Ever So Quickly
The problem with addressing and stamping envelopes while wearing only boxer shorts is that you may drop a stamp on your gut. And then when you try to peel off said stamp, you might remove some gut hair. And then you might be in pain and slightly grossed out at the fact that you have gut hair.
And then you'll have to worry about whether or not the stamp has retained enough sticky to get the envelope where it needs to go.
Life can be so difficult sometimes.
(I typed this whole post with not a single misspelling. When I pushed the spell check button I got a gray screen that said:
Spell Check Complete
(No Errors Found)
And I thought the spell check was broken because I had never before seen that screen.)
Friday, March 24, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Won't You Be My Neighbor?
I went to pick up a mattress recently at a Nursing home in Antioch. There were two driveways close together and I almost pulled into the one next door, which I noticed belonged to a funeral parlor. Of all the businesses to put next to a nursing home, the funeral parlor has to be the one which instills the least amount of confidence in the families of the elderly.
Silver Oaks Care Center
"Where 'moving on' just means going next door."
It's like seeing a Chinese food restaurant next to a pet hospital: It has a kind of morbid, creepy convenience. I'm sure they are only neighbors by coincidence, but it's still uncomfortable.
I went to pick up a mattress recently at a Nursing home in Antioch. There were two driveways close together and I almost pulled into the one next door, which I noticed belonged to a funeral parlor. Of all the businesses to put next to a nursing home, the funeral parlor has to be the one which instills the least amount of confidence in the families of the elderly.
Silver Oaks Care Center
"Where 'moving on' just means going next door."
It's like seeing a Chinese food restaurant next to a pet hospital: It has a kind of morbid, creepy convenience. I'm sure they are only neighbors by coincidence, but it's still uncomfortable.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Blooop
Today, after taking pictures of a project for work, and taking pictures of the bear, I made some burritos. As I've mentioned before, my burritos call for cooking some ground beef, adding refried beans and salsa, and serving.
Before I added the beans, I made a little grease tub out of the meat container and some aluminum foil. Then I held the beef in place with the spatula and poured what grease I could into the tub while trying to avoid the inevitable beefalanche. I guess it's not totally inevitable, it didn't happen today.
After I drained my beef, I set about opening my can of refried beans. (The Rosarita 98% fat free vegetarian variety.) I opened the top of the can and took the lid off, then turned the can over and held it above its intended destination. When I punched a hole in the bottom of the can to let the air in, schlooop, pop, out came the cylinder of beans ... right into my grease tub.
Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. Any way you look at it, it was a bad idea to dump my beans into a tub of grease, but it was an even worse idea to do it from such a height. My beans did the edible version of a cannon ball. So much for 98% fat free.
And now my slippers need a bath. Next time I'll add the ingredients to the food and not to the garbage.
Today, after taking pictures of a project for work, and taking pictures of the bear, I made some burritos. As I've mentioned before, my burritos call for cooking some ground beef, adding refried beans and salsa, and serving.
Before I added the beans, I made a little grease tub out of the meat container and some aluminum foil. Then I held the beef in place with the spatula and poured what grease I could into the tub while trying to avoid the inevitable beefalanche. I guess it's not totally inevitable, it didn't happen today.
After I drained my beef, I set about opening my can of refried beans. (The Rosarita 98% fat free vegetarian variety.) I opened the top of the can and took the lid off, then turned the can over and held it above its intended destination. When I punched a hole in the bottom of the can to let the air in, schlooop, pop, out came the cylinder of beans ... right into my grease tub.
Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. Any way you look at it, it was a bad idea to dump my beans into a tub of grease, but it was an even worse idea to do it from such a height. My beans did the edible version of a cannon ball. So much for 98% fat free.
And now my slippers need a bath. Next time I'll add the ingredients to the food and not to the garbage.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Projects
((c)2006 Michael Kadel. No stealing my ideas! What do you mean nobody would steal these ideas?!)
I've been making some very slow progress on my various projects tonight.
