Maybe Now We Can Move On to a Flip House

Hick sent me another picture of his work office on Sunday evening. He was supposedly stopping by the senior apartments to take the trash out from the trash room to the dumpster. Yet he ended up on the third floor in his office.

"This is what I brought up when I took The Pony home on Thursday."

Looks like it's some of Hick's St. Louis Cardinals memorabilia. You know, just something totally unrelated to all the other themes he has going on. I guess it goes along with his silver Budweiser Clydesdale in the clear box.

You'd think somebody so involved with decorating this former half-storage-room might have chosen a better board for his shelf. Give it a clear coat at least. It looks like a cast-off board from the trim pile. At least it's the same color as the couch wood, and the other shelf, and the bare plywood around the window air conditioner.

I hope Hick has this office out of his system now. He let slip the date of the next board meeting (the reason he gave for getting this office ready), and it's the middle of AUGUST! I don't get the urgency.

Anyhoo... Hick said he was going by Cheap House on Monday morning (around 6:15 when he left home), to get some work done on the floor before it got too hot. I'm calling the office done!

You Say Tomato, I Say TINO

Hick's Freebie Magnet was pulling last week. He came home with three tomatoes. 

"I've got tomatoes. A guy gave them to me down at my shop."

"Are they home-grown? Or the kind like from the store, that some people get a deal on and sell at a farmer's market."

"I don't know. He didn't say. He just gave me three tomatoes."

When I set them on the counter, I was suspicious.

"These look too smooth to be home-grown. And really clean. I guess I'll find out when I slice one."

Later that night, I had my answer. The tomatoes were definitely store-bought adjacent. Firm inside, not many seeds, a lot of that pulp stuff. NO TASTE! If I had been fed a piece while blindfolded, I would never have guessed it was a tomato. Or course I ate that tomato anyway. I'm not one to waste a free tomato!

I had another one a couple days later. This one remains. I will offer it to Hick tonight, but will probably end up having it myself tomorrow. I don't think that guy was trying to pass them off as home-grown. I think he was just being generous. Maybe had more tomatoes than he needed.

I say this was a TINO. Tomato in name only.

I Don't Think It's Happening

Back in the middle of June, Hick said he told Realtor Guy that he'd be ready to list Lap House in one-and-a-half months. That would be around the first week of August. I really don't believe this will happen. Hick has done NOTHING on Lap House. Despite the electricity being hooked up on June 19th. At the time Hick shared this info with me, I got the impression he also thought Cheap House would be ready to list. 

I can't fault Hick for not working on Cheap House. The heat has been terrible, and there's no air conditioning at Cheap House. The 10-day forecast shows more incredible heat. The heat index hovering around 104 for a couple days, then 111 on Tuesday! With more days of 104 through the end of July. 

I understand that weather happens. That's why I told Hick to get the outside of Lap House done first, so he could be working inside during the heat of summer and cold of winter. The first thing he did (besides cleaning out that basement) was to have the new HVAC installed. Lap House is a safe environment for inside work. This is where I fault Hick. For wanting to make an office at the senior apartments, and put a new roof on one of his themed sheds, and make trips to the city to buy "collectibles," and spending days besides Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at his SUS2.5.

Hick has always been a hard worker. It's his attention span that causes issues. He always needs five or six projects to flit between, with none of them getting full attention. Or finished.

Hick said he met with his roofing guy on Friday evening, about Lap House. He's thinking of just replacing the part of the roof with loose shingles, because the back of the house roof looks good.

At least that's a step in the right direction, even IF this is not actual work done by Hick. And even if it will probably be too hot for the roofers to work over the next couple weeks. I'm a little suspicious because Hick didn't elaborate on the estimate or exactly what will be done. And he only mentioned this meeting when I questioned why he was home later than usual without notifying me.

I would bet my casino bankroll that neither Lap House, nor Cheap House, will be ready for listing by the first week of August.

The Return of the OPC

Hick and The Pony carried my OPC (Old People Chair) up those 13 rail-less steps from the basement on Thursday. We are rearranging our living room. I have not used my OPC since my Unfortunate HospitVALzation back in January 2022. At first I was too weak to take those stairs. Then the state of my knees made me leery of falling.

Anyhoo... I now have my OPC in the living room, against the wall where Hick's recliner used to reside. Then there's the table next to it. And now Hick's recliner. The short couch that used to be in that place is under the living room window. It looks a little cramped over there, at a right angle to the long couch, with the coffee table now in front of the short couch.

