Because I Said I Would

I bought a USB drive enclosure from Dealsonic.com. For those of you who don't know what that is, it doesn't matter, that's not the point. The point is that Dealsonic.com sucks something fierce. My new $20 enclosure made funny noises when I moved it, and my computer wouldn't recognize it, so I sent it back. Dealsonic will refund my money, but may charge me a 30% restocking fee if they deem it necessary. They also won't refund the $8 I had to spent to ship the enclosure back. So really, I only get half my money back. So if you ever want anything from Dealsonic.com, don't buy it. And if anyone lives in Ontario California and would like to leave a flaming bag of dog leftovers on DS's doorstep, I would be much obliged.

I told the customer service I would write this if they didn't send me my money back. So I did. There. Done.

In further distressing news, the Taco Bells of Oregon have discontinued Mexi-Nuggets. For those of you who don't know what those are, then you have unknowingly experienced a terrible loss. Those of you in the know will undoubtedly share my pain. What Mexi-Nuggets may have lacked in having a cool name, they more than made up for in scrumptiousness. We shall miss you dearly Mexi-Nuggets.

Bits From Today

* I delivered a mattress to a house in Santa Rosa which had a couch, a hospital bed, and a regular bed. That was the extent of the furniture. A Mexican family lived there, and no one spoke very much English. I was having trouble communicating the fact that I couldn't lift the patient out of bed. Not my job. Not insured for that sort of thing. So the guy I was talking to lifts up the phone to call, I don't know, somebody, and just as he does 5 people walk through the door, one of whom spoke English. I explained, through her, the situation, and so all 6 of them piled into the bedroom and shut the door. 10 minutes later the door opens, the lady is in her wheelchair, and everyone piles out. How's that for team work?

* At Costco today I tried to talk on a cell phone while carrying a 24 pack of yoghurt, a box of toothbrushes, and a 24 pack of bar soap. I had to hang up. I guess it makes sense that they don't offer those little baskets at Costco. But being a guy, I never use a cart. What's the use? I'm only buying 3 things. The problem is that they are Costco sized things.

* In the next line over a woman frantically waved a gigantic package of tampons to get the attention of an errant family member. It worked, but at what cost?

* The man in front of me in line talked to everyone about everything. Subjects covered during the 5 minutes I stood near him:
- Whether the man in front of him was speaking Tagalog.
- Difficulty of learning Tagalog as compared with that of learning English.
- Languages which he has studies but never mastered.
- The flatness of flat screen TVs.
- Using the flat-bed Costco carts as apposed to the regular style carts.
- The placement of the check stand near a structural pillar.
- The benefits and usefulness of having a paypal account.
- The origin of paypal.
- How to use paypal.

I think there were more, but I started looking at a girl at the Photo counter.

Luckily none of this was directed at me. But the most painful part of it all was the fact that he would start each of these subjects with an intentionally off-handed comment designed to spark a conversation. And when each comment inevitably didn't spark the expected conversation, he would launch into it anyway in such a one-sided manner that it made me contemplate finding another line.

It seems that the 24 pack of soap is antibiotic, and that the 24 pack of yogurt has active cultures. I wonder if the yogurt is intimidated by the soap. Or maybe the soap is bolstered by the fact that it contains aloe. No one messes with aloe.

How to Take a Compliment

I'm not good at taking compliments. If somebody tells me I look nice, or have a nice voice, or whatever it may be, I tend to look at the ground and mumble thanks. I think I've even been known to shuffle my feet. I can be downright bashful when I have a mind to be, dangnabbit.

It stands to reason then, that I'd be worse at taking compliments which aren't really related to me and to which there are no obvious retorts. “Thanks” is an easy thing to say to those first examples up there, and I have trouble with that. So imagine my befuddlement when someone tells me that their recently departed loved one really enjoyed my company’s air mattress. Something along the lines of, "She really liked it. When we set her down on it she almost screamed for joy it was so soft." What do you say to that? All I could come up with was "I'm glad it worked out."

