Like a lot of professional women, Lynn finds contractors to be more or less a necessary evil. You can almost hear her angry muttering about grubby little men who do grubby litle jobs because of her belief that they can be nothing more than the organic adjunct of hand-tools. How can she, an artist, find anything in common with these plebeian vermin who don't live her life of the mind? She would only patronize them, in all senses of the term, only when absolutely necessary. Sadly, she would place someone like, say, a building inspector firmly in the Legions of the Earthbound Inferior. She, and by extension, the Pattersons have no need of their dreary babbling about wearisome irrelevances like 'dryrot', 'substandard wiring', 'inadequate ventilation' and the like. After all, it isn't like a convivial, sweet old man would ever knowingly sell them a house he knew needed repair. They're far too smart for that.