I told Hick that maybe we should get rid of the short couch, and put in two of his "dentist chairs," the ones shown in his new office at the senior apartments. Sometimes you just want a nice sturdy cushioned chair to sit on, rather than a soft couch or a recliner. Such a chair is easier for me to arise from than a couch, since it's not as low. Same with Hick's recliner. I didn't sit in it, because it's lower, and my knees don't like to bend enough to get my feet under me to stand up. At least my OPC has that tilt thingy.

My OPC has a backup battery. That's great. I don't want to be trapped like a turtle on its back if the power goes off. I only had to make use of that once, back when the OPC was in the basement. Down there, my OPC controller was on a lamp table to my right, where the backup battery and wall outlet were. Now the outlet and battery are on my left. The cord runs under the OPC, and comes up on the right. Hick had it lying on the table between our chairs. 

I'm afraid that remote might drag off the back of the table, and fall where I can't reach it. So I set it in a little box of assorted stuff I keep on the table. Like pens, chapstick, bandaids, a nail file, a thermometer, etc. Stuff that should have a home of their own, but are more convenient to have right there.

Anyhoo... I mentioned to Hick that I was keeping the OPC remote there, to make sure it didn't fall down. Hick said haughtily...

"There's a pocket on the side of your chair to keep the remote in." 

Because, you know, he's the one who's been sitting in my OPC occasionally when he goes to the basement to watch the big screen TV.

I moved as if to reach my right hand down to that pocket. 

"Well. The only problem is that THERE'S A TABLE UP AGAINST MY CHAIR." 

I couldn't even fit a fingertip between them. Not that it matters. I don't need the table and Hick's recliner moved over. I'm fine with my remote sitting in that little box. It's just that Hick thinks he knows everything! And was trying to make me feel less-than by pointing out the (inaccessible) pocket.

That's a bold attitude from a guy who doesn't even know how to slice a baked potato.

Hick's Eclectic Office

Hick says he's almost finished decorating his office at the senior apartments. It IS looking more like an office. Though again, I'm not sure what KIND of office. Nothing about it screams "Manager, Senior Apartments." I don't even hear a whisper.

The desk is the most "office-y" thing in there. And the printer. Hick THINKS it's a printer. He says it makes copies, so it should print. His laptop is being worked on by The Pony, so not on his desk. There's his surveillance monitor. Maybe so he can see his Harem coming! I'm surprised by the bare wires up in the corner. Hick usually runs all his wire in conduit. Then again, he's been in a rush to get this office done. He says he doesn't like the desk, and might look for another one. Used, of course!

I see the air conditioner has been installed. That's a nice mirror, but I'm not sure how one could look into it without standing on the couch. Which is not new, but was in a storeroom. Perhaps the one from which Hick made this office! As for the knick-knacks on the shelves, I see a gigantic squirrel terroizing some Model A era vehicles. And above, there are a couple of Mr. Peanuts, and a duo of Uncle Sams!

Now we're back to the first wall that Hick showed us a couple days ago. He's added a mini fridge. The chairs came from the set Hick got when a dentist's office closed. I think they look comfortable. I'd like to have one here at home. Looks good for a sturdy chair to sit and read a book. The table is from the rich guy's house where Hick is eventually going to get the cabinets. 

I think it's a bright, cheery office space to have a meeting. Hick has done a nice job here. Though I would have preferred his energy and time go into one of our TWO flip houses. 

I Think It's the Mark of a Psycho

Hick may be a genius with machines and construction, savvy at business, and pretty good with people skills. But nobody's perfect. Hick has a deficiency in common sense. He can barely prepare his own plate for supper.

Last night it was boneless/skinless chicken breast, stuffing, and a baked potato. Let the record show that Hick was offered slaw and a sliced tomato and salad, but declined. He said he wanted sour cream and cheese on his baked potato. This was a breeze for me to prepare, because we'd already had the chicken the day before, and the stuffing. We ran out of corn on the cob, so I offered the baked potato. All I had to do was warm chicken and stuffing in the oven, and microwave the potato.

A normal person would probably be able to come to kitchen and put that food on a plate without issue. No need for Val to hover over a normal person, micromanaging. But with Hick, it's different. Hick is not a normal person. I set out his plate (in this case, the yellow cafeteria tray) and silverware (including his precious paring knife), and the sour cream container with a designated spoon, and a bowl of shredded cheddar (because Hick is likely to reach an unwashed hand into the bag if I don't).

I stood by, with helpful suggestions, heh, heh.

"Do you want a longer knife to cut open your potato?"

"No. This little one is just fine."

Hick sliced the potato in half. You might think that sounds completely normal. You'd be wrong. Hick did not slice the potato lengthways, as every baked-potato-eater in the history of the world has done since the beginning of potatoes and knives. No. Hick sliced that potato across the middle. Like you might have two halves of a soft-boiled egg in two egg cups. 

