Manana, manana, manana

His name is Pedro. He owns a little shop on north Yale, sells furniture from Mexico. He also makes furniture, coaxes from the wood enormous armoires, beds, tables, shelves, hand-painted sinks dropped into aged wooden doors for custom bathrooms. I’ve bought several pieces from Pedro, pieces I saw in his shop and we loaded into my car. I’ve also looked through hundreds of photos of furniture Pedro made. You can show Pedro a photo of just about any piece of furniture you wanted and he could make it for you.

My mind spins whenever I walk into his shop, it’s like walking through the little woodworking shops in Puerto Escondido, the proud craftsmanship, the iron work, the musty smell of sawdust on the floor, and, sadly, the frustration of forever being told manana, after being promised today.

In the last week of December, I ordered from Pedro (and paid half the total for) a custom Queen bed for my guestroom. I’ve gathered in that room all the bits and pieces, crosses and candles, platters, vases, altars and books I’ve collected over the years in Mexico, and I wanted a bed that looked as if it belonged there. To put a sleigh bed of mahogany or cherry in there would match like brown shoes and a black purse. Not what I wanted.

Leaving the shop that December day, I couldn’t wait until January 12th. It had taken me five years to make up my mind as to what I wanted, and the 12th of January was the day Pedro p romised delivery. I couldn't wait. That’s a day that came and went without a bed. Over the next two months of equal results with his promises, I learned that while Pedro is quite skilled at iron work and woodwork, he is not at all skilled at the business of doing business. He’s not skilled in planning, juggling or delivery. He also doesn’t return phone calls if he knows you’re upset with him for promising a delivery on any of the days that you stayed home from work to meet him at your house, and when you realized he was not coming, you drove to his shop and were told he was in San Antonio. Or Dallas. Or just left the shop for a delivery, or lunch or whatever.

It went on and on, each day a different story, including the time he said the bed was finished but he had accidentally made it full size, and then the time he called to admit that he'd not yet started the bed.

Maddening.

My friend Shannon is visiting next week and I wanted to provide her with a complete room in the guestroom, not just a closet and bathroom upstairs, and a bed on the sofabed downstairs. As the date got closer and closer, and Pedro and my new bed seemed to fade ever thinner, I found myself leaving messages along the lines of my having been left with no choice but to call an attorney. I even went to Star Furniture to see what they had to offer but that put me back in the brown shoes and black purse scenario.

On Friday though, almost two months after the initial delivery promise, and six hours after he called to say he was on his way, Pedro did finally pull up the driveway with my bed in the back of his truck. Having it in my house now, and the fact that he knocked $100.00 off the price, made it a bit easier to forgive and forget. Still, in the future, I think I'll stick with cash and carry from the shop.