Specifically, the vents would need periodic sealing.

He was right.

The roof leaks only around vents. Or when dopey people stab holes in it.

Also, the earthquake didn’t help. The vent pipes shook loose. The walls and edges separated a bit.

This is especially true above Cain and Abel’s condos.

(Yes, that’s what we call them. Biblical stuff happens here. Like floods.)

Roofers have warned us—with all the drama of Old Testament prophets—that we need a new roof.

I say: Fuddle-duddle.

I’ll show my cross sections to any roofing panel. I’ll bet they all agree we have a superior roof.

Want to take that bet, Brad?

If we put on a new roof, we’d have leaks again—probably within 18 months.

Plus, we’d be $100,000 poorer.

And here’s the kicker: the new roof might not even be as good as the one we already have.

I hear we plan to upgrade the roof drains and gutters. Excellent.

Just make sure that when you install the bigger drains, you use proper flashing and hot tar.

The flashing I mean is the real stuff, not the flimsy garbage your agents used downstairs for doors and windows.

I know you’re cost-conscious, Brad. But skimping on flashing is like building a submarine out of papier-mâché.

Back to the point: Rosscrete Roofing.

During our last call, you suggested—again—that they return to fix the roof.

Let me be crystal clear:

Rosscrete Roofing is not coming near our roof again.

Not while there are other roofers alive in this solar system.

If you need a core sample, I’ll gladly lend you one of mine. Nicely trimmed. Power-sawed with love.

But if you send another accomplice up here with a drill during a rainstorm, I hope he can fly.

Because I’m launching him from the rooftop.

And if I catch him on the ground?

Let’s just say he’ll wish he had flown.

Warmest regards,

Jaron Summers

P.S. The Board of Directors, in its infinite wisdom, has appointed me Chair of the Roofing Committee. God help us all.