My Twin Cities Contractor Hunt: What Works, What Drives You Nuts

I once spent three weeks leaving voicemails for a plumber about a leaking toilet in a St. Paul duplex. The tenant was patient. I wasn't. That was the moment I built my contractor system.

Start with people who already know the houses

The first place I look is the local hardware store. Not the big box place—the independent shop where the guys behind the counter know every contractor in a five-mile radius. I walk in, buy a faucet washer, and ask, "Who do you call when your own toilet won't stop running?" They'll give you two names. Those names are gold.

Neighboring landlords are my second source. When I managed units, I'd trade contractor referrals at the annual rental property owners meeting. I'd ask one question: "Who has shown up on time in the last six months?" That's the only qualification that matters for a small landlord. A contractor's license means they passed a test. Being licensed doesn't mean they'll answer the phone. I'm not a lawyer, so I don't hang my hat on licensing alone—your city might require a specific license for certain trades, so check local rules.

Screen like you're hiring for a job

For any repair over a few hundred dollars, I ask for a written bid. A bid is a price quote on paper. It lists what they'll do, what materials they'll use, and what it costs. I get at least two bids for anything bigger than a water heater swap. Comparing bids teaches you who is padding their price and who actually understands the job.

I also ask for proof of insurance. A general contractor carrying liability insurance means if they drop a ladder through your tenant's window, their policy pays for it, not yours. Many small handymen—unlicensed general repair folks—won't have insurance. That doesn't automatically disqualify them for a $75 toilet flapper, but I don't let them touch electrical panels or gas lines. That's where I want a licensed electrician or plumber. No exceptions.

The frustrations are real

Small landlords face five recurring headaches with contractors. No callbacks. No-shows after you've rearranged your day. Small job minimums that make a $40 repair cost $150. Scope creep—where a simple drywall patch turns into "while I'm here, you really should replace this entire wall." And quality variance: the same guy who did a perfect tile job last spring might send his cousin's kid this fall.

The hardest truth is that your one-to-five unit portfolio is a tiny account for most contractors. They prioritize the property management company with 200 units and steady work. You are the filler job. That's why you wait three weeks for a callback and then get quoted a price that makes you choke. I learned to schedule non-emergency repairs in the off-season—October through March in the Twin Cities—when contractors are hungry and more willing to take small jobs.

My rules for small jobs

I keep a list of three types of people: a handyman for small fixes, a licensed plumber, and a licensed electrician. I never use the handyman for plumbing beyond a toilet flapper or a faucet washer. I never let a plumber paint a wall. I get a written scope of work—a description of exactly what's included—before any job starts. I pay the same day the work is done. Contractors remember landlords who pay fast. That memory gets me a callback next winter when everyone else is waiting.

The contractor shortage in the Twin Cities isn't going away. The small landlords who survive it are the ones who treat every good contractor like a tenant they want to keep: clear expectations, quick payment, and zero drama.