Letter from a Recipient Of An Extreme Home Makeover
Dear ABC,
I am writing this letter in hopes that you will finally take a moment to consider the damage you have done for the sake of TV ratings. When you "made over" our house last month you left us in an even worse situation than before. A friend of the family had originally contacted you regarding our situation: My two daughters and I had been living in a hurricane-ravaged house. A house that we didn't have the time or resources to fix, thanks to my mounting medical bills and the continual absence of my husband, an American soldier currently serving his third service in Iraq.
I have to be honest when I tell you that I was ecstatic when I heard we had picked by that reprehensible Ty and his crew to get our home made over. The shoddy job you did, however, has left us with even more problems than before.
The entire ordeal started off on the wrong foot. For one thing, we were NOT consulted in regards to the redesigning of our house and we were NOT told that you would demolish the entire thing. Of course, had you told us that then we would have told you to leave immediately, and then you would have been out of a show. Something that I am told by the assistant of one of your network executives would have "inconvenienced the production". Perfectly understandable. After all, it's not you're transforming people's very lives or anything like that.
We were happy as clams back then, however, and gladly allowed you to whisk us away while you worked on our house. Yes, away for a fun filled week at...Disneyland. Let me make this as clear as possible: I AM DISABLED. It is not physically possible for me to ride anything in a theme park without sustaining some type of damage to my self. So when you sent me, my two daughters only guardian, to Disneyland, you effectively stranded me in a hotel room. (Which, when your production went over an extra day, I then had to pay for.) Not only did your insensitivity effectively strand me in a hotel room, but because of this my two daughters weren't able to enjoy all the rides and attractions that the trip had promised. Yes, they drove me nuts that week, but the bigger crime lays in the breaking of the promise you made to them.
When I communicated this to Ty over that subsequent week, he was unreceptive. "I can't wait for you to see your new house! You're gonna be so excited! Bye!" were the most coherent things I was able to get out of the man.
After going through such an exhaustive week with my family, the crew finally arrived at the hotel to bring us back to our house. I admit I slept through most of that ride, as your interior designer Cissy entertained my daughters. (I did not appreciate Cissy offering her lipstick to my 8 and 10 year old, but this is negligible in light of the crew's other mistakes.)
When those limo doors opened, I was dazzled like everyone else. Our old house was GONE, our new house was there and it was enormous. Certainly it didn't look like anything I would personally choose out, but it was free after all. (Or so I thought, but I will address this shortly.)
What greeted me inside was horrifying. Not only had thrown out ALL of our furniture (much of which were wedding gifts from friends and family) but you had redesigned the floor plan to include a myriad assortment of tiny one or two step embankments. To get from the front door to my bedroom now requires that I ascend three steps, circle around a one-step pit set in the middle of the living room, up two more steps into the hallway/kitchen, only to face an entire staircase up to the second floor.
Oh, but Ty had that covered. Behind the stairwell is a small personal elevator that I can use to shuttle myself to and fro between the two floors. An elevator that we cannot shut off and adds an additional $35 to the electric bill each month, nor lock to prevent our two small children from playing around in. An elevator that will cost us over $500 to service, which must be done every six months according to law. Or at least it would if, oh yeah, IT WASN'T ILLEGAL TO HAVE AN ELEVATOR IN A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING IN THIS STATE. According to the state of North Carolina, we must be reclassified as a hostel/orphanage/child care center, or pay for the dismanting and removal of the elevator, the latter of which can only be accomplished by a five figure sum. (Or, roughly, my husband's yearly stipend from the military.)
I have not yet had the time to deal with that matter, however, as I am too busy trying to heal what your crew's gross incompetence has done to the mental health of my children. Your complete redesign of their room based on what you saw arbritrarily on their dressers (For Brittany it was ponies, and for Danielle it was...guitars? How did you come by this one?) Brittany does not understand why she has to sleep in a giant pony bed, nor does Danielle fathom why there is a baffling piece of art on her wall that consists of several smashed guitars glued together in an unsettling, haphazard formation.
Both of them, however, constantly ask me if I've gotten their toys, old clothes, and other possessions back. And I am forced to answer no every time, as no one at your network will inform me as to the whereabouts of our stuff. Assuming that they weren't tossed in a dumpster, that is. And assuming that anyone there at ABC knows their head from their ass.
Personally, I would like to know what you have done with the large, ornate china hutch that was gifted to me by my great-grandmother. You had the sense to preserve our family photo albums, but not this? Or is it laying in one of your crew's own house right now? A spoil of victory?
I would also appreciate some help in how to handle our property taxes this year. Do we technically own this residence any more? And if so, how are we supposed to handle a near-quadrupled tax quote? Do you realize that reporting this house will shift us up into a new tax bracket, and I will no longer qualify for state health insurance?
Of course you don't. You have not returned any of my calls or emails regarding these matters. At first I tried to be gracious and polite, but now I am through with this. Your blatant disregard for the ruin you have made of our lives in the quest for something as ephemereal as "TV ratings" must stop. And if I have to take you to court, I will do so.
If I do not receive a personal response to this letter within 30 days, my lawyer will be in touch.
