Joseph’s of the North Shore

If I could, I’d climb to the top of my loft’s exposed ductwork and yodel Joseph’s praises. I had just about given up ever having the kind of artist’s loft living that I so desired. I wanted to retain the charming old brick-​walled, rustic wood-​beamed and pillared aspects of the restored old warehouses that distinguish the Fulton St./Haymarket neighborhood from all others. But, I also wanted to add a sophisticated mix of modern accommodations, luxurious baths, stylish semi-​partitioned areas to provide an element of coziness and intimacy for those special occasions — and it all had to work together like the designer had a great vision of seamless transitions and knew what the hell he was doing. Piece of 3-​tiered wedding cake, right? HAH!
In the process of finally joyously stumbling upon Joseph, I had disastrous run-​ins with so-​called professionals who made promises they KNEW they couldn’t keep, I was given «expert» advice that smelled suspiciously like it was pulled from some part of the anatomy other than the contractor’s brain. Full-​grown, wooly mammoth-​men managed to disappear off the planet for weeks, yes, WEEKs at a time just like the extinct creatures they resembled. I was advised to buy my own materials to save myself money. So, I tagged along with my credit card and watched naively and trustingly as they overbought two and three-​fold everything they needed to complete the project plus build a small strip mall. The reassurances slipped like liquid gold off their slimy tongues. I’m sorry if I sound bitter… I just want to mention one more thing before I move on to greener pastures – Weeks after one crew had half-​assed finished their project, I found in the back of my storage closet, buried under building debris, a box of heirloom dinner plates that they had safely moved out of the way – AFTER they had dropped some kind of heavy object on it and crushed every bit of it to very expensive body glitter.
Okay, I ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. We had drinks and my sad tale of woe came seeping out of me. She let me cry into my beer for over an hour before telling me the Good News – there really IS a God and he created Joseph of the North Shore from the rib of Noah who made an Ark like no other. Fast Forward: Life is good. Joseph did everything the exact polar opposite of all the bad stuff the other Sad Sacks did. He undid and redid, he created anew. He never tried to renegotiate a signed contract when things got a little hairy. As Woody Allen would say, He Showed UP. Always! He listens, too, and «gets it». And although he swore on Scouts Honor to make «good» on any «bad”– I never had to call in that promise, not even once. Now to answer your burning question: How MUCH? Well, Can you put a price tag on happiness? Seriously, Joseph knows the value of his workmanship and it’s worth. If I were to rate his rates as a restaurant critic would, on a scale of 1 to 5 dollar signs, I’d give Joseph a well-​deserved $$$ and possibly ½$. But, in the end, he saved me time and money and restored my frayed nerves at no extra charge. Everything came out better than I even imagined it would. And now I’m going to say something I NEVER thought I would EVER say, EV-​ER: Joseph is so personable, attentive to detail, service/​customer oriented, respectful of his work environment and its inhabitants, that I almost hated to see him fold up his ladder and leave.