Others that came to mind but were not spoken:

1) "I'm glad she enjoyed it." That's not going to work because "enjoy" doesn't really describe what the average hospice patient does on our mattresses.

2) "Who screams for joy?" That's not really a response to a compliment, but definitely something that occurred to me to ask.

3) "We aim to please." That one doesn't seem appropriate when the coroner was there exactly an hour before I was there.

Then again, in those circumstances nothing seems appropriate. I should learn sign language and pretend I'm deaf. Or maybe say, "Please sign here. I don't speak English. I only know the phrase, 'please sign here' and this phrase explaining that I can't speak English and only know two phrases." (Family Guy reference, not rip off.)

Napa Eating

How's this for a creepy sign? Is it a steak house where one would take one's family to eat, or where one might go to eat a family of cows? The sign seems to indicate the latter.

An Untimely End

Clifford's large stature, unbridled enthusiasm for kids and learning, and being a deliriously happy shade of red couldn't save him from an untimely end in a lukewarm bathtub.

(I promise I didn't set up this picture. The actual explanation is that Clifford is being soaked in the tub to try to remove his copiously absorbed dog spit. He is the favorite toy of a soon to be very large puppy.)

What do I do?

It has been pointed out that perhaps I haven't fully explained what I do. And since there are at least 3 people who read this and who aren't related to me or see me on a regular basis, I should explain:

I work for a company that makes, rents, and sells all manner of healthcare equipment: Wheelchairs, commodes, walkers, dopplers, DVTs, ICTs, and mattresses. My particular depot deals mainly in bed frames and mattresses.

When people get old and/or sick they develop bed sores, otherwise known as pressure ulcers. To heal the ulcers, or to avoid them in the first place, they need our mattresses. I clean, deliver, setup (set up?), trouble shoot, fix, and pick up these mattresses and pumps. I'm also the resident fixer of things. Today I mounted two fire extinguishers while one of my co-workers looked on in awe. (Two nuts, two bolts. Not hard. But then again it was the same co-worker that sets off his car alarm EVERY time he gets in his car.)

These mattresses are made of plastic, rubber, and/or foam and most of them are inflatable. Some have alternating cells, some just blow up and don't move. (Kind of like a ridiculously expensive sleep number bed.)

We deliver all this stuff out of a depot in San Rafael. There are, including me, four delivery drivers who bring all these things to the sick and old people of northern California. I drove roughly 3500 miles last month, and I've been just south of Monterey and as far north as Yuba City. We go father south and farther north than that, and I hear we have some beds in Reno, NV. Luckily I like driving. As an added bonus, driving a delivery van all day makes my little 4 cylinder manual transmission Camry feel like a racecar.

To explain the Grim Reaper thing: A lot of the patients we deliver to, especially in the Napa Valley, are hospice patients. They could be on one of our mattresses for years or days. We never know. But when I deliver to them, for whatever reason it tends to be days. So my boss has started calling me the Grim Reaper of Napa Valley. I've had lots of deliveries on Friday that I've had to go pick up on Monday, but the record was a delivery I did one morning and the hospice called us to pick it up that afternoon. I guess that's why there's a minimum 2 week rental price.

Other jobs I've had, in order from earliest to most recent (starting all the back in high school): Pizza cook, Telemarketer (1.5 days), Bakery Department Clerk, Software Intern/Y2K Updater (in Visual Basic), Engineering Intern/Programming Intern, Temp Worker (fundraiser, filing clerk, mover), Gap Employee, Valet, Best Buy Employee (sales, computer technician), Metal Worker (twice, but one was only for 3 days), Freelance IT person, Handyman, and now Rental Technician. Oddly enough my current job is in my top 4 most enjoyable jobs, and is by the best paying. I always suspected I was destined for a job that most people wouldn't like.

I wonder how many jobs the average person has by the time they are 26, because that list seems kind of long.

