What I recently learned...

A few months ago I needed some dry rot repaired on the exterior of my home. Nothing major. Just a small section around a window sill. I had waited until the rainy season was over, and summer seemed like the right time to take care of it.

I asked several people I knew for recommendations, but everyone was booked. Summer, after all, is the busy season for contractors. So I turned to my neighbor, a well-regarded general contractor. He recommended one of his subs.

Tim came by, looked at the job, and quoted me $1,100.1 The number surprised me. He explained that he would bring an assistant and his assistant’s sixteen-year-old son, who was helping for the summer. The three of them would spend the day replacing the damaged wood and painting everything when they were finished.

It seemed expensive.

Then again, I hadn’t hired anyone to work on my house since it had been painted six and a half years earlier. A lot had changed in the economy since then. Labor costs had gone up. Materials had become more expensive. Perhaps this was simply what these kinds of repairs now cost. So I agreed. And six weeks later he arrived.

Alone.

That should have been my first indication that something had changed.

He arrived in the middle of the afternoon, worked for about three and a half hours, replaced only a small section of the siding rather than the larger area I thought we had discussed, and when we asked about it, he replied, “I could replace more, but this should buy you a few years.” I thought to myself, Well, he’s the expert.

Then came another surprise.

“Since it’s such a small area,” he said, “you can paint it yourself. It shouldn’t take long.” He handed me a paint sample taken from the window sill. And a few minutes later I was rushing to begin a therapy session.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked.

“I don’t remember what I quoted you.”

For a moment I froze. I had written the estimate down when he first gave it to me. Part of me wondered whether I should simply ask him what he thought was fair. Instead, I chose what I almost always choose when I’m uncertain.

I told the truth.

“You quoted me $1,100.”

“Well,” he replied, “then that’s what it is.”

I handed him the check and hurried off to my client.

Later that evening, something didn’t sit right. It wasn’t merely the amount of money. It was the growing realization that the agreement had changed, while the price had not.

I called several friends who work as contractors and asked what they would have charged for the same repair: $75-100/hr for labor plus materials, total estimates that came in below $600.

The next morning I called Tim.

“Tim,” I said, “I’ve canceled the check because I don’t think the cost reflects the work that was done. Please send me an itemized invoice, and I’ll gladly pay you for the work.”

He exploded.

He told why the original quote was still justified. We clearly saw the situation very differently.

Rather than argue, I offered him $750, still well above what others had estimated, and wired him the money immediately.

A few days later a certified letter arrived.

He threatened to take me to court unless I paid the remaining balance. This is where the real lesson began.

I could have fought him. Many people would have, and I don’t think they would be wrong. Sometimes we need to defend ourselves. Sometimes justice requires exactly that. But every battle has a cost. It costs time, attention, emotional energy, peace, and sometimes, even safety.

So I asked myself a different question: What outcome do I actually want? The answer surprised me. I didn’t want to win. I wanted to leave the relationship without carrying resentment.

So I called him.

“Tim,” I said, “I don’t want animosity between us. We both live in a small town. I’ve lived here for nearly forty years, and I care deeply about this community. I’m going to pay you the remainder, not because I believe the original agreement was honored. I don’t. I think the scope of the work changed, and I wish we had talked about that before the job was finished. And I’d like to offer one suggestion:

“In the future, give every customer a written estimate that clearly outlines the expected work, the time and materials involved, and what happens if the scope changes. That protects both you and your clients.”

Then I hung up and paid him.

Would it have been satisfying to beat him in court? Perhaps.

Would it have felt good to write a scathing online review? Probably.

But trust is becoming one of the scarcest resources in our culture.2 Every disagreement tempts us to move one step further away from one another. Sometimes we need courts. And more times we need consequences.

But there are other times, still, when the more courageous path is simply to act in a way that allows us to leave an encounter with our own integrity intact.

I don’t know whether Tim learned anything from our exchange. What I do know is that I did.

And these days, that feels like enough.