YOU Tell ME

Somebody's sellin', and I ain't buyin' it!

Here we go again. Another period of extra scammers who are trying to test Val's patience. I don't know who's responsible for doling out my phone and email like cheap candy on October 31st. 

Every night (technically early morning) between 12:00 and 1:00 a.m., I get an email from some gal with an insurance agency wanting me to remember to DocuSign a form. No thank you, Ma'am. Even though it's a company with which we do flip house business, it is not in your state, and you are not our agent. Also, my name is not Robert. And why can't you at least operate during standard business hours?

This Robert guy must be forking out money all over the place. I get emails saying that a car dealership has not received the documents he was supposed to send them. That's in South Carolina. Maybe it's about his insurance, heh, heh!

Anyhoo... I also get calls, which are easier to ignore. If I don't answer, I don't wonder what it's all about. There's one number that keeps calling. It's from my supplemental health insurance. I know, because sometimes they leave a message telling me to call them back.

AS IF! Now the dang telemarketers want ME to do THEIR work! After so many years of actually answering, only to find out they want to push some "benefit" like mail order prescriptions, and don't want to take NO for an answer... I quit wasting my time answering. Here's the thing, which I explained to them. I live a mile up a gravel road. I don't trust my 90 days of prescriptions to actually reach me when I need them. My mail is not secure. Anybody driving by can help themselves. 

Anyhoo... the health insurance company calls several times a day. Usually when I'm driving. They called early a couple days ago, before I left for town. I answered, my intention to tell them I was not interested, and to stop calling me.

"Hello? I'm with Your Health Insurance, and I'm calling to speak with Val Thevictorian."

"This is Val."

"I know that your birthdate is [Month/Day]. Can you please give me the year to verify your identity?"

"No. You have all the information. I shouldn't need to tell you."

"Well. I am required to ask you that to make sure I don't release any medical information to the wrong person."

"YOU called ME. So you already know that. I'm not giving out that information. What do you need to talk to me about?"

"I can't tell you that without verifying your identity."

"You send me statements in the mail, and offers and notices. Anybody could open them. I figure if it's something important, you can mail it to me. So I guess we're done talking, because I'm not giving you my birth year. No need to stay on the phone or call me again. You have a nice day."

A couple minutes later, I got an email about the Silver Sneakers program. The email didn't ask for my birth year. It was my LAST CHANCE to sign up and take online classes about moving my body.

Lap House MIGHT Get a Little Attention This Week

Hick said over the weekend that he planned to start working on Cheap House for three hours in the mornings, and Lap House for three hours in the afternoons. He broke the news to Old Buddy, who had said he was ready to get back to work.

Monday morning, I mentioned that I'd read the Chester, Illinois bridge was going to be demolished. Hick has taken this bridge many times in his travels. It's about an hour away from here. His ears perked up.

"That would be something to see!"

He googled, and found out it would be happening that morning. Not convenient for him, though I suspect if I'd told him about it the night before, he would have gone.

Tuesday, Hick and Old Buddy went to the city, to pick up the laundry room cabinets from the rich guy's kitchen renovation. Did he do laundry in the kitchen, I wonder? Anyhoo... Hick was home by 2:00. So the flippin' plans were not realized that day.

Here it is Wednesday, as I type. Hick forgot his phone at home, and came out to get it around 10:00. Then he was headed back to the Senior Center for lunch. I'm trying to figure out when all this work is getting done

Hick DID send me some pictures from inside Lap House, after the hired carpenter guy's $1000 job. Hick said he had two helpers.

Hick even labeled the pictures for me, since I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'! This used to be the living room at the front of Lap House. It's being converted to a bedroom. There's the front door. That inset area is going to be the closet in the bedroom. Hick said the hall by the door/closet area is 36 inches, and past that, it widens to over four feet. You can see the framing for the bedroom door.

This isn't even a whole wall! Just shims so the wall is not off-kilter when the drywall is put up. It's a 1920s house, and not everything was square. This will be the new living room. You can see a sliver of the hall that leads to the front door. The white door is the entrance to the existing front bedroom.