WHAT KIND OF PSYCHO DOES THAT?

"Why in the world would you slice a baked potato like that? How are you going to put your cheese and sour cream on it?"

"I know what I'm doing, Val. I just don't do it the way you want me to do it."

Hick then cut down the middle of each potato half. They were in a V shape.

"I don't know how you think your cheese and sour cream are going to stay on the potato. Here! At least do THIS." I pulled the halves apart so they laid flat. "Wait. Why are you putting the sour cream on first?"

"It don't matter which I do first."

"Okay. Do the sour cream. It will get hot, and the shredded cheese will stay cold on top of the sour cream."

Hick put down the spoon. Picked up the bowl of shredded cheddar, grabbed handfuls, and dropped the clumps onto his potato quarters. THEN added the sour cream on top. I could tell he was totally confused by this concept of letting the cheese melt on the hot potato.

Baby steps. I'm trying to ease Hick into the world of normal food prep. Because I'm a giver like that. Hick is not a very good taker.

It shouldn't bother me how Hick fills his plate. He's an adult. He wants to eat in the living room. I don't have to watch. I could just as well dump everything into a portable trough and Hick would do just fine. But I keep trying to polish Hick into a normal-adjacent eater.

Weirdo Goes A-Grabbin', Uh Huh

Don't worry about Val's Weirdo Magnet losing power as she ages. That magnet is as charged as ever. Weirdos just can't help themselves. Like moths to flames, dogs to bones, and flies to doodoo, weirdos cannot resist Val's charms. Even an innocuous act such as strolling past them results in Val having a weirdo interaction.

Monday I went into Country Mart on my way home from leg therapy. The sole purpose was to get scratchers out of the two lottery machines up front. There was a cart beside the building when I parked way down at the end in the second handicap space. I pushed it inside. Doing a good deed, you know. Plus I would have it to lean on if I had to wait. The lottery machines here are popular, and they also regularly stall out and force the money-putter-inner to wait until the machine darn well decides it's ready to respond.

Indeed, there was a lady buying tickets at the far machine. Nobody at the near one, though a young adult chubby man was playing the adjacent grabber machine. A thin blond woman had almost rammed me with an empty cart as I entered the second set of sliding glass doors. She was returning it to the carts in the between-doors area, which I planned to do with my good deed on my way out.

Turns out Blondie was with the Grabber Kid. I THINK! She came back and was giving him advice on where to steer those floating tongs. I scanned three winners into the lottery machine, and selected my tickets. Blondie had come up behind me.

"Can you believe they have so few one-dollar tickets in here? They used to have a lot more."

I didn't know if she was talking to me. I figured she might have been saying it to Grabber Kid. The lady at the other machine moved away, and I pushed my empty cart over there to get some tickets. Blondie was following me. So I guess she was talking to ME.

"Well. I hear they're going to do away with the $3 tickets like this little crossword. Maybe they're cutting down the dollar tickets, too."

I stepped up to the lottery machine and put in my money. Blondie moved from my left shoulder to my right shoulder. 

"And look at these! Can you believe people actually buy these $50 tickets? I mean, I understand the prizes are bigger. But only if you win. I could buy groceries with that $50." 

As Blondie was blabbering, she reached up to point at the $50 tickets, and touched the screen. Which popped up the picture of that $50 ticket, with choices for how many to select. I had a flashback to an Oklahoma casino where an old lady walked up and pushed the SPIN button on my slot machine, and I slapped her hand. I refrained from touching Blondie, but I was not pleased with her behavior.

"Oh. Sorry. I don't buy tickets out of machines. I didn't mean to do that."

A LIKELY STORY!

I was annoyed, but not worried that she would "accidentally" buy a $50 ticket. That was impossible, because I only had $20 in the machine. Still, Blondie was persona non grata. I gave her my teacher stink-eye, and she walked back to the grabber machine.

I'm really not so sure Blondie was with that Grabber Kid. A young woman came from the register with a cart of groceries, and asked how he was doing, and he said he'd already fed that machine three dollars. Maybe Blondie was just hanging out, giving him "advice."

Weirdos gonna weirdo.

Teach Your Children. Well...

I got my rightful handicap parking space at Save A Lot on Sunday. It's next to the cart return, which was full. I grabbed a cart/walker and headed across the drive towards the door. They are the automatic type glass doors that swing open when you get close.

A 30-something man came out the exit door, pushing his cart full of groceries. A little girl bopped along behind him. She looked about 7-8 years old. She trailed along slowly, watching me. I suppose it's because I'm old. I'd say the way I walk, but I was leaning on the cart, so my stride was fairly normal.