Paintjob

I wonder what this truck hauls. It has quite the exquisite paintjob.

And yes, I know. But I'm a PROFESSIONAL driver.

Always Napa

I optimistically took a right onto Silverado Trail, which is big and fast and newly paved. Then I turned onto a street which was thin and curvy and full of holes. After winding around among the trees and rocks for 3 miles, I started to ascend a hill. About half way up I was engulfed in the thickest fog I've seen in quite a while. I could only see 10 or 15 feet in front of me. That's a little disconcerting when the edge of the road drops steeply off into a ditch. It's also disconcerting when the cars coming the other direction seem to be impervious to fog and feel plenty comfortable driving mach 4.

After coming down out of the fog I came to the end of the road where there were maybe 16 hand-carved signs pointing down a smaller dirt road. Each sign had a house number and name on it. The one I wanted pointed me down the road. Eventually after carefully trying not to knock any wheels off in the potholes/craters, I came to another hand carved sign pointing down an even less paved road. I drove through an open gate past a sign saying "No Trespassing!"

After heading a few feet down this last road I came to regular looking ranch style house. While the house was seemed normal, the yard was not. In front was a concrete octagonal patio, one edge of which was occupied by a guy huddling over a fully functional fire pit. On the side of the house was a huge pile of rocks. The pile was 15 or 20 feet in diameter and probably 7 feet tall. That's a lot of rocks.

When I got out of the car I looked over toward the fire pit and the huddling guy was gone. Ok, no problem. I knocked on the door, went in, and set up the mattress. The people inside were very nice and not very weird at all. We made pleasant small talk about the freaky "tooley fog."

When I came back out of the house the guy was huddled over the fire again, but by the time I had turned my van to nose slowly down the drive way he was gone.

My luck and past experience tells me I'm going to get to revisit the whole scene on Monday when they call to tell me to come pick up the mattress. I guess being The Grim Reaper of Napa Valley, I should get used to all the creepiness.

Stud

I went to Napa on Monday, and while I was waiting for the nurses to get a patient out of bed, a janitor came down the hall. He was about my height, skinny, and wore navy blue work pants and a brown work shirt. He was probably 60ish and had both white hair and a white mustache. He looked very janitorial apart from his 3-wide, studded, rock-star belt.

You're only as old as you feel. Or, maybe, you are three times as old as you dress? I'm not sure how that goes.

Air Mail

For the past week I've been lounging on the futon in my living room. (Not all week, just during my free time.) But I discovered last night that I don't get any reception over there, and since I'm on call, I need reception. For some reason the couch on the other side of my living room is a better place for receiving pages. So, after sitting on the couch for the first time this week, I noticed a package sitting out on my balcony and went outside to investigate. It was addressed to the people in 201, the apartment directly above mine on the third floor. It was marginally grimy, so I think it had probably been out there for 3 days give or take.

(I live on a busy street. Anything that stays outside for more than 30 seconds begins to turn grey with car schmutz. Hence the ability to estimate how long something has been sitting on my balcony via its grime factor.)

My best and only theory as to how the package got there is this: The DHL guy brings the package to my building. He rings the bell for 201 and no one answers. Assuming that my building makes sense, he figures 201 is probably the first balcony on the left and on the second floor. So he takes the package and throws it up on to my balcony. Of course my building doesn't make sense (or have heat) and he managed to deliver it to 101. It's a good think I'm honest (and don't need a messenger bag.)

Can anyone come up with a better theory? Remind me never to use DHL to ship my breakables.

Little Old Lady Train

My last delivery was called in at 4:45pm and was, as is so often the case, for Napa. I'm not sure what the deal is, but they don't like to have me drive out there until after I'm getting ready to go home. I would move to Napa but I'm sure if I did I'd get deliveries to San Francisco at 4:45pm.

