You ever hire someone to do a job, and then halfway through, you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you would’ve been better off asking your pet goldfish for help? Yeah, well, let me tell you about the time I decided to hire a contractor to recaulk my shower. I know what you’re thinking, “Why in the world would you hire someone for that?” And to that, I say, “Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.”

So, there I was, hundreds of dollars lighter and staring at my shower, thinking to myself, “Gee, I bet a quick search on YouTube would’ve shown me that even a toddler with a reasonable amount of hand-eye coordination could’ve done this.” But no, I decided to go the professional route, and by professional, I mean a guy who probably thought caulk was just a funny-sounding word.

This contractor, let’s call him Bob for the sake of the story (and because I can’t remember his actual name), shows up a few hours late. His excuse? Traffic, the alignment of the planets, the way the wind was blowing—anything and everything except, you know, his own lack of organization. He had this slight accent, the kind you can’t quite place, but it gives him an air of chaotic confusion advising you that asking for clarification won’t get you anywhere. Probably came to this country recently enough and grew up in a melting pot of a city, a place where English was optional, and being clear as mud was considered a dialect.

Bob starts telling me about his life, unsolicited, of course. It’s like he thought I hired him for a heart-to-heart and not, you know, to prevent water from making my bathroom its new home. The stories were something else. He talked about his journey to becoming a “master contractor,” a tale filled with more twists and turns than a daytime soap opera. If I hadn’t been so annoyed about him being late and charging me an arm and a leg, I might have found it endearing. Might have.

As he’s regaling me with his life’s saga, I’m standing there, trying to figure out if there’s a polite way to ask him to, oh I don’t know, maybe start on the job? It’s like he thought the caulk would apply itself if he just talked at it long enough. A modern-day caulk whisperer, if you will.

After all the tales of his supposed expertise and the adventures that led him to my humble bathroom, the job he did was, to put it mildly, a disaster. It looked like he had a personal vendetta against straight lines and any semblance of aesthetics. I’m pretty sure he used more caulk than was legally allowed and somehow managed to make the shower look worse than when he started.

But here’s the kicker, folks: this maestro of mediocrity, this virtuoso of the vague and the shoddy, he’s got four kids. That’s right. Four. My God! This is who’s replacing us? And he’s supporting them through what can only be described as an elaborate performance art piece where he pretends to be a contractor.

You see, about a month after Bob the Builder, or should I say Bob the Destroyer, finished his little project in my bathroom, the new caulk began to perform a disappearing act worthy of Houdini. It started peeling and flaking off like it was allergic to the very concept of adhesion. I’m telling you, it was worse than the original caulking, which, up until that point, I didn’t think was possible. It’s like he used cheese instead of caulk.

Every morning, as I step into the shower, it’s like participating in an archaeological dig, except instead of discovering ancient relics, I find new pieces of caulk that have decided to emancipate themselves from the tyranny of my shower wall. And with each piece that falls, I’m reminded of the terrible man who swindled me out of my hard-earned money with his promises of “highly skilled” work. If his work is highly skilled, then I’m the Queen of England, and let me tell you, my royal wave needs work.

It’s gotten to the point where I have to wonder, how does this guy sleep at night? I mean, sure, scamming unsuspecting folks like me is one way to put food on the table for his brood, but at what cost? There’s a special place in the afterlife for people who do shoddy contract work, and I’m pretty sure it involves eternal recaulking with substandard materials.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all for supporting your family. Heck, it’s one of the noblest things a person can do. But there’s a fine line between making an honest living and running a caulking scam that would make even the most hardened con artist blush. I mean, at least have the decency to use real caulk, not whatever bargain-bin, play-doh-esque substance he decided was good enough for my shower.

And so, every time I see another piece of caulk flake away, a piece of my soul goes with it. Not because I’m particularly attached to my shower—although, at this point, it feels like we’ve been through a war together—but because it’s a constant reminder of the incompetence that roams free in the wilds of the contracting world. A reminder that sometimes, the only thing standing between you and a properly sealed shower is a YouTube tutorial and the common sense not to trust a contractor who tells stories better than he lays caulk.

Sometimes, the most dangerous tool in a contractor’s arsenal isn’t a hammer or a saw, but a well-crafted tale of woe and the promise of skills that, much like my shower’s caulk, simply don’t stick.

Now, I’ve been thinking, which is something I like to do from time to time, usually between wondering whether I left the stove on and pondering the mysteries of the universe, like why they call it “fast food” when you spend 15 minutes in the drive-thru. But I digress. What I’ve been thinking about is incompetence, specifically the kind that walks on two legs and often carries a toolbox, a briefcase, or, God forbid, a clipboard.

You see, incompetence isn’t just annoying; it’s practically a crime against humanity. It’s like a virus, but instead of making you sick, it just makes everything more difficult, more expensive, and a heck of a lot less pleasant. These folks, these masters of the botched job and the corner cut, they’re not just a nuisance; they’re a menace.

Now, you might think you hate the inferior, the ones who leave a trail of disaster in their wake like some kind of incompetence tornado. But let me tell you, you do not hate them enough! No, sir. Your disdain for their shoddy workmanship, their half-baked efforts, and their “that’ll do” attitude should burn with the fire of a thousand suns. Why? Because these are the people who create problems instead of solving them. They see a corner, and they can’t wait to cut it. Quick profit? They’re all over it like flies on… well, you know.

And let’s not sugarcoat it: they’re frauds and destroyers of civilization. Parasites feeding off the hard work and good intentions of honest folks. They’ll promise you the moon, deliver a lump of cheese, and then have the gall to act surprised when you’re not over the moon about it. The nerve, right?

So, what do we do about this blight upon society, this scourge of the unskilled and uncaring? We need to identify them, sure, but more importantly, we need to reject their inferior behavior with all the fervor of a televangelist on Sunday morning. It’s not enough to simply roll our eyes and sigh heavily, although I’ve found that can be quite therapeutic. No, we need to call it out, reject it, and demand better. Because, in the grand scheme of things, accepting incompetence is like accepting that the Earth is flat or that pineapple belongs on pizza. It’s just not right.

So, the next time you encounter one of these purveyors of problems, these architects of annoyance, remember: your hatred is not just justified; it’s necessary. It’s the first step towards a world where things work like they’re supposed to, where showers are caulked correctly, and where incompetence is as unacceptable as socks with sandals.

In the end, hating the inferior isn’t about being negative. It’s about loving quality, efficiency, and the satisfaction of a job well done. It’s about creating a world where competence is king, and the only thing we cut corners on is, well, nothing. Nothing at all.