Or Shall We Say, Collides With Modern Conveniences?
I’m going to tell you a story about the many “adventures” I’ve been having over the past couple of weeks here in my little home. You may feel all sorts of sympathy for me, you may even shed a tear. Perhaps you might even consider sending flowers and chocolates (although a nice bottle of Pinot Noir wouldn’t hurt) to ease the pain. Or, after reading everything that I am about to tell you, you may burst into hysterical laughter and say, “Bartender, I’ll have another!” So, grab that cocktail, you’re going to need it.
Everything that can happen is certain to happen.
How do I know this? Because my little house is for sale. When a little house is for sale, it’s tidied up, swept up, and pops of color are scattered about to entice the buyer into thinking it’s the perfect fit for them. The occasional batch of cookies is baked to seal the deal. This is what normally happens when a little house is for sale.
However, my little house for sale beats to a different drummer…or rather, bakes to a different oven. There are a few more stories that swirl around this one, but I won’t get into too much detail. I will tell you that just before this story unfolded, the work bowl to my Kitchen Aid Food Processor cracked (no estimated time of stock date, hence the tube of super glue that was purchased), and the Land of Internets was unreachable due to faulty equipment from my cable provider.
And this is where my story begins…
The night before, a rather ominous storm system barreled through my little neighborhood. Friends of mine lost their cable and internet devices to the perils of lightning. My internet device was acting a bit unpredictable, as well. Calls were made, technicians were scheduled to come out, and at 7:15am…he arrived (again, but those are other stories. I swear he rolls his eyes each and every time he sees my address). After determining that the power source to the device was the incorrect one, switching said power source, and checking a few things out back where the service box resides, my internets were restored and all was well…that is, until I realized my stove wasn’t functioning.
Without a stove, there is no bread.
Without bread, there is no dinner, and without dinner, my
minions kiddos would surely perish (or so they would think). I sent Little Man out to the closet to flip the breakers. Perhaps that would solve the issue as it did every other time the Cable Guy paid a visit. No dice. No lights. No bread. No dinner. The quirky part of it all was that the burners still functioned. We had purchased a new “brain” for our range just 5 months prior. It seemed rather odd to me that the new part would fail so quickly. I decided to contact the supplier and have a replacement sent out. It would be 2 days before the Woodsman would be able to install the new “brain,” so grilled meatball subs became the new dinner option that night (which, incidentally, are the. best. meatballs….ever).
All hail the Fed Ex Guy!
For he brings tidings of new “brains,” and actually delivers them, too. Saturday afternoon arrived, as did the “brain,” and the Woodsman hunkered down behind the oven with his tools to install it. All was well, the wires connected, the part was all shiny and new, and the fasteners in place. All that needed to be done was to plug that little stove in and prepare for dinner. No dice. No lights. No bread. No dinner. The Woodsman and Little Man sat on that kitchen floor for 1/2 hour puzzling out continuity and voltage. The words that came out of my Woodsman’s mouth next were words one should never have to utter when one has a little house for sale (and plans on leaving ALL appliances with the new owner)…
“Sweetie, it’s beyond what I can do, we need a new stove.”
Are you kidding me?! Surely, you jest! What the what?! Le sigh. I may have shed a tear, cussed a bit (a lot), threw what appeared to resemble a 4 year old tantrum, and collapsed on the sofa. This was not part of the plan. I wanted off the roller coaster, I wanted another glass of Rooster.
It was time to go hunting.
At first, we thought it out and searched the vast Land of Internets (which continued to be a problem until just last night when…oh, that’s going to have to be another story to tell!) for deals on new ovens. Lowes had a couple to choose from that were “in stock” as did the Home Depot. We would begin our hunt in the morning. Several cups of java and a shower was all that was needed to wake me up for the journey. I was feeling rather refreshed and ready to take on the task. The Woodsman explained to me that using his truck would be the best option for acquiring our new oven…I should have worn black. Instead, I wore a lovely white top (have you ever seen the inside of an iron worker’s truck?). That is not part of the story, however, so we’ll just move along from there.
“Don’t ever trust our website.”
We arrived at the first local home center only to find out that our choices were not, in fact, in stock. What was in stock was either too much money, or …. too much money. The gentlemen who were attempting to help us locate my choices had informed me that the website will always say an item is in stock, but it usually fibs. Fanny-McTastic. We head out to the other home center and exited with the same results. Things were looking rather grim. I had visions of my bank account balance plummeting to near zero. My inner child wanted to throw another tantrum, my inner drunk wanted another cocktail. I composed myself and suggested one last place…Sears.
“We’re not really open yet.”
Just as we were within inches from the escalator, a woman’s voice was calling out to us. ”Sir! Sir! I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We’re not open yet.”
Me: But the door was open.
Associate: But we’re not really open yet.
Me: When do you open?
Associate: We open at noon.
Me: What time is it?
Associate: It’s 11:45.
And with that, we exited the store…for 15 minutes. Not enough time to get that cocktail, but enough time to taste test cheese next door at Whole Foods.
Because I am all sorts of tired from typing, and because I’m sure you’re all sorts of weary from reading all these words, I shall take a moment and offer you a cocktail. Tomorrow, we’ll finish our story and you can decide whether or not you’d like to send me flowers and chocolates…or just laugh and order another drink. Until then, cheers!