While I was waiting for the nursing staff to get the patient out of bed so I could replace her mattress, some white haired old ladies came creeping down the hall in their wheelchairs. They were just inches from each other, and in a perfect single-file line. It looked like the world's slowest steam engine, their little white heads like puffs of smoke. As they tectonically passed I smiled and said hello to the lead lady. She cheerily returned my hello.

While I was setting up the mattress they collected at the end of the hallway around another lady who was taking a nap in her wheelchair. They got a little clogged down there and tensions started to rise as they tried to come back the way they came. One lady was trying to back her chair up but kept running into the sleeping lady, who had chosen the center of the hall as an ideal napping point.

The clinking of wheelchairs carried on while they tried to sort themselves out, and a little argument broke out.

Little Old Lady 1: You can't back up, Rose. You keep running in to Edith.
LOL 2: Well for heaven's sake. Whey doesn't she move.
LOL 1: Because she's asleep.
LOL 2: Ask that young man over there (I believe they were referring to me) to move her.
LOL 1: I'm not asking him to move her. He doesn't work here. Why don't you just turn around?
LOL 2: Why don't you shut up?
LOL 1: Why don't YOU shut up?
LOL 2: You shut your mouth!
LOL 1: Don't you say another word to me!

I did my best to pretend that I didn't hear any of this. My policy is to have as little contact with patients as I can, and I want any contact I have to be really superficial. Something along the lines of "sure is raining out there." I certainly don't want to go around breaking up little old lady wheelchair brawls.

While I went and got my paperwork signed, they must have sorted things out. They came back down the hall, slow as can be, and in the same single file line in which they arrived. As the lady in engine position passed me by, I smiled and said hello, and she cheerily said hello back. LOLWB successfully averted.

Old Faithful

Just recently our landlord put in a new toilet. Our old toilet had a number of problems, the most pressing of which was its lack of being attached to the floor. When leaning one way or the other, say to get a magazine or some far off roll of toilet paper, the toilet would lean with you. I was always expecting it to just fall over one day letting all the waters within spread out over our apartment.

The other problem with the toilet is that the seat is attached with 2 bolts but only 1 loosely fitted nylon nut. So if you lean too far, not only does the toilet lean in the same direction, but the seat comes slightly off the rim of the toilet in an attempted to toss you pantless to the floor.

Recently the landlord came by to put in a new toilet. We figured we would be getting several good things out of the deal: A clean toilet, a well anchored toilet, and a new and very attached seat. We got the first two, but the third one eluded us. The same old seat with the same old nutless bolt came over to the new toilet.

Unfortunately our new clean toilet has a thinner rim which makes the seat even more susceptible to sliding off the edge. After a slight tweak of my back during a surprise seat shift, I went the hardware store and spent the $5 it took to get new bolts and nylon nuts. Now the seat stays put.

So I thought I had this thing beat until last night when I managed to clog the toilet. We have what is admittedly a really terrible plunger. It's one of those cheap ones with only a stick and a half-circle of rubber, as apposed to the fancy ones which have the half circle attached to the fitting that slides into the drain hole. Part of the issue with this plunger is that it tends to turn itself inside out after a particularly forceful plunge. The other problem is that the new toilet has a little groove near the back of the bowl that doesn't allow for a good seal. What it does allow for a is an impressive toilet geyser after every plunge. How's that for being stuck between a rock and a hard place? A strong plunge shoots water up out of the bowl and onto the floor, and a weak plunge won't move the clog. I spent an irritating couple of minutes solving one problem and creating another, namely that even though I didn't actually make the toilet overflow, I did managed to get quite a lot of water on the bathroom floor.

I guess it's time to invest in a top-quality plunger. A plunger for life.

NPR and Slang

Yesterday Nina Totenberg used the word dissed. She used it in regard to bi-partisanship in the coming 4 years: "I think the Democrats will be willing to work with Republicans unless they [the Democrats] feel like they are being dissed."

I'm paraphrasing there, but she did use the worded dissed in reference to the legislative branch. I'm not sure dissed should be used outside of K-12 education and Best Buy.