Her eyes widened. "Are you going in?"

"Uh huh."

Little Girl stepped over to the entrance door, to trip the eye and make it open. The dad was not having it.

"Sis! Come on! It's an automatic door."

"Thank you!" I said.

Little Girl ducked her head with pride. Then scampered off to join her disgruntled dad. I suppose she learned her manners from her mom.

That dad is what my students called a "fun-sucker." Somebody who sucks the fun out of any situation. What harm did it do to let Little Girl do something nice, and enjoy making that magic door open?

Narrow Miss

Backroads dodged a weather bullet last week. Rain and storms were in the forecast, but we only got 2-3 inches, and the timing allowed part of the water to flow away, with a lull before the rest arrived. Our neighbors 50 miles to the south were not so lucky. It's been all over the news here, and I've even seen it on international news.

Iron and Reynolds counties got over 12 inches of rain in 24 hours. Supposedly that happens once in a millennium, or every 1000 years. Over 350 people had to be evacuated, some by National Guard helicopters. People had to cling to roofs, trees, and car tops waiting for rescue. This was around Black River, near Lesterville. The only death I heard about was a woman washed away in Crawford County, near the Huzzah Creek. I know that area, having driven through there twice a day when working in Steelville.

Anyhoo... kudos to the rescuers who risked their own lives carrying these people to safety! Water is nothing to sneeze at. We are fortunate that this weather steered south of us, and that our hillbilly mansion sits on high ground above our creek. We have a high bridge over Big River, and know not to drive into water flowing over the two low-water bridges we cross to get to town. The water did not rise even halfway to the bridges this time.

We were prepared in case it did. Sometimes you just have to sit tight until the water goes down. Our southern neighbors did not have that option. It's such a relief they are safe.

Business Is Business

Hick came home from his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) on Saturday with a story.

"This old guy come in and asked me if I knew anybody named Beans. I said yeah, I did. That I'd had an uncle named Beans. The guy talked about him a while. He had a gun [which Hick is legally licensed to buy and sell] he wanted to sell or trade, and said he bought it from Beans years ago. From the details in his story about the time and other people he knew, I was sure he really DID get that gun from my Uncle Beans. I traded him for it. Then I called my cousin to tell her.

Cousin always talked about how her dad Beans had told her that he got his guns from his dad when he died. And Beans said that when HE died, Cousin would inherit his guns. But when Beans died, Cousin's stepmom gave all of Beans's guns to HER son. And Cousin didn't get a single one.

I told her about this guy. She asked if he was kind of loud. I said yeah. I looked up his name in my book when Cousin got here, and she said that she knew of that guy being friends with her dad. I said I couldn't guarantee that it was one of her dad's inherited guns, but I was pretty sure it was a gun that he had, that had belonged to him in some way or another. She was really happy to get it."

"What kind was it?"

"A Browning [something number] [something action] double barrel--"

"That means nothing to me! I only wanted to know if it was a rifle or pistol or shotgun. So it was a shotgun?"

"Yeah. A double-barrel shotgun. In great condition, it would be worth $1550. I told Cousin I was asking $950 for it, but I'd sell it to her for $800. She said that was fair. She was thrilled to get something that belonged to her dad."

"That's a nice story. I'm glad she got it."

"And I still made a profit. I only had $525 in it with the trade."

Well. Hick IS a businessman. He's not a charity. So I wouldn't expect him to just GIVE his cousin an item like that. As long as they were both happy, I guess it was a good deal.

Because Two Flip Houses, a Business, and Apartment-Managing Can't Keep Hick Busy

Nothing is being done on the flip houses. Cheap House has no air conditioning, so Hick can't replace parts of the floor in 105-degree heat. Lap House has a new HVAC system. Hick SAYS he plans to start moving walls in it. But first, he HAD to get his office finished. His office at the senior apartments, where he's paid just over $300 a month.

Hick already has an office in the apartment building. But he divided a 14 x 30 storage room so he could have a 14 x 15 office. He built a wall. Put in a door. Painted. Decorated.

I'm confused. This does not look like the office of an apartment manager to me. Maybe somebody who works for the DMV. Or a big game hunter. Or the leader of a NASCAR pit crew. I asked Hick.

"DECORATING, Val! I had to decorate it. I don't want a plain office. So I brought some of my stuff from home."

"Do you have a desk?"

"YES! I have a desk. But I haven't moved it in from my old office. I moved the fan and the couch. I've been trying to get it ready before our board meeting in three weeks."

"Why do you have a board meeting in YOUR office?"

"Because it will be too hot in the hall, Val! My office is air conditioned!"

"Where did you get that?"

