The construction business has totally tanked. Usually around this time, we are so busy, we can’t think straight. The phone rings off the hook.
I usually have a parade of crazy customers to deal with, usually at 4 AM (“I ordered the custom cabinets YESTERDAY. What do you MEAN they aren’t ready yet?” or my favorite, “That “Red Flag” just isn’t what I was thinking about when I signed the change order. I want it all redone in “Rally Round the Flag“. Both colors look exactly the same to me.) The only time the phone rings now, I know it is a wrong number. And after 30 years of a really successful business, this is hard for Mike to handle. All he knows how to do is to make old broken things new again.
So we are now in the business of bio-hazard cleanup.
Crime scenes. Trauma scenes. Unattended deaths. Bodies which have not had the opportunity to be refrigerated for oh, six weeks. Meth labs. Gross filth. Pack rat syndrome. Cleanup repos/evictions—You know-“puke be us”.
We have the trucks, the equipment, the chemicals and the licenses. Of which there are many. I am now the queen of biohazard. The regent of the red roll-aways.
Call 911. Then call us.