My most recent project is to make a shirt with a big picture of a cinnamon bear on the front. I don't think there will be any text involved, just a big 4x8 inch bear. I'm trying to decide if I should go for an iron-on t-shirt transfer or try Kinko's print right on the shirt deal. The problem with printing on the shirt is that it requires a white shirt, and I don't wear white shirts very much. Does anyone have access to some t-shirt technology of which I'm unaware?
I found my bear model yesterday. Or, more accurately, I bought my bear model yesterday and found him (her?) this morning. I ate the first package of bears without doing a casting call. The second package involved selecting the perfect bear march madness style. Each two bears compete to move onto the semifinals. Then each of the semifinalists compete and so on and so forth until a single bear remains. The Ambearican Idol. Or maybe just a bear which didn't get mangled by the bear stamper. I have a photo shoot scheduled for tomorrow. Cinnamon is on a strict diet of diet Coke and cigarettes until then.
My second project moved along quickly at first, but then hit a road block. I've been making a lamp where the bulb will shine through a whole bunch of shattered tempered glass. The lamp bit is all done, switch and all, but finding tempered glass to break for less than $60 is proving difficult. But today I parked my van in an alley behind a facility, and when I got out I noticed a whole bunch of shattered tempered glass on the sidewalk and in the gutter. I guess each stolen stereo brings my lamp one step closer to fruition.
I don't think I'll keep collecting glass that way though. It took me a half hour to clean the who-knows-what out of the glass shards, leaving me a quarter inch less lamp to fill and a sore back. All that combined with the pee smell emanating from the gutter, and I think it might be time for a trip to a junk yard.
If anyone lives near by and your shower door explodes, please let me know. I'll be by momentarily to clean up the glass, free of charge. That's just the kind of helpful guy I am.
((c)2006 Michael Kadel. No stealing my ideas! What do you mean nobody would steal these ideas?!)
I've been making some very slow progress on my various projects tonight.
My most recent project is to make a shirt with a big picture of a cinnamon bear on the front. I don't think there will be any text involved, just a big 4x8 inch bear. I'm trying to decide if I should go for an iron-on t-shirt transfer or try Kinko's print right on the shirt deal. The problem with printing on the shirt is that it requires a white shirt, and I don't wear white shirts very much. Does anyone have access to some t-shirt technology of which I'm unaware?
I found my bear model yesterday. Or, more accurately, I bought my bear model yesterday and found him (her?) this morning. I ate the first package of bears without doing a casting call. The second package involved selecting the perfect bear march madness style. Each two bears compete to move onto the semifinals. Then each of the semifinalists compete and so on and so forth until a single bear remains. The Ambearican Idol. Or maybe just a bear which didn't get mangled by the bear stamper. I have a photo shoot scheduled for tomorrow. Cinnamon is on a strict diet of diet Coke and cigarettes until then.
My second project moved along quickly at first, but then hit a road block. I've been making a lamp where the bulb will shine through a whole bunch of shattered tempered glass. The lamp bit is all done, switch and all, but finding tempered glass to break for less than $60 is proving difficult. But today I parked my van in an alley behind a facility, and when I got out I noticed a whole bunch of shattered tempered glass on the sidewalk and in the gutter. I guess each stolen stereo brings my lamp one step closer to fruition.
I don't think I'll keep collecting glass that way though. It took me a half hour to clean the who-knows-what out of the glass shards, leaving me a quarter inch less lamp to fill and a sore back. All that combined with the pee smell emanating from the gutter, and I think it might be time for a trip to a junk yard.
If anyone lives near by and your shower door explodes, please let me know. I'll be by momentarily to clean up the glass, free of charge. That's just the kind of helpful guy I am.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Momma Don't Want No Waffle-Stompers 'Round Here
Yesterday while I was driving to Sacramento I saw an old 5th wheel trailer sitting alone beside a river. It was old and falling apart, and missing a wheel so it was leaning off toward the water. The windows were broken and it had sunk noticeably down into the mud. The stairs where down and the door hung open so I could see that someone had spray painted, for the benefit of all those who dared enter: "Please take your shoes off."