"It was in the storage room. My boss said I could go buy one, but I think this one will work. I haven't tried it yet."

So let's think about this. Hick can't work in a house that doesn't have AC. But he can build a wall and put in a door and paint and hang a fan and decorate an office without AC, on the third floor of a brick apartment building...

Don't get me wrong. I don't want Hick working in the heat. AT ALL. His logic isn't logic-ing with me. Anyhoo... Hick has a new office. Filled with his treasures. And he PLANS to start working in Lap House until the weather cools off to finish Cheap House.

Something Fishy Here

I love sardines. Specifically sardines in mustard sauce. Not all brands. The one I prefer is Beach Cliff. I find them at 10Box. The mustard has just the right tang. Sometimes you can get a batch that is skimpy on the mustard. But always, the can has been full of robust sardines, arranged edge to edge, end to end. Packed in like sardines, heh, heh!

Over the past couple weeks, I have encountered Beach Cliff sardines that don't live up to the previous standards. They are anorexic sardines. They practically have room to swim around in that can!

I suppose it's the Beach Cliff version of shrinkflation. The extra mustard sauce and oil fulfill the weight listed on the cans.

Oh, I still eat them! I'm not crazy. I love sardines. They can be polarizing. Hick hates them, because he used to work with an old guy who ate them for lunch every day. Then Hick had to smell the guy's breath as they moved furniture around and maintained the knife blade factory.

I really wish my sardines came packed in like sardines again. Otherwise there might be a shift in how we describe crowded things. Perhaps... "Crammed in like superfluous words in Val's bloated blog posts."

Backroads Picker

After Hick finished his 4th of July feast, he became restless. I suppose he feels obligated to sit at the table until I finish. A situation which could be partially remedied by waiting until I sit down before he buries his nose in the trough. Anyhoo... Hick can never be still. 

"I think I have something in my tooth," he announced, while poking assorted fingers far enough into his mouth to tickle his uvula.

"Dad. Do you want me to get you a toothpick?" Despite not living here, The Pony knows where to find the toothpicks. Which Hick, a 29-year resident, does not.

"Yeah. Get me one."

Then commenced the prospecting with a flexible plastic toothpick. Finally, Hick announced success.

"There it is. It's something black. I think it's a filling! One of them I got not too long ago."

"You mean the three you got in one day, that cost $1000?"

"Yeah. One of them. I'll have to go by the dentist tomorrow."

Hick must be very special. His dentist got him in Monday afternoon, and put a filling in his tooth. Hick did not reveal whether it was one of the recent fillings that failed. [I'm thinking it was old, because of the color of what fell out. These days they use resin, which isn't black/silver.] He gave me the bill. It was $300. It WOULD have been $325 with the x-ray, but because Hick paid "cash," it was discounted to $300.

The discount seemed odd to me. Hick used the debit card to pay. Which is technically like cash. But many businesses charge EXTRA for any type of card payment. I suppose Hick's dentist is happy to get paid all at once, immediately, rather than take a chance on a payment plan, or a check.

Knowing Hick and his contacts, I'm surprised he doesn't have a "tooth guy" in his stable of tradesmen, to do such work for cheap.

The Feast of Thevictorians

We had our 4th of July cookout on July 5th. That was to accommodate Hick, who wanted to spend time in his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) on Saturday. AND Sunday. We got a later start than our usual cookouts, which have Hick grilling by 3:00. It didn't really matter, because it's not like we had any pressing engagements. The Pony and I had made the potato salad and deviled eggs on Saturday, then the baked beans on Sunday around 1:00. So the sides were ready and waiting for Hick to finish the main course(s).

There's Hick's plate. I know he also had a bratwurst, so he must be holding it, or had already eaten it when The Pony got this picture. I know they were chowing down as I was still filling my tray, and asked if anybody took pictures for me. You can see Hick already bit off half a deviled egg. That's about 2/3 of a BBQ pork steak. Notice he chose his own cutlery, that being my Pioneer Woman ceramic knife. Which is a paring knife. Not exactly meant for meat. We have plenty of other more suitable knives.

The Pony's plate looks like a crime scene! I don't know what was going on there. Maybe the Smokehouse Swiss bratwurst was laid in the round section before being placed on the bun? The bun which is mangled nearly beyond recognition! The Pony doesn't like pork steaks. And I'm pretty sure more that half a deviled egg was loaded on that tray.

I wanted a variety. I also added a sliced Vidalia onion and a dill pickle spear. Half a bratwurst was enough. And I need extra BBQ sauce for dipping. Please excuse my own paring knife! It's allowed, of course, because I'm quirky like that. I also prefer the smaller "salad" fork, rather than a regular fork.

