You may recall that Val doesn't ask for much. Just a reliable vehicle to drive to town every day for scratchers, a couple hours in the afternoon/evening to scratch, and a Reuben once a month. Nothing extravagant. No jewels or fancy clothes or designer shoes or lavish vacations. She's a simple gal, our Val.
Tuesday started off well enough, though I was a bit worried about Hick on his trip down into the bootheel to pick up his FREE lawnmower ramp on his trailer. Temps were up into the low 50s by the time I left for town, so that was an improvement.
I had gone about a mile on our county blacktop road when I encountered my first obstacle. A white utility truck parked on my side of the road, blocking my lane. A man was in a lift, fiddling with a wire that ran across the road. There were two or three other white trucks parked in the field and driveway. I was able to squeeze T-Hoe past the lift truck, feeling like I had two tires on a tightrope where the road dropped off. At least I could see that no traffic was coming along that stretch. I immediately thought of Hick, returning with his trailer. And then the school bus, which was due in about 10 minutes. Odd that the workers did not have a flag man, or cones set up.
I couldn't call the school bus, but I DID call Hick. Just as soon as I got over the low water bridge and back up the hill where I had phone service.
"Hey, where are you? There are electric trucks working here by the Best Compound (our name for that property, with its row of mailboxes and several families.) You might want to come in the other way, because I don't think you can get your trailer past them without running it off the road."
Hick was almost back to the area of his SUS2.5, and had a couple other errands. He thought they might be gone by the time he came home. I said I'd update him on my return. Which took longer than expected, with my other obstacles.
A red truck was parked in my rightful handicap space at the Gas Station Chicken Store, also taking up half the FREE AIR space. It had handicap plates, so just beat me to it. Which didn't make my walk inside any shorter.
When I left by the back alley, a local can opener factory had just let out, so the road was blocked from traffic backed up from the stoplight.
I finally got the liquor store where I wanted to buy crossword scratchers, but I saw a little girl holding the door open with her back, a tray of something she was selling draped across her forearms. No thank you! I don't appreciate such strong-arm tactics. That store is not a place for a tweenage girl!
I left the Liquor Store to buy my tickets at the 10Box machine instead. Where all the handicap spaces were taken. At least a space at the far left end was open, so I could park with assurance that T-Hoe's door would not be blocked when I returned.
After these five uncommon deterrents to my simple scratcher-buying trip, I breathed a sigh of relief and headed home with my tickets. It's only a 10-minute drive. I heard my phone, but it was an email, not a text, so I figured it was nothing important and didn't check. From the hill above the bridge, I could see that the utility trucks were gone. Once I got back over the bridge, I called Hick to let him know the coast was clear.
"Hey, the electric trucks are gone now. You can get by."
No sooner had I disconnected than I rounded a curve and saw a white lift truck parked in my lane! There was more room to get around here, because of somebody else's driveway. I rounded a sharp curve, and saw ANOTHER white truck parked on my side. And a yellow little gadget that looked like a wood splitter. Huh. I went around, and saw that the side of the truck said SPECTRUM. That's the local cable company. I guess maybe it had been them all along, and not the electric company.
I figured Hick could get by them with his trailer. So I didn't try to call back, since I was approaching our mailbox area down by the creek, where I lose phone service again. I was home within five minutes. It was now almost 4:00. My little dog Jack ran around back of the garage to greet me. I pushed the garage door opener.
IT DIDN'T OPEN!
That's really nothing new. For YEARS I have been telling Hick that I need a battery, or a new opener. I'm sure that comes as a surprise to you, heh, heh. Sometimes it takes 3 or 4 tries. Or 7 or 8. I crept closer and closer. Tapped that opener. Turned it in all directions. NOTHING! Why can't I have nice things? The other door, for A-Cad, always opens with the first push of the opener.
Though you may know me as a chaste dainty lady, Val has the ability to express herself like an outraged sailor. I made use of that skill then. Poor little Jack. I had to explain that it was HICK who was the subject of my X-rated rant, and not he.
The perfect end to a perfect hour, right? I stomped across the carport, over the rutted gravel, under the carport where SilverRedO is usually parked, with the three dog holes dug into the gravel, across the uneven Hick-laid-brick sidewalk, to the people door of the garage. Where I reached in and pushed the doorbell-like button to open my garage door.
NOTHING HAPPENED!
Well, great. The whole garage door must be bad. But wait! The lights weren't lit up in the doorbell-like buttons.
VAL WAS POWERLESS! To be continued...
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