An Otherwise Depressing Day

I started my day looking at the returns on the CNN and NBC News sites. Neither were great fun, and because I saw the beginnings of the returns last night, I didn't sleep that well. Then again, almost anything makes me sleep not so well. I'm not good at sleeping.

Next up was an employee training session. Imagine sitting in a smallish warehouse with the roll up door open at 9am. It's cold and I'm trying to pay attention to the intricacies of Medicare inspections as they relate to rental depots.

After that I'm off to deliver things. I usually listen to NPR, but it's being overrun with Bush's acceptance speech. I switched back and forth between that and Absolution, by Muse, thinking that I would much rather listen to Muse, but that this might be kind of an important news snippet.

My day ended with a delivery in Napa where a nursing home resident decided to regale me with the tales gathered wisdom of her life. She likes dogs. She lived in Egypt for 3 years. She assures me that Egyptians steal dogs, among other things, which they sell to the zoo. But they can't help it because they are poor.

Then she told me that it was coming up on her 79th wedding anniversary, except that her husband had died in the 80s. He worked on airplanes and loved his job. He wanted to make sure that everyone who got on one of his airplanes felt safe. Whenever she rode on one of his airplanes, she felt safe. She crossed the ocean so many times she lost count, and never felt afraid. Now, she says, she's afraid of everything. It's terrible to be afraid of everything all the time.

The only way to end a day like today is with a stiff drink. So I stopped by Jack and got a pumpkin pie milkshake. A little sweetness with which to end an otherwise depressing day.

Two Mysteries

The first is that yesterday morning I woke up with En Vogue, "My Lovin" stuck in my head. I have no idea where it came from. I don't listen to the radio at all, and I don’t even think I've heard that song in years.

The second, and far more flummoxing mystery is where my guitar stand came from. A couple of days ago UPS told me I had a package from Musician's Friend. I recently ordered something from there, but it has already arrived so I had no idea what it could be. When I finally got the package, the receipt lists my address as both the shipping and billing address. I called Musician's Friend and it looks to them like I ordered it for myself, but that don't have access to the credit card info. I emailed Amazon, but since the order isn't under my email address, they can't find it. No charges have shown up on any of my credit cards, and no cash has disappeared from my wallet.

Did anyone out there buy me a guitar stand? I distinctly remember not buying it.

Halloween Socializing

Usually, when I go out to bars, I stand or sit quietly off to one side. I try my best to have some halting conversation with anyone in my group that I happen to want to date, and then talk to my roommate. Mostly though I just sit and look at people and don't talk to anyone. I imagine this comes across as creepy. I'm working on changing my ways, (mostly through the haltingly painful conversations), but change is slow.

On Saturday a bunch of us went to a bar for a friend's birthday. Some of us went in costume, including me. My costume, as is illustrated below, was a grim reaper, aka Death, aka anyone from the intro of Dead Like Me. (Also, my nickname at work is The Grim Reaper of the Napa Valley, so it seemed fitting.) (I'm by myself in the picture because I'm not sure that my roommate wants his picture bandied about on the internet. However, that's his Zorro shadow next my death shadow.)

It was pointed out, both at the bar and at a Halloween party I went to last night, that my usual practice of standing in a corner not talking to anyone, but this time in a grim reaper costume, hugely magnifies the creepy, and yet, seemed kind of appropriate. I mean, Death wouldn't dance to Hey Ya.

Since the party was chocked full of attractive girls I wanted to talk to, it was kind of frustrating. I had 2 or 3 failed attempts at conversation where there would be some brief back and forth, followed by an uncomfortable silence, followed by a disturbing lack of eye contact on my part, followed by her retreat to find someone less creepy to talk with, followed by more standing quietly in a corner in my Death outfit. After a few hours of this, I decided I would go home at a none to respectable 10pm.

Which, upon consulting a properly set clock, became an even less respectable 9pm.