Dessert was mainly for Hick, because The Pony is cutting back, and I prefer real food rather than sweets. He had storebought oatmeal/raisin soft cookies, and a long apple pie danish. 

The food was good. The pork steak was a bit chewy, but the other half I had the next night was just fine. The Pony took home a few days' worth of leftovers. We are still feasting.

Val Is Almost Killed With Kindness: Weirdo Edition

The magnet is hummin'! Weirdos are on me like Ty Beanie Baby flies on Ty Beanie Baby Poop! Val's Weirdo Magnet was supercharged on Monday.

I was on the parking lot at leg therapy, killing the last few minutes before I had to go inside and stake out a chair in the waiting room. It's tight quarters there, and I always back into the last handicap space on the front row. Otherwise it's hard to back up and maneuver T-Hoe when leaving. 

A man (WEIRDO) came out the door. I have not seen him there before, though I go twice a week, since the beginning of May. He was a lanky fellow, in jeans, tan t-shirt, and a trucker cap. He could have passed for early 20s if you didn't see his face. Which made him appear to be 45-50. He wandered. Bending over to look in a ditch at the end of the lot. Then just standing. Peering down the road. Pacing back and forth across the six lower spaces, preventing entering cars from parking there. It was 90 degrees. It seemed like odd behavior. I guess he was waiting on somebody to be done with an appointment. He finally went back inside.

The lot had filled up sooner than usual this day. I headed inside to claim a chair. Let the record show that there are two glass doors at the entrance. The door on the left is automatic. Not that it opens with a sensor. Just that once you pull to enter, the door opens itself, then closes. I had used this door on the very first visit. It started closing before I was all the way across the threshold. I tried to hold it with my arm, which had no effect. I hurried myself in before it slammed me in the back. I'm not a good hurrier.

Anyhoo... now that I know about that automatic door, I avoid it. I was walking past it to reach for the regular manual door. I could see Weirdo standing inside, peering out. Then THE AUTOMATIC DOOR STARTED OPENING! Weirdo had pushed on it to "help" me.

I was directly in front of that door. I didn't have my cane, since I know the layout now, and only need to walk inside and sit down. I am not sure-footed. I cannot move fast. I couldn't get out of the way of that opening door! It hit me on the left shoulder! I was able to lean and grab at the regular door, and avoid being swept backward by the automatic door.

"Hey! That hit my shoulder!"

"Oh, no. I'm sorry!"

"It's okay. There's a reason I avoid that door! I can't move fast enough to get through it! Or get away from it, apparently."

"I'm really sorry."

"I'm all right. Don't worry about it."

Of course there was half a waiting room full of people watching my misfortune. At least I didn't fall on the concrete sidewalk, which was the concern of my occupational therapist when I told her about my encounter.

Hick says there must be some way to stop that door when it's in motion. He saw it with his own eyes when he took me to the first appointment. Yet he still couldn't figure out how to stop it. You'd think this would be some kind of OSHA violation! At least half the people who go here have a cane or walker or limp, or are young children coming for speech or behavioral issues.

I really wish people would take a break from "helping" me when I'm out and about...

Hick's Harem Should Not Open a Detective Agency

Some members of Hick's Harem can be a little snoopy. The one whose bedroom door was blocked by a slipper, necessitating a Sunday night phone call to Hick, is the head snooper. I don't see a late-life career as a private investigator in her future. She may be good at snooping out evidence (except for her own slipper keeping her bedroom door from closing), but she misses glaringly obvious clues (like her own slipper keeping her bedroom door from closing).

Hick had another story about her on Friday.

"I had bought a stove for the apartment we've been working on. I brought it from Lowe's, and me and Old Buddy put it in the upstairs hall until we're ready to put it in next week. It's still in the box. I wrote a note and put on it that I brought in this box to work on the apartment. I signed my name on it. Just so the people would know what was going on. Then that goofy gal calls me, and says, 'Somebody left a big box in here in the hall!' I had to tell her it was fine, that I put it there. I don't know how she didn't see the note right on it."

Yeah. You wouldn't want somebody randomly leaving a stove in a box. What kind of psycho prankster would do such a thing!

The way this gal operates, it wouldn't surprise me if she called Hick to report that NOBODY HAS LEFT ANYTHING IN THE HALL! And of course the best time to report it would be on a Friday, Saturday, or Sunday night.

Not Sure What Statement Is Being Made Here

On Errand Day Thursday, The Pony went into the post office lobby with me to buy stamps. Prices are going up soon, you know! I always chat with the counter clerk, who is a nice guy who invests in silver coins like The Pony. I ask him for pictures of his toddler, who is a little mini-him. I was sad to see that he was not working this day.