The Viking gas stove from the rich guy's renovation is currently parked in the laundry closet that just got framed in. This is on the back wall of the house. In the living room.

It doesn't look like $1000 worth of work to me, seeing as how Hick bought the materials. But I suppose skilled help costs more than Hick's regular helpers.

Hopefully Hick will stick to his plan to work on both houses each day. I haven't gotten any new pictures as proof. These were from Sept 22, and work not even done by Hick. By the time you read this it will be at least Thursday. Another "work" week gone. The (three-day) weekends are devoted to the SUS2.5.

The FREEbie Magnet Pulls in More Treasure

The Pony and I need to keep close tabs on Hick, lest he fill up Lap House with FREEbies. The Viking gas stove from the rich guy's kitchen renovation is there now. And a few days ago, I found out Hick scored some more flip-worthy goods.

"There's this lady who eats lunch at the Senior Center. She said she had some paint that she wasn't going to use, and did I want it." [We all know that answer to that!]

"One of your Harem?"

"No. Just a lady."

"Why would she ask YOU if you wanted it?"

"She knows I do work like that. Her brother and sister-in-law gave her a bunch of paint about three years ago, thinking she would use it to have her house painted, inside and out. Her house really does need paint. The siding is dried out. It's not a money thing. She just don't want to deal with it. She said I could have it, if I'd come get it, just to get it out of her house."

"What color?"

"White. It's a LOT of paint. Way more than she would need. There are six 5-gallon buckets of paint! Only one of them had been opened. There wasn't much gone at all. Those buckets go for $250 to $280. So that's about $1500 worth of paint."

"Can you use it on the flip houses?"

"Yeah. There's plenty for more than two flip houses. I've got it in Lap House, so it don't get affected by the weather."

I hope Hick doesn't plan on buying more flip houses right now, just to use that paint!

The Pony is Hick's FREE-Loader

On my way to pick up The Pony last Thursday for Errand Day, I passed by the Beauty Shop. You know, the little house that was part of our Double Hovel flip. It's street is a shortcut to The Pony's house. Of course I always look at it, and silently (or not) berate the new owner for turning that cute little house into a workshop. It has looked the same since we sold it. Just unoccupied. So I've held out hope that he'd leave the little house alone. The hope was dashed on Thursday.

Sitting out front on the wooden handrail by the sidewalk was an object. At first, I thought it was the base of an old computer. Really old. Like maybe from an Apple 2e. Or an old dot-matrix printer. It was that same shade of tan. Maybe I should get new glasses. Or at least wear them when I'm driving.

Anyhoo, as I went by, I saw a sign on the object. FREE! 

By the time I had The Pony riding shotgun, on our way to Walmart, I realized what it was.

"Pony. I think there's a FREE range hood over at the Beauty Shop. We're going that way. Let's go by and make sure. I guess that guy is actually tearing out stuff to make his workshop. I wonder if Dad would want it. Text him and see."

The Pony did, and got an immediate response. "Sure. It's probably the one I just put in."

The object was still there, and it WAS a range hood. The Pony hopped out and got it. Put it in T-Hoe's rear. This family can't leave a perfectly good range hood sit around for somebody else to snatch!

Once home, I told Hick to get his range hood and put it somewhere else. He chose the back of the Gator, along with a bunch of other junk that I'm pretty sure was not FREE.

"It's brand new! The one I put in the Beauty Shop. I'll find somewhere to use it."

Hick and The Pony. The FREEbie Magnet and the FREE-Loader.

A Colorful Blast From Hick's Past

As The Pony and I were leaving Country Mart a couple weeks ago, a vehicle pulled in.

"I'm getting a picture of that for your dad. It looks like the kind of truck he had when we first met. Except the bed of this one is longer. But his was all different colors, too. The people at the pool would see him drive in on the weekend, after he'd picked up HOS and The (little future) Veteran. They'd say, 'Here comes Sandford and sons!'"

I wasn't sure of the year. I thought it was a 1965. I was right! Except Hick said his didn't have that roof shelf thingy sticking out, and he had a full back window, not the little one.

There's the long bed. Hick's version had a short bed. Which I suppose was just a regular bed. Hick's was darker in color. I can't really describe it. A lot of rust and red and dark blue, I think.

