A Thief, or a Lucky Val?

Wednesday, I got lottery tickets out of the machine at 10Box. I had $35 worth of winners that I scanned in to pay. I had selected a $10 Crossword ticket (my favorite), and assorted $5 tickets.

These new machines don't dispense tickets one at a time as you select them. It puts them in a "cart," until you are ready to go to the "checkout." Then you scan in winners, or put in cash, or a combination. Once enough credits are in to cover your cart, the machine starts dropping the tickets down into a tray at the bottom.

I always pick up my tickets as they come out, and count in my head to make sure I have them all. Sometimes one will get stuck and not fall into the tray. Then I have to reach my hand up inside the tray area and knock it loose.

Indeed, my $10 Crossword was stuck. It was the first selection I had made, and thus the last to be dispensed. I reached up above the tray, and my Crossword fell down. Along with a $5 Bingo ticket. Huh. That was odd. Did I miscount as I was picking up my tickets? I know I had selected a Bingo ticket. Maybe I got confused, and had selected it again.

Anyhoo... I had groceries, and my cart might have been discouraging other lottery players, so I figured I'd sort my tickets when I got back to T-Hoe. I always write initials on the back, so I know where they came from. Going through my tickets, I saw that I DID have two Bingo tickets. And everything added up to $40, not the $35 that I had used in credit. 

I could only surmise that there had been a previous buyer's Bingo ticket caught up in the machine, and that when I knocked my Crossword loose, it also freed the Bingo. Even stranger, the two Bingo tickets were not consecutive. There was a 017, and a 019. Obviously, the 019 was the one I had selected.

Ticket turnover is slow in the 10Box machines. I'm there several times a week. In fact, on Monday I had bought Bingo 015 from that machine. It was on my kitchen table, waiting until Thursday when I give my favorite clerk at the Gas Station Chicken Store a "tip" of a couple tickets. There was no way of knowing when this "extra" Bingo 017 had been purchased. It could have been after me on Monday afternoon, or before me that very day. Nobody was at the lottery machines while I was checking out.

In the past, if there was a ticket lying in the tray, I'd call out to the person who was there ahead of me, to see if it was theirs. Once I took it to a cashier, who said they had no way of knowing whose it was. So I just put it back in the tray and left it, in case that person might come back looking for it. This was different, because I hadn't seen it in the tray, and had assumed it was mine until I had it in T-Hoe already. I wasn't going to walk back inside. The employees were not going to scan three days of surveillance footage, even if they had it, trying to see which person selected a Bingo ticket and didn't take it. I doubt their camera would be so accurate.

Well. I guess this was just a case of finders-keepers.

Once home, I scratched my tickets. My Bingo 019 was a loser. 

But the Bingo 017 was a winner.

FOR $200!

I won $100 on Card 7, with one line across. And $50 on Card 6, with one line across. Then $20 on Card 4, with one line across.

Card 2 had the four corners, which won $20. And Card 1 had a single line with the STAR multiplier, for 2 X $5 which is $10. 

I can't help feeling guilty. But I don't know of any other way I could have dealt with that ticket. The only option would have been to walk back inside and lay it in the tray of that lottery machine. Where no doubt the next person would take it. 

This was really exciting to scratch. Even more so, because this ticket was FREE, and it won $200. I wish I could have given it to the real owner, even if it might have turned out to be a loser. That's the right thing to do, but there was no way to accomplish that good deed. I guess I'll just resign myself to being a thief. Though a $200-richer thief.

Seems Like Hick is Overruling the Triumvirate

The pictures Hick sent me from Cheap House on Tuesday make it pretty clear that he has made a SOLO decision to fix up that supposed-to-be quick-flip completely before putting it on the market. I never wanted this house, and The Pony only agreed to the purchase thinking it was a flipper flip. Now we are both resigned to riding out the mission the tyrant has undertaken!

I will put the pictures in order, because the way Hick sent them were not logical.

That's the inside back wall of the living room. Where the back porch was torn off, and a new roofline added. It's a "before" picture for Hick's work on Tuesday.

This is the spray-foam insulation that Hick ordered 24 cans of, which covers 480 square feet. Cost us $423.39, which was supposedly a good deal. It came with the spray gun, safety goggles, gloves, and a white suit that reminded me of a hazmat suit. I guess Hick left the door open for ventilation. Surely not to show off the back yard, where it appears he has a burn pile for odds and ends.

Here is the same wall, now covered with drywall. Or gypsum board, I guess some people call it. He's trimmed out the receptacle access, and fit the drywall to the shape of the wall. Funny how Hick can get a lot done in three hours, WHEN he's actually at the house working.

We'll see how long his enthusiasm keeps him at Cheap House. I have a feeling he will grow complacent, and switch back to Lap House within a week or two.

An Artsy-Fartsy Hick Pic

Hick did some work at Cheap House on Monday. Of course. Because why should he continue at Lap House after making so much progress on the kitchen? Let's just flip back to that flippin' flip house that was bought to be sold to a flipper after merely a cleanout and structural repair.

Anyhoo... Hick sent me four pictures. Three of them I could figure out. They are for another day. This is the one that puzzled me.

At first I thought it was some weird lighting fixture dangling from an old wire. Then I noticed the camouflage pattern. That's a CAP, by cracky! A camo trucker cap. An interrogation was necessary. But it had to wait, because Hick was on the road to an auction. And had apparently made a stop by our savings and loan. That, too, is a story for another day.