Yesterday while I was driving to Sacramento I saw an old 5th wheel trailer sitting alone beside a river. It was old and falling apart, and missing a wheel so it was leaning off toward the water. The windows were broken and it had sunk noticeably down into the mud. The stairs where down and the door hung open so I could see that someone had spray painted, for the benefit of all those who dared enter: "Please take your shoes off."
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
The Problem with Work Trips
Is that they pay for my food. I've been trying to make some better choices at home, while also keeping it cheap. There are certainly a limited number of food items from which to choose that come in near $5 and aren't gross. But here in Tempe I just need to come in under $50 a day, which is really no problem. And I feel like I should aim for my limit since there isn't really any other advantage of travelling for work. The result is that I'm slowly being engulfed by my ever expanding waistline.
And why is it so hard to find healthful food which tastes good? It's not like it's an oxymoron or anything. There are lots of dishes which taste good and won't warp my belt, but none of them are for sale in a restaurant setting. The closest I've come to that ideal here was with a Caribbean salmon dish. And yeah, I know, fish in the desert is never recommended. And this was no exception. It was a Salmon steak, burned lightly on both sides, covered in a sickeningly sweet purple sauce, and surrounded by some intricately bitter broccoli and packing-peanut flavored rice. It arrived simultaneously with a garden salad: Ranch dressing, iceberg lettuce, and a single cherry tomato.
My dinner was not improved by the table of happily screaming kids, one of which shot a spitball at my booth. She wasn't very covert about it. I was reading my book and waiting for my food to arrive and I heard a phoof, a swish, and a sort of a squishy thud near my left shoulder. I looked over to find a rather sizable spitball adhered to the red vinyl. I flicked it off with the drink menu then looked up at the kids table to 5 kids looking elsewhere and 1 girl slowly edging her face up over the booth to see if the coast was clear. It was not, I was looking at her, so she popped back down. Another peak, then back down, and repeat. Eventually her pizza came and she forgot about my oppressive eyeballs and innate targetness.
Yay Tempe!
Is that they pay for my food. I've been trying to make some better choices at home, while also keeping it cheap. There are certainly a limited number of food items from which to choose that come in near $5 and aren't gross. But here in Tempe I just need to come in under $50 a day, which is really no problem. And I feel like I should aim for my limit since there isn't really any other advantage of travelling for work. The result is that I'm slowly being engulfed by my ever expanding waistline.
And why is it so hard to find healthful food which tastes good? It's not like it's an oxymoron or anything. There are lots of dishes which taste good and won't warp my belt, but none of them are for sale in a restaurant setting. The closest I've come to that ideal here was with a Caribbean salmon dish. And yeah, I know, fish in the desert is never recommended. And this was no exception. It was a Salmon steak, burned lightly on both sides, covered in a sickeningly sweet purple sauce, and surrounded by some intricately bitter broccoli and packing-peanut flavored rice. It arrived simultaneously with a garden salad: Ranch dressing, iceberg lettuce, and a single cherry tomato.
My dinner was not improved by the table of happily screaming kids, one of which shot a spitball at my booth. She wasn't very covert about it. I was reading my book and waiting for my food to arrive and I heard a phoof, a swish, and a sort of a squishy thud near my left shoulder. I looked over to find a rather sizable spitball adhered to the red vinyl. I flicked it off with the drink menu then looked up at the kids table to 5 kids looking elsewhere and 1 girl slowly edging her face up over the booth to see if the coast was clear. It was not, I was looking at her, so she popped back down. Another peak, then back down, and repeat. Eventually her pizza came and she forgot about my oppressive eyeballs and innate targetness.
Yay Tempe!
Monday, March 13, 2006
Moooo
Yesterday I had dinner at Rustler's Roost, which was billed as a steak house, but was actually more of a steak theme park. It's perched up on the only hill in Tempe, looking out over the infinite sprawl.
