EVERYTHING HAPPENS TO ME
I expect to succumb to the drip,
drip, drip of life's minor irritations, not drown in a tidal wave of
misfortune. Tiny calamities beset me with the regularity of the Chinese water
torture regimen, which alters my otherwise benign and contemplative nature. My
current “whine” list includes the following:
A bone spur in my left heel has
plagued me for three months. Injections, foot wraps, arch supports, foot baths,
none of these treatments have provided relief. Now my right foot is beginning
to exhibit similar symptoms. Additionally, my right hip has become very
painful. It causes me to walk like a drunken sailor, lurching from side to
side.
My wife's car battery died at a
shopping center in mid-August, an inappropriate time. Is there an appropriate
time? After jump-starting the car, Checker Auto replaced the battery for a
pittance, a mere King’s ransom. The car runs but the radio does not. A dead
battery triggered its anti-theft device. To activate it, you must first punch
in a secret five digit code provided on a plastic card at time of original car
purchase. After mucking around for an hour, searching everywhere but unable to
find the damn card, I called the dealer, hoping someone there might be able to
furnish me the secret numbers. No luck. The authority figure with this power
had taken the day off.
Another search through my dresser
revealed the plastic card, hanging out with my socks. It took me another hour
or so to find the car’s instruction manual which contained the precise procedure
one must follow while punching in the code numbers. Finally, the radio came
back to life. It would have taken me less time to replace a stolen radio than
to reignite the existing one.
Another calamity beset me. A short
circuit cut off power to our garage, front porch, and utility room. An
electrician promised to come fix the problem. My guess is the power circuit
went on strike, in sympathy with the dead car battery.
There seems to be no end to my
electrical issues. One of my grandkids dropped a coin into my Casio electronic
keyboard, rendering it hors-de-combat. Two months have elapsed, and Casio has
yet to supply the needed part to the repair shop. The culprit who committed
this crime remains free at large, but her privilege to roam my house has been
restricted to certain rooms where she can be monitored continuously.
Aggravating events continue to plague
me. My pool pump will not prime automatically. It used to. Perhaps it has
forgotten how to perform this task. Do pumps get Alzheimer? A repair man is on
his way. He’ll tell me.
My garage door came off its track
after striking a Christmas storage box dislodged by my cat. I struggled mightily
to get the door open sufficiently enough to back my car outside. The garage
door has remained open a few days while waiting for someone to fix it. Thank
goodness, the damage turned out to be minor and no new parts were required.
The clothes washer control dial is
broken and the replacement knob bought at Sears does not fit even though the
number matches the one shown in the parts list. The solution: Phone Sears and
speak to a service technician. A clerk informed me that such calls are no
longer free. After a long discussion, the technician said he could not offer
any recommendation other than to hire one of their service personnel to come
fix my machine.
“Do you want me to schedule him?”
“No thanks. I can pay for this phone
call or a service call, not both.”
The clothes dryer is now making
horrible noises. No one seems to know why. A Sears repairperson could possibly
fix both the dryer and the washer. Perhaps we should buy new appliances, or not
bother to wash and dry our clothes for a spell.
Our marble-topped coffee table, after
standing up nicely for the past forty years, decided to tip over, breaking two
of its four wooden legs in the process. No one claims responsibility for the
collapse. It just rather happened, like the way the USSR dissolved. Maybe the
legs had bone spurs. After replacing them, I risked getting a hernia trying to
put its marble top back atop. It measures 42" in diameter, 3/4"
thick, and weighs tons.
I subscribed to the Arizona Theater
Company ‘96-‘97 season, but failed to list the show dates on my computerized
calendar. Conflicts arose with other theater dates. This caused Angie and me to
miss seeing two shows, which rather displeased her. The savings we enjoyed by
purchasing season tickets seem to have evaporated.
My kids bought me a new computer desk
for Christmas. It required two days for me to assemble it. The old oak desk it
replaced weighed a ton, but the new one is both heavier and more awkward to
handle. I again risked getting a hernia while moving it to my upstairs office.
Our microwave oven cooks bacon to
perfection. Unfortunately, the glass tray cracked the other day while heating a
few slices. A parts store quoted me a price of $98 for a new tray. This did not
compare favorably with the $100 it cost when we bought the oven, complete with
tray. It’s back to fried bacon.
If this brief outline of my trivial
complaints has not filled your plate with compassion for me, then I suggest you
look up my web page on the Internet at www.grumpyoldguy. There you will find an
unabridged version of each of my woeful complaints. I’d like to update this
page, but my computer is currently kaput.
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