As The Pony and I stood in line behind one person, I spotted something beside the register that was closed.

"Pony! What IS that?"

"It's poop."

"That's what I thought. But WHY would they have poop on the counter?"

"Well. You know what I've told you about this place..."

"Yeah. It can be a poop-show. Get me a picture of that! But why in the world would they put that on the counter? What are they trying to say?"

"Iontknow." With a shrug.

We chatted with the gal working the counter. We did NOT ask her about the poop.

No Tell-Tale Heart in There

Hick has been working on the floor of Cheap House. He's been doing it without the help of Old Buddy, who was at the ER on Monday, getting checked out. Nothing was found. He goes there pretty regularly. Maybe he's back working with Hick now. I think he helped at the apartments on Wednesday.

Anyhoo... Hick is shoring up a part of the floor outside the bathroom. It had water damage, and was sagging. Might have been from the roof leak. Hick cut out the damaged part to see what was going on. This is what he found, and sent me a text.

"Look what I found under the floor."

"That is weird."

"I'm guessing that was the original floor."

"Strange to leave a rug when putting a new floor down."

"It's actually linoleum but looks like a rug."

"The part cut out probably have to cut a little more to get it level."

I don't understand what went on here originally. Was there a step down to that area? Why was a new floor put over part of the other floor? Did it settle THAT MUCH to justify a patch over it several inches higher? Hick said there was no step. Maybe somebody just did a higher floor over a whole room. Or maybe the entire house has this built-up floor, but nothing else is damaged and sagging.

Looks like Hick put in some new floor joists. I think he just laid that top section on to check how level it was. The plan is to get the floor with no sagging, then put down the subfloor of plywood. No laminate flooring. That will be something the buying flipper can decide on.

Anyhoo... Hick has a portion of unlevel floor to fix in the kitchen, under where the cabinets used to be. The he might paint the new trim board around the new roof. After that, he says we'll put Cheap House on the market, and he'll start working on Lap House. 

Could Hick Be Responsible for Pizza Hut's Demise

I was surprised last week to hear of Pizza Hut's demise. It was just a local franchise, over in Bill-Paying Town. The first inkling was an overhead conversation in the waiting room of my physical therapy office. Two old guys were commenting on seeing the furniture sitting out front of Pizza Hut, with signs that tables were $10 each, and chairs $5.

Back home, I was reading the local online newspaper, and saw a picture of that furniture. Seems the employees had been called in the previous evening for a meeting about "new menu items," but were then told the store was closing, so not to come back. The situation continues to be a mystery. But because of the location of that very Pizza Hut, I was reminded of our last experience there.

It was the early 1990s. Hick and I were living in my $17,000 house. We had HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) and The (little future) Veteran for the weekend. They were probably 8 and 10 years old. Saturday evening, we went over to the Bill-Paying Town Pizza Hut for supper. There was a closer Pizza Hut, but they didn't have a liquor license. Hick (and I, at that time) enjoyed a beer with our pizza.

As you might imagine on a small-town Saturday night, Pizza Hut was busy. We were escorted by the waitress to the atrium area. Which was like a clear-sided long room with curved glass walls and ceiling, like a greenhouse. That was fine with us, being seated in a smaller crowd. Hick ordered a pitcher of beer, a pitcher of root beer, a supreme pizza, and a pepperoni pizza. And breadsticks. 

It took about 15 minutes to get the drinks and breadsticks. Not too big a deal, because we could see they were busy. We chatted and drank and ate. Then we waited. For a long time. Over an hour. Other people who came in after us had gotten their food. Some had already eaten and left. Our breasticks were long gone, our pitchers empty. We had run out of conversation, save complaining about not having our pizza. Hick had stopped servers a couple times, to ask why we weren't getting our pizzas. They said they'd check on it.

Hick is usually not one to make a scene. He has quite a bit of patience with slow restaurant service, though he might grumble about a perceived slight. Then just not leave a good tip, if he feels the server did not make an effort to explain or remedy the situation. Now he'd had enough.

"Put on your coats, boys. We're leaving."

"But we didn't get our pizza!"

"It don't look like we're ever gonna get our pizza! We're going somewhere else."

We traipsed up the two steps from the atrium into the main dining room. Across the counter towards the door. Hick stopped at the register.

"I want my bill. I'm leaving."

"All right, sir. What did you get?"

"I didn't get SH!T. I've been here an hour and a half, and never got my pizza! I wanna pay for breadsticks, a pitcher of beer, and a pitcher of soda."

The boys eyes were huge. They knew Hick had a boiling point, and it had been reached. I shuffled them towards the door. As the cold air hit my face, I heard the young guy at the register say, "That's okay, sir. No charge for that. Sorry about your wait."