Anyhoo... this was back when I first met Hick. I lived in a townhouse apartment, and Hick lived across the parking lot in a regular 1-bedroom ground floor apartment. We met at the pool. When Hick started driving me around in his truck, he said he was planning on getting it painted. An Earl Scheib special ($29.95), he said! Money was tight then, as he had just been divorced less than a year.

Anyhoo... Hick had some spray paint, and painted only the passenger door. Just for me, he said. The top around the window was white, like this one in the picture. And the bottom of the door was royal blue. Only the best for Hick's new woman, heh, heh!

Anyhoo... I showed Hick these pictures of the truck, and he said:

"Oh, I know that truck. The lady who drives it delivers meals for the Senior Center."

Well. Not that day. A man got out of this truck.

The Pony liked the story of his dad painting the truck door just for me.

If a Tree Falls in the Woods, We Don't Hear the Sound

Hick's squirrel-hunting buddy was out here last week. His differently-abled brother comes along, and hunts from the tailgate of their truck parked in our driveway. Sometimes he will sit on the edge of the carport. They know how to hunt. Know their background. We're not in any danger of stray shots.

Anyhoo, the buddy walked down to the creek, toward the area of Hick's creekside cabin. There's no actual road, but a wide path where we've always driven the 4-wheelers or the Gator and the Scout. I don't drive them, but I was the passenger of a tweenage Genius many a time, white-knuckling my way down that boulder-strewn, leaf-covered path, holding on for dear life as the Gator pitched to and fro. 

Anyhoo... when Hick talked to the buddy later that day, he was told: "You're lucky you still have a cabin left! There are a couple trees down. I don't think you can drive down your road."

Hick made a trip on the Gator to investigate on Wednesday evening.

"Can't get to the cabin."

That's a pretty big tree. You have to look close to see the cabin on the other side.

There's the side view. The front door and porch face towards the creek. Hick can get there on foot now, but has to park the Gator and go around the tree. Looks like a job for HOS (Hick's Oldest Son) and a chainsaw. HOS can even sell the wood.

We figure this happened in the storm that knocked out our electricity for 13 hours. The trees behind the house were swirling that evening. We sit on top of a hill. This fallen tree is way down in the woods, surrounded by other trees to slow the wind, and down in a gully. I suppose it got swirled just right. Or wrong.

Festival Parking

At a concert, it's called Festival Seating. You can sit where you want. Some people in Backroads believe this concept also applies to parking. There's a guy who frequents the Gas Station Chicken Store who does this often.

I was parked in my rightful handicap space. There was a truck in front of me at the FREE AIR space. It's not designated for the FREE AIR hose, just has lines denoting a parking space. The maroon truck was there when I arrived. It had a handicap placard, but I suppose the guy needed air in his tires, or the lone handicap space had been occupied at that time.

Anyhoo... here's how we were situated:

Maroon Truck was within the lines of his parking space, and I was within the lines of mine. I had just gotten in with my scratchers, preparing to write on the back of them so I know where they came from in case I have a good winner. That's when Festival Parker arrived.

Festival Parker is a guy in a white SUV who parks BESIDE the handicap space. I've even seen him park there when the handicap space is open. It's not like he needs the handicap space. No designated plate or placard, and no visible signs of different-abledness. This day, he must have just come from work. He was wearing a neon yellow vest of the sort worn by people who work outside and want to avoid being run over. So was the passenger in his white SUV.

You can barely see Festival Parker's passenger here. It's not his fault. I didn't try to get his picture. The guy in the white truck is innocent. He was just squeezing by along the diesel pumps, to exit out the back alley. Festival Parker was blocking the driving lane. And also blocking me in.

My only way out was to back up. Which doesn't sound hard, but this is at the corner of the building. I'd be backing across the where two lanes exit the gas pumps, and people (like Festival Parker or diesel customers) come walking across after doing their business inside. T-Hoe's backup beeper doesn't work. So I have to keep my head on a swivel to keep from killing somebody.

Sometimes, I wish I could conceal-carry those tire-puncturing strips. Just for fun.