Renovating a bathroom in an occupied apartment is a huge test of nerves for any family. When you decide to get new tiles and a shower, you expect to rough it for a week or ten days, wash in a basin, and survive the ever-present construction dust. That’s exactly why we hired Mr. Marek, a tiler recommended by a friend, for our renovation. He seemed reliable, wrote up a simple estimate for thirty thousand crowns, promised the bathroom would be completely finished in eight days, and started work right on schedule Monday morning.
The first three days went smoothly. Marek tore out the old prefab core and tiles, leveled the walls with adhesive, applied waterproofing, and prepared the floor for laying large gray tiles. On Wednesday afternoon, he asked for a fifteen thousand crown advance for the work done so far, saying he’d run out of materials and needed to pay his helper. Since the work was visibly progressing and the bathroom looked promising, I paid him in cash without suspicion, against a signed receipt. Marek thanked me, packed up his snack, and said he’d be back at eight the next morning to start tiling.
Thursday at eight, no one showed up. By nine, the apartment was still quiet. I tried calling his mobile, but it was unreachable. Around noon, I got a curt text saying his van had broken down and was in the shop, and he’d be there Friday morning. Friday, the same story—phone off, silence in the bathroom. Meanwhile, our household was in total chaos: bags of grout and boxes of tiles piled in the hallway, the bathtub lying on its side in the living room, and water shut off throughout the apartment with makeshift plugs.
The weekend turned into a week, and the week into two. Marek never answered his phone. Occasionally, after ten failed attempts from me, I’d get a vague late-night message full of excuses: once he had a tooth infection, another time he had to attend a distant aunt’s funeral, and then he claimed he was waiting for a special cutter from Germany. We were desperate. My wife and young son had to go bathe at my parents’ place across town every evening, and our whole life was paralyzed by the construction site in the middle of our home.
I found out the truth by accident through the mutual friend who had recommended Marek. He let it slip that Marek was now working twelve-hour days on a big new house outside the city, where he’d been offered triple the pay if he finished immediately. That’s when it all clicked: he’d started our bathroom just to secure the job, took a fat advance, and then left us high and dry without a second thought because there was more money flowing in on the other side of town.
I refused to tolerate this betrayal and disregard for a family with a small child. I took the car and drove straight to the address of the unfinished house my friend had mentioned. Sure enough, his van was parked out front. I walked onto the site and found Marek calmly laying tiles in someone else’s hall. When he saw me, his trowel froze in his hand and he turned pale as a sheet.
Without yelling, but in an absolutely icy voice, I told him in front of his new client that his games were over. I gave him an ultimatum: either he’d show up at our apartment the next morning and finish the job to full quality as per the original contract, or I’d file a criminal complaint for fraud and unjust enrichment that very day, report his side job to the tax office, and tell the investor exactly what kind of unreliable tradesman he’d hired.
Marek saw he was cornered and facing a huge scandal. The next day at seven in the morning, he was at our door with his tools. Four days later, the bathroom was finished, the grout lines matched, and all the surfaces were cleaned. Of course, I deducted a contractual penalty for the delay from his final payment, and he didn’t dare say a word. It was a huge lesson for me: never pay unreliable tradesmen an advance, and at the first sign of excuses, confront them in person and firmly, because these tricksters don’t respond to polite phone calls or requests at all.