As you walk in there's a bull in a little tiny pen to lend the place the authentic smell of cow. The hostesses all have dark hair with blond streaks and wear red and white plaid shirts. On the way to my table I walked by a real, live, authentic country band who played a number of songs I didn't recognize, and one by Johnny Cash that I did. Descending to the eating area I had the choice of stairs or a slide. Since the slide was full of 8 year olds, I chose the stairs.
The floor was covered in wood shavings, the tables where lit by oil lamps, and the menu was full of creatively named food items. I got a 10oz Filet with mixed vegetables, corn on the cobb, rolls with 2 kinds of butter, and cowboy beans. I ate my Filet medium, since, according to the menu, that's a how a tenderfoot orders it.
The cowboy beans were a little on the disgusting side, but the rest of it was excellent. Unfortunately it was a little dark, so I had some trouble with the rolls. I grabbed roll #1 and buttered it. It was so dark, though, that I couldn't tell what kind of butter I was using, and ended up with my pre-dinner roll covered in honey cinnamon butter. Kind of weird as an appetizer. Luckily I have a Cate-like sense of smell and was able to sniff each tub of butter until I found one that wasn't oddly flavored. With the butter problem solved I triumphantly sat back and wiped the butter off my nose, picked up a second roll, and promptly dropped it on the floor. The third one was the charm.
And tonight I went to the Cheesecake Factory and ate my tradition Chicken Madera. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Chicken Madera.
Yesterday I had dinner at Rustler's Roost, which was billed as a steak house, but was actually more of a steak theme park. It's perched up on the only hill in Tempe, looking out over the infinite sprawl.
As you walk in there's a bull in a little tiny pen to lend the place the authentic smell of cow. The hostesses all have dark hair with blond streaks and wear red and white plaid shirts. On the way to my table I walked by a real, live, authentic country band who played a number of songs I didn't recognize, and one by Johnny Cash that I did. Descending to the eating area I had the choice of stairs or a slide. Since the slide was full of 8 year olds, I chose the stairs.
The floor was covered in wood shavings, the tables where lit by oil lamps, and the menu was full of creatively named food items. I got a 10oz Filet with mixed vegetables, corn on the cobb, rolls with 2 kinds of butter, and cowboy beans. I ate my Filet medium, since, according to the menu, that's a how a tenderfoot orders it.
The cowboy beans were a little on the disgusting side, but the rest of it was excellent. Unfortunately it was a little dark, so I had some trouble with the rolls. I grabbed roll #1 and buttered it. It was so dark, though, that I couldn't tell what kind of butter I was using, and ended up with my pre-dinner roll covered in honey cinnamon butter. Kind of weird as an appetizer. Luckily I have a Cate-like sense of smell and was able to sniff each tub of butter until I found one that wasn't oddly flavored. With the butter problem solved I triumphantly sat back and wiped the butter off my nose, picked up a second roll, and promptly dropped it on the floor. The third one was the charm.
And tonight I went to the Cheesecake Factory and ate my tradition Chicken Madera. Mmmmmmmmmmm. Chicken Madera.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Tech Support
Since the wireless signal in my room hovers between 32% and 7%, (depended apparently on how uncomfortable the work surface is: high table and broken chair = 32, sofa = 7) I stopped by the front desk to ask if they had the handy data port adapters that the other Comfort Inn has.
They guy behind the counter looked up from his file-o-fax and said, in the thickest New York accent this side of New York:
"Yeah, it doesn't work so good in this weather. [Which is totally wrong.] Those security guys come out here and they mess with the wireless bowl, and now it's under the desk, and I know it don't belong there. So we keeps calling them up, and they keeps telling us that it works fine, but it don't, especially not in this weather. And we had those boxes but people keep checkin' 'em out and then they don't come back at 225 a pop. So we don't know what to do, ya know? Come down here and get a lock on the signal and then go back to your room. Easy as pie. If I were a computer guy, I don't know. What a racket they got."
I started to back away at about "225 a pop," and said thanks anyway from about half way up the stairs.
The front desk people are really just a wealth of information.
