The lawnmower is dead, dead, dead. I've been on the Lawn Boy site and it should be working according to them. It is not. I can hear the grass growing. I swear it was growing leaps and bounds as I was trying to cut it. Called the people who worked on it and, in my most piteous voice, told them that it was dead again. I was really hoping someone would say "We'll stop by and look at it" or "We'll pick it up." Not happening. "Bring it back," is what I got. My back and knees started arguing instantly. Too bad. It has to be done.
The gutter people show up, not at 6 a.m., but closer to 8:30 a.m. That I can handle. Not that I'm not up at that hour; I'm just tired of looking at people--at that hour. I think you understand. But back to the gutter people. The fellow who will do the work has the fattest little baby in his arms. Why is he showing up with a baby? A very good explanation is in order. His babysitter became ill and he's waiting for a replacement to show up. Thank you. I was worried for a moment. Make that several moments.
Now that the fascia is up, Shannon's mistakes are very apparent. Why the devil couldn't he have made a mess on the back? Why is my front looking mammy-made? Answer: you went for the cheapest job and got what you paid for. AAAARGH. Gutter people say they will try to make it look better but can't guarantee. Sheesh. Still, looking on the bright side--it looks better than it did when I bought it. Babysitter arrives and he goes off to get some help.
I'm piddling as usual. Maybe this board will work as a shelf in the kitchen for cookbooks. This box belongs in the living room, yada yada. Doorbell rings. Front or back? I opt for the back, thinking it is the gutter people. Nope, they are on the ladder. Walk to the front. It's the electrician. My check is bad. Shades of Fred Sanford--I'm about to have a serious heart attack. What do you mean the check is bad? It can't be. I just made a deposit. I am so embarrassed. Major anxiety attack. "Don't worry about it," Mr. Cannon says, "these things happen." Yes, they do but this shouldn't have.
Call the bank. Seems as though my escrow check had a stop payment put on it. WHAT? After waiting months, weeks, hours, and days, numerous phone calls, etc., it finally appeared and they put a stop payment on it? It does explain, however, why an overnight package appeared on Tuesday with another check from them. Thank God I hadn't torn it up or returned it. Sometimes it does pay to procrastinate. As an aside, I contacted the stupid company last Wednesday and informed them that the check had finally appeared. Asked if there was going to be a problem with my depositing it. Oh, no, they said. It is good. RIGHT!
Off to the bank. I don't have to say that I didn't stop to change clothes. My God, the people in this town must have the worst impression of me. Can't worry about that. Got to straighten this out and now, Mr. Cannon in tow. And his girlfriend. Don't ask me why 'cause this culture of wives and girlfriends "riding and sitting" is alien to me. That's what I did as a teenager and when I was "in love," young, dumb, and didn't know any better. These folks?
"Hi, Miss Gwen." No time for small talk. Deposit the check. "When can he get his money?" You'll have to go to bookkeeping. Go to Mrs. Meadows, instead. She okayed payment. Mr. Cannon left with his money and, I hope, a better impression of my credibility. There is something to be said for small towns. Still, too much drama for the kid.
Gutters going up and looking good (I said that about the roof, too, didn't I?). The fellow introduces me to his assistant--his son, age 23. Baby in arms? That's his son, too. Talking about spreading it out. 22 years as a matter of fact. And the oldest boy? Has a daughter, age 3. Get out of here.
Mikey swings by to inspect. Sees that there are no straps on some of the downspouts. Makes a call. Immediate response. Here they come with straps to attach. Later the head honcho swings through to inspect and make sure everything is up to par. I like that.
The check episode put me off my feed for the day. That and the heat. I can't handle the drama.