Windows in Providence take a coastal winter on the face that looks toward the bay or up the open street. Wood sash on College Hill and the East Side, bays on triple-deckers, and tall old windows in mill buildings all leak differently. Wind-driven rain finds the meeting rail and the sill. A freeze afterward swells what the storm soaked. Alley windows never got the paint the street front got. Say which face failed.
A rotten sill, a snapped cord, and a vinyl unit foamed into a crooked opening are three jobs. Storms that do not latch trap water against the wood and buzz all night in an east wind. Look at the stool and the apron. The stain there is older than the weather you remember from last week. Brick openings on the East Side are not stock sizes. A unit that almost fits is how the wall gets wet inside.
Single glass in a steamy Federal Hill kitchen sweats because of cooking and a weak fan. Fog inside a double pane is a dead seal. Know the difference before you talk about the whole elevation. Salt reaches Fox Point and the lower blocks harder than it reaches Mount Pleasant. The same window style dies faster on the water side of town. Say where you are.
A bay is the roof of the bay, the seat, and the joint with the main wall, not just three pairs of sash. Painted-shut sash on a sleeping room may be a way out that does not work. Repair is reasonable when the wood is sound and foolish when a key sinks into the sill. Describe the wood, not the curtain.
Count the bad openings and name the rooms. Mention bays, storms, and mill windows if that is the building. Have the neighborhood. A short list beats a speech about drafts. Call the number on this page.