When I checked in the desk was manned by a pale, white, mouth-breather with bleached white hair and a soul-patch. As I walked in his friend was walking out and he called after him, "You not comin' to the party dawg?!? Don't be playin' me like dat! Are you playin'? Nah, you still comin'. You still my dawg, dawg."
When I asked about checking in he said I had to wait until 3 o'clock, so I sat in the lobby and read my book.
20 minutes later he slipped out from behind the desk to procure some reece's pieces from the candy machine. He put is quarter in and turned the crank, and nothing happened. He looked at me and yelled, "Oh hell no! Can you believe dis shit? This machine tryin' to burn me fo' a quarter. I ain't havin' none of dat shit." And he shook it until his reeses pieces came out. "Hell yeah!" He exclaimed, now totally satisfied. "I got me my handful of pieces."
Since the wireless signal in my room hovers between 32% and 7%, (depended apparently on how uncomfortable the work surface is: high table and broken chair = 32, sofa = 7) I stopped by the front desk to ask if they had the handy data port adapters that the other Comfort Inn has.
They guy behind the counter looked up from his file-o-fax and said, in the thickest New York accent this side of New York:
"Yeah, it doesn't work so good in this weather. [Which is totally wrong.] Those security guys come out here and they mess with the wireless bowl, and now it's under the desk, and I know it don't belong there. So we keeps calling them up, and they keeps telling us that it works fine, but it don't, especially not in this weather. And we had those boxes but people keep checkin' 'em out and then they don't come back at 225 a pop. So we don't know what to do, ya know? Come down here and get a lock on the signal and then go back to your room. Easy as pie. If I were a computer guy, I don't know. What a racket they got."
I started to back away at about "225 a pop," and said thanks anyway from about half way up the stairs.
The front desk people are really just a wealth of information.
When I checked in the desk was manned by a pale, white, mouth-breather with bleached white hair and a soul-patch. As I walked in his friend was walking out and he called after him, "You not comin' to the party dawg?!? Don't be playin' me like dat! Are you playin'? Nah, you still comin'. You still my dawg, dawg."
When I asked about checking in he said I had to wait until 3 o'clock, so I sat in the lobby and read my book.
20 minutes later he slipped out from behind the desk to procure some reece's pieces from the candy machine. He put is quarter in and turned the crank, and nothing happened. He looked at me and yelled, "Oh hell no! Can you believe dis shit? This machine tryin' to burn me fo' a quarter. I ain't havin' none of dat shit." And he shook it until his reeses pieces came out. "Hell yeah!" He exclaimed, now totally satisfied. "I got me my handful of pieces."
Saturday, March 11, 2006
The Joys of Tempe
I left an iced over San Francisco on an 8am flight to Tempe. On my way to the airport I listened to a traffic report warning that 101N was closed at Marin City because of a 31 car pile up due to rain, ice, and hail. The perfect time to go to Tempe.
My flight was delayed on arrival because of torrential rains. It hasn't rained in 4 months, but it rained today, and Tempe has terrible drainage. There are some serious puddles around here.
Now I'm checked into my Hotel which has "Free WiFi throughout." I may have to walk down to the lobby to post this.
And I learned today that I will definitely be sharing this room with the other guy who is out here covering the Tempe area. He should feel right at home though, being a smoker, as my room smells very much like an ashtray.
Since it's Saturday night I've been combing the internet for stuff to do and I've come up with 2 options:
1) Go see Minus The Bear. Minus is one of two bands that are playing in Tempe tonight. Their website hints that they may be a pretty cool band, but there are a number of problems with tonight's venue. The first is that it's on E. Broadway Rd. Broadway, as you follow it from West to East, starts as West Broadway, becomes East Broadway at 7th Ave, goes back to West at 52nd Street, and finely stays East after Highway 87. I drove around for a very long time trying to find the particular stretch of E. Broadway Rd that contained the club, and when I did it was bursting at the seams with high school kids. I guess it's an all ages show.
2) Go see a movie. The only one I want to see is Fun with Dick and Jane. We'll see how I feel at 9:15pm. I figure I should give myself at least a half hour to find the theater.
