Floored

I know it's a terrible pun, but I'm trying to have a sense of humour about this. I have sheets all over the furniture in the lounge room, my fridge is blocking the pathway to the kitchen, and my kitchen floor is covered with a black sticky mess. Yes, the "Master of the wooden floor" who said my kitchen would be all done last Wednesday will be back on Monday with 'another machine'. He has never seen this black sticky substance before, although he claims to have 40 years experience. Meanwhile, my friend, who is very clever but does not claim to be a Master of anything, tells me it's a laquer they used to protect the floorboards. Honestly! I'll make it funny when I tell the story tonight, because the assistant is called Colin even though he is clearly Japanese, and he broke a huge jar I had near the front door. He nearly had a heart attack, poor dear, because there was so much glass, and he couldn't figure it out. "What was in it?" he asked me. "What was it?" When I told him it was the shattered glass table from outside he said, "Why would you keep that?" Hard to explain. It's a good story, with a happy ending, because the table shattered over my son and he wasn't hurt. It's 500 bucks gone in a flash, that I can't bear to throw out. And it's weird, and gets people talking. Now I need another jar to keep the shards in.
Tradesmen! The worst thing is, I'm not alone. There are rare stories of happy experiences. My friend's carpet layer told her husband, "Your wife got into a tizz today." Can you believe it? We were very close to forming a posse and ripping his heart out, but we didn't have the tools.
Tell me some bad tradesmen stories so mine doesn't sound so awful!
Kaaron