- Molly Gershin
I am writing this letter in hopes that you will finally take a moment to consider the damage you have done for the sake of TV ratings. When you "made over" our house last month you left us in an even worse situation than before. A friend of the family had originally contacted you regarding our situation: My two daughters and I had been living in a hurricane-ravaged house. A house that we didn't have the time or resources to fix, thanks to my mounting medical bills and the continual absence of my husband, an American soldier currently serving his third service in Iraq.
I have to be honest when I tell you that I was ecstatic when I heard we had picked by that reprehensible Ty and his crew to get our home made over. The shoddy job you did, however, has left us with even more problems than before.
The entire ordeal started off on the wrong foot. For one thing, we were NOT consulted in regards to the redesigning of our house and we were NOT told that you would demolish the entire thing. Of course, had you told us that then we would have told you to leave immediately, and then you would have been out of a show. Something that I am told by the assistant of one of your network executives would have "inconvenienced the production". Perfectly understandable. After all, it's not you're transforming people's very lives or anything like that.
We were happy as clams back then, however, and gladly allowed you to whisk us away while you worked on our house. Yes, away for a fun filled week at...Disneyland. Let me make this as clear as possible: I AM DISABLED. It is not physically possible for me to ride anything in a theme park without sustaining some type of damage to my self. So when you sent me, my two daughters only guardian, to Disneyland, you effectively stranded me in a hotel room. (Which, when your production went over an extra day, I then had to pay for.) Not only did your insensitivity effectively strand me in a hotel room, but because of this my two daughters weren't able to enjoy all the rides and attractions that the trip had promised. Yes, they drove me nuts that week, but the bigger crime lays in the breaking of the promise you made to them.
When I communicated this to Ty over that subsequent week, he was unreceptive. "I can't wait for you to see your new house! You're gonna be so excited! Bye!" were the most coherent things I was able to get out of the man.
After going through such an exhaustive week with my family, the crew finally arrived at the hotel to bring us back to our house. I admit I slept through most of that ride, as your interior designer Cissy entertained my daughters. (I did not appreciate Cissy offering her lipstick to my 8 and 10 year old, but this is negligible in light of the crew's other mistakes.)
When those limo doors opened, I was dazzled like everyone else. Our old house was GONE, our new house was there and it was enormous. Certainly it didn't look like anything I would personally choose out, but it was free after all. (Or so I thought, but I will address this shortly.)
What greeted me inside was horrifying. Not only had thrown out ALL of our furniture (much of which were wedding gifts from friends and family) but you had redesigned the floor plan to include a myriad assortment of tiny one or two step embankments. To get from the front door to my bedroom now requires that I ascend three steps, circle around a one-step pit set in the middle of the living room, up two more steps into the hallway/kitchen, only to face an entire staircase up to the second floor.
Oh, but Ty had that covered. Behind the stairwell is a small personal elevator that I can use to shuttle myself to and fro between the two floors. An elevator that we cannot shut off and adds an additional $35 to the electric bill each month, nor lock to prevent our two small children from playing around in. An elevator that will cost us over $500 to service, which must be done every six months according to law. Or at least it would if, oh yeah, IT WASN'T ILLEGAL TO HAVE AN ELEVATOR IN A RESIDENTIAL DWELLING IN THIS STATE. According to the state of North Carolina, we must be reclassified as a hostel/orphanage/child care center, or pay for the dismanting and removal of the elevator, the latter of which can only be accomplished by a five figure sum. (Or, roughly, my husband's yearly stipend from the military.)
I have not yet had the time to deal with that matter, however, as I am too busy trying to heal what your crew's gross incompetence has done to the mental health of my children. Your complete redesign of their room based on what you saw arbritrarily on their dressers (For Brittany it was ponies, and for Danielle it was...guitars? How did you come by this one?) Brittany does not understand why she has to sleep in a giant pony bed, nor does Danielle fathom why there is a baffling piece of art on her wall that consists of several smashed guitars glued together in an unsettling, haphazard formation.
Both of them, however, constantly ask me if I've gotten their toys, old clothes, and other possessions back. And I am forced to answer no every time, as no one at your network will inform me as to the whereabouts of our stuff. Assuming that they weren't tossed in a dumpster, that is. And assuming that anyone there at ABC knows their head from their ass.
Personally, I would like to know what you have done with the large, ornate china hutch that was gifted to me by my great-grandmother. You had the sense to preserve our family photo albums, but not this? Or is it laying in one of your crew's own house right now? A spoil of victory?
I would also appreciate some help in how to handle our property taxes this year. Do we technically own this residence any more? And if so, how are we supposed to handle a near-quadrupled tax quote? Do you realize that reporting this house will shift us up into a new tax bracket, and I will no longer qualify for state health insurance?
Of course you don't. You have not returned any of my calls or emails regarding these matters. At first I tried to be gracious and polite, but now I am through with this. Your blatant disregard for the ruin you have made of our lives in the quest for something as ephemereal as "TV ratings" must stop. And if I have to take you to court, I will do so.
If I do not receive a personal response to this letter within 30 days, my lawyer will be in touch.
- Molly Gershin
posted by greenland at 11:02 AM
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