I left an iced over San Francisco on an 8am flight to Tempe. On my way to the airport I listened to a traffic report warning that 101N was closed at Marin City because of a 31 car pile up due to rain, ice, and hail. The perfect time to go to Tempe.
My flight was delayed on arrival because of torrential rains. It hasn't rained in 4 months, but it rained today, and Tempe has terrible drainage. There are some serious puddles around here.
Now I'm checked into my Hotel which has "Free WiFi throughout." I may have to walk down to the lobby to post this.
And I learned today that I will definitely be sharing this room with the other guy who is out here covering the Tempe area. He should feel right at home though, being a smoker, as my room smells very much like an ashtray.
Since it's Saturday night I've been combing the internet for stuff to do and I've come up with 2 options:
1) Go see Minus The Bear. Minus is one of two bands that are playing in Tempe tonight. Their website hints that they may be a pretty cool band, but there are a number of problems with tonight's venue. The first is that it's on E. Broadway Rd. Broadway, as you follow it from West to East, starts as West Broadway, becomes East Broadway at 7th Ave, goes back to West at 52nd Street, and finely stays East after Highway 87. I drove around for a very long time trying to find the particular stretch of E. Broadway Rd that contained the club, and when I did it was bursting at the seams with high school kids. I guess it's an all ages show.
2) Go see a movie. The only one I want to see is Fun with Dick and Jane. We'll see how I feel at 9:15pm. I figure I should give myself at least a half hour to find the theater.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Pub Quiz Part Deux
Last night we went to a different and far more crowded pub quiz. There was something like 30 teams, most of them named on a religious pun or in recognition of South Dakota's abortion ban. There were at least 3 teams with names involving South Dakota and coat hangers.
The religious ones were only slightly more varied. There was "Jesus is coming, look busy" which was I'm sure stolen earlier that day from a coffee mug. I thought "Preparation H. Christ" was much better and a lot more creative. "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Skanks" won best team name.
We, as "Spanish Groove Armada", earned embarrassingly few points, but I was proud of myself for knowing that the country where some MacDonalds changed the red background of their sign from red to blue was Israel.
The strangest team name, in my opinion, was "Fresno: The only city in America where a Puerto Rican can be called white trash." I don't even know what that means, but it sounds like they don't like Fresno very much. It's beyond me what their opinion of Puerto Ricans might be. The guy running pub quiz, after reading that teams name, said, "From now on team names have to come in under 3 paragraphs."
Off to the Napper Tandy.
Last night we went to a different and far more crowded pub quiz. There was something like 30 teams, most of them named on a religious pun or in recognition of South Dakota's abortion ban. There were at least 3 teams with names involving South Dakota and coat hangers.
The religious ones were only slightly more varied. There was "Jesus is coming, look busy" which was I'm sure stolen earlier that day from a coffee mug. I thought "Preparation H. Christ" was much better and a lot more creative. "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Skanks" won best team name.
We, as "Spanish Groove Armada", earned embarrassingly few points, but I was proud of myself for knowing that the country where some MacDonalds changed the red background of their sign from red to blue was Israel.
The strangest team name, in my opinion, was "Fresno: The only city in America where a Puerto Rican can be called white trash." I don't even know what that means, but it sounds like they don't like Fresno very much. It's beyond me what their opinion of Puerto Ricans might be. The guy running pub quiz, after reading that teams name, said, "From now on team names have to come in under 3 paragraphs."
Off to the Napper Tandy.
Monday, March 06, 2006
One Awsome Monday
I should probably be making phone calls or sending emails or something, but I'm just not in the mood.
I started out my day driving alllll the way to Fairfield to do a pickup. When I got there a service call came in for Suisun City, which is right around the corner. Perfect, I thought. Unfortunately the people weren't going to be there for me to fix the mattress for another 3 hours, so I drove the 50 miles back to San Rafael.
10 minutes from the Depot, the people called back and said I could come right now if I wanted. I told them it was too late and that I'd have to come back at 1. I did and I fixed their mattress.