Which was excellent customer service, after such poor service. He probably feared for his life, from the look in Hick's eye. 

We piled into the car, sobered from the long wait, and the situation. Hick drove back to our town, to the Pizza Inn. Where we used the bathrooms, and the boys played the two video games on the back wall, while we waited 20 minutes for our two carry-out pizzas.

I don't THINK Hick's tirade in the early 90s could have attributed to the closure of this Pizza Hut. But if their service that night was any indication of how the place continued to operate, I'm not shocked that it closed down 30 years later.

More Weekend Harem-ing

Monday evening, Hick told me: "I think you was right about them gals at the apartments. One of them called me last night. She said, 'My bedroom door won't close.'"

"Of course! It was the weekend! They always need you on the weekend."

"I told her, 'I'll be there on Wednesday morning.' I don't know what she could have done to it, but it's not an emergency."

"Heh, heh! She wants to get you in her bedroom!"

"I don't think so. Them women are from 50 years old to 88 years old."

"Is this the one who drinks?"

"No. It's the youngest one. She annoys everybody else because she's kind of a busybody. But really, she's good for them, because she checks up on everyone. I need to talk to her anyway. She's got cardboard over her windows, and she's on the front of the building. We can't have that. It makes the building look junky."

"Maybe she's trying to block out the sun. That side faces south. She probably gets sun all day, and it's been so hot."

"She has heavy curtains to block out the sun."

"Maybe she doesn't want anybody seeing you in her bedroom, heh, heh!"

Sometimes I think the Harem is taking that building apart, piece by piece, to find ways to get Hick over there when they are lonely. Like on the weekends.

**********************************************************************

UPDATE

Wednesday evening, Hick hollered to the kitchen to ask if I wanted to hear a funny story. Well, of course! 

"You know that lady who called me about her bedroom door? I went to look at it today. You know why it wouldn't close? There was a shoe caught in it!"

"How is that possible?"

"It was stuck in the jamb, keeping it from closing."

"Couldn't she see it?"

"The shoe was behind the door. But had got caught, and when she tried to close it, the shoe kept it from closing."

"What kind of shoe? How could she not notice?"

"It was some flat slipper shoe."

"What did she say when you told her?"

"Nothing. But it was good that I went anyway, because we had to fix her sink. It had a leak."

Funny how that lady never mentioned a sink leak. I guess that wouldn't achieve her purpose of GETTING HICK INTO HER BEDROOM!

The Manager Looks Forward to an Addition to Her Family; Thevictorians to an Addition to Their Savings

The Credit Union Gal called me back after about an hour, regarding my request for info on getting an additional 1% interest increase on our maturing CD. She started out by saying, 

"Well, I was partially right. I was telling you the requirements for opening a NEW CD."

That was a bit off-putting. It reminded me of the time I was helping an at-risk 8th-grader with her math, and she said I was wrong, and wanted a pass to see her math teacher to verify my wrongness. When she returned, she started off by saying, "ONE of us was right." Which was me, because I am perfectly capable of doing 8th-grade math.

Anyhoo... Credit Union Gal was really polite, so I didn't take issue with her attempt to save face. Even though I am perfectly capable of reading English, and what she said about a new CD STILL wasn't what was written on the credit union website, nor the printed program from the annual dinner.

Credit Union Gal apologized for taking so long to return my call. She said the maternity-leave manager with all the info had been IN A DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT. At least she wasn't in labor! 

Credit Union Gal said she could cash out our CDs, and open the new ones. There would be no 30-day wait. Just walk in, and she'd do it right then. However... she suggested waiting until Wednesday, because there was a board meeting Tuesday night, and she didn't know if interest rates might increase. So she wanted us to get the best rate possible.

I said what if the interest rate WENT DOWN? Credit Union Gal said she didn't expect it. And not to worry, because she already had permission to give us the current rate, even IF rates went down. Also, she thought she could give us the 1% increase on BOTH CDs. I reminded her that the program stated it was only for ONE certificate. She said she would do both, and if that wasn't allowed, she would make sure the CD with the most money got the increase. Hick says we got it on both last year, so it might be possible.

Anyhoo... I thanked Credit Union Gal for going to the trouble to check on it for me. She even offered to call me on Wednesday morning, to tell me the new interest rate, but I said Hick would be coming in that day anyway, so no need.

I'm really glad I called ahead and got this matter straightened out. Otherwise, Hick would have gone in and been cheated out of our 1% interest increase. Or more likely, have become cantankerous and made a scene. Like that one time, in Pizza Hut... but that's a story for another day. Or never.