On the way back to the depot for a second time, I came down 80 to 37 through Vallejo, and then down 101 to San Rafael. 5 minutes from the depot I got a service call to Vallejo. I called the lady to try to figure out what the problem was in hopes of not having to actually drive all the way back:
Lady: We havin' trouble with grandma's bed.
Me: What's the problem?
Lady: It don't work.
Me: What doesn't work? The whole thing?
Lady: The head don't go up and down.
Me: Just the head? Do the rest of the buttons work?
Lady: It don't work.
Me: Is it plugged in?
Lady: Of course it plugged in. It don't work.
I gave up and told her I would be there at 4:45.
I pulled up to the house with some of the most likely parts in hand. On my approach to the front door I had to weave through 5 dead cars and slog through some deep, wet, muddy grass, to get to the rickety wooden wheel chair ramp.
When they answered the door I was greeted with a little, tiny, grungy room filled with two kids doing homework on the noticeably filthy floor, a blind old woman with no visible pupils screaming incoherently from a wheelchair (I'm assuming this was grandma), and a guy watching TV on the couch. The heat was on and the fireplace held a raging fire so it was roughly 1,000,000 degrees, and the TV was on loud enough to be easily heard over grandma's rampage.
I went into an even filthier back room where I discovered that they guy who had delivered the bed hadn't specified which kind it was and I had brought the wrong parts. Not that the right parts would have helped as the frame was severely bent out of shape. I don't even know how one would bend a frame like that, but these people seem to have solved that particular challenge.
Luckily there's a possibility I won't have to go back tomorrow. Instead I have to find a place to park in the heart of China Town and drag 250 pounds of bed frame up to some section 8 housing. I'm psyched. If I play my cards right maybe I can do both. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
I should probably be making phone calls or sending emails or something, but I'm just not in the mood.
I started out my day driving alllll the way to Fairfield to do a pickup. When I got there a service call came in for Suisun City, which is right around the corner. Perfect, I thought. Unfortunately the people weren't going to be there for me to fix the mattress for another 3 hours, so I drove the 50 miles back to San Rafael.
10 minutes from the Depot, the people called back and said I could come right now if I wanted. I told them it was too late and that I'd have to come back at 1. I did and I fixed their mattress.
On the way back to the depot for a second time, I came down 80 to 37 through Vallejo, and then down 101 to San Rafael. 5 minutes from the depot I got a service call to Vallejo. I called the lady to try to figure out what the problem was in hopes of not having to actually drive all the way back:
Lady: We havin' trouble with grandma's bed.
Me: What's the problem?
Lady: It don't work.
Me: What doesn't work? The whole thing?
Lady: The head don't go up and down.
Me: Just the head? Do the rest of the buttons work?
Lady: It don't work.
Me: Is it plugged in?
Lady: Of course it plugged in. It don't work.
I gave up and told her I would be there at 4:45.
I pulled up to the house with some of the most likely parts in hand. On my approach to the front door I had to weave through 5 dead cars and slog through some deep, wet, muddy grass, to get to the rickety wooden wheel chair ramp.
When they answered the door I was greeted with a little, tiny, grungy room filled with two kids doing homework on the noticeably filthy floor, a blind old woman with no visible pupils screaming incoherently from a wheelchair (I'm assuming this was grandma), and a guy watching TV on the couch. The heat was on and the fireplace held a raging fire so it was roughly 1,000,000 degrees, and the TV was on loud enough to be easily heard over grandma's rampage.
I went into an even filthier back room where I discovered that they guy who had delivered the bed hadn't specified which kind it was and I had brought the wrong parts. Not that the right parts would have helped as the frame was severely bent out of shape. I don't even know how one would bend a frame like that, but these people seem to have solved that particular challenge.
Luckily there's a possibility I won't have to go back tomorrow. Instead I have to find a place to park in the heart of China Town and drag 250 pounds of bed frame up to some section 8 housing. I'm psyched. If I play my cards right maybe I can do both. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
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