When Hick got home from the auction after 8:30, the interrogation began.

"What's this one picture supposed to be?"

"They're all pictures of the back wall of the house."

"I don't think so. Look."

My phone screen showed three of the pictures.

"I can tell these top two are of the back wall. But what's this last one?"

"No. They ain't the same room."

"You just said they were all of the same place! Now you say they're not."

"They're not! That top one there is the insulation."

"On the back wall! The one below it, that's also the back wall." 

"No."

"You said it WAS!"

"Here. Let me see. Them top two are the same. The back wall with the insulation, and the back wall before the insulation."

"I KNOW! But you just said they're not the same. Now you say they ARE. And I'm not even asking about them. What is this picture with the light?"

"Oh. That's the laundry room. I cut out some of the wood that had been eaten by termites, and replaced it."

"Are you treating the house for termites?"

"No. There ain't no termites."

"You just said the wood was eaten by termites! How do you know there aren't any?"

"That was old. You know when you tear it out. If there's termites, they'll be all over the place when you take off the wood."

"Okay. But what I was asking about is why you took that picture of the light."

"That's Old Buddy holding his hat over the light, so there wasn't a glare when I took the picture to show the ceiling."

So much effort needed to get a simple answer. The more information Hick provides, the more confused I get.

Val Saving Time

We have a clock hanging on the front wall of the living room. A regular clock, not some digital monstrosity, a tall rectangle trimmed with oak wood, about 12" x 8". It's balanced on a thin nail that Hick tapped into the drywall. Not even on a stud. When you take the clock down to fall back an hour, you sometimes have to make several tries to hang it back up, because the thin nail goes flush into the wall, and you have to pull it back out.

Right now I can't get to that clock. When we brought my OPC (Old People Chair) up from the basement, we rearranged the living room. Now the short couch sits under the front window, making a backwards upside-down L with the long couch. The coffee table is in front of the short couch. Which leaves just one cushion of the long couch for sitting, and none of the short couch, unless you sidestep the gap between it and the coffee table.

It's just as well that all the legroom is blocked for sitting on the long couch. Because Hick has a stack of clean folded laundry on the third cushion, and empty Amazon packing boxes/envelopes on the second cushion. I swear, another couple layers, and a lot of grime, and we will have a hoarder house. I do not hold myself responsible! Hick is a grown man, capable of putting away his laundry, and walking his trash to the wastebasket. I figure my duty was done when I ordered the contents for him, those being Copper Fit knee braces, and support socks.

Anyhoo... when Hick made a pitstop here between his sleep study and SUS2.5 on Sunday morning, I pointed out the clock.

"I would have set that for Daylight Savings Time, but I can't get to it! I can't get through the barricade. If you get it down, I'll reset it."

"Huh."

As he was leaving, Hick walked behind the long couch. He leaned over the back, and somehow snagged the clock by the bottom right corner. Hick is an inch or two shorter than I am. Who knew his arms could reach so far? He must be part orangutan.

Anyhoo... Hick got the clock off the wall, and then started spinning the hands back!

"Oh, no! You'll never get it right. I like it just how it was. Two minutes fast. That's how I'm used to judging my time."

"There. It's fine."

"Well. We'll see when this show goes off, and the next one comes on."

Hick put the clock back on the wall with one try! Even I was impressed. Off he went.

I dozed off and on. Checked my phone for emails. Watched a little TV. Glanced at the clock to see how much time I had left before my dishwashing routine around 7:10.

What in the Not-Heaven? I'd been glancing at that clock every now and then. It seemed like I had a lot of time. I attributed that to gaining an hour with the time change. Then I noticed that the clock had stayed the same. The hands hadn't moved since Hick had reset it! Now it was 7:25, but the clock showed 5:40. The secondhand was not moving.

I got a new battery from the kitchen drawer. Leaned over the back of the long couch to grab the clock using Hick's technique. I had the corner. Got it off the nail. Then it tumbled out of my hand, bounced off the stack of laundry, and landed on the floor behind the short couch! It might as well have been buried beneath the Great Pyramid of Cheops!

This was not going to work for me all day. I needed that clock. I began an expedition and excavation. I couldn't get to the crack between the short couch and long couch, because Hick had a heavy box full of paper forms for his merchandise. They're free for the ordering, and required to sell certain items. But he has not yet taken them to the SUS2.5. The box was keeping my feet from getting me close enough to lean over and reach the clock.

I finally maneuvered the box under the coffee table far enough to get a foot in position. I balanced with an arm on the arm of the short couch, and managed to get a grip on the clock. I put in the new battery and set it two minutes ahead of the time on my phone. No way was I trying to hang the clock on the wall, and risk losing it again.

I moved Hick's trash over onto the one sitting cushion, where he sometimes likes to eat his supper, and usually sits every weekday morning between 5:45 and 6:10. That way, I was able to balance the clock on the pile of laundry. I couldn't see it from my kitchen table with HIPPIE, but I could see it from my OPC.

That evening, I explained to Hick what had happened. He hung the clock on the wall (ONE try again!), and piled his trash back on the middle cushion and laundry pile.

Val Saving Time does not include Val altering the Space-Time Continuum to a period where Hick picks up his own trash.

I Wouldn't Call It Beauty Sleep

Hick spent Halloween night 30 miles away in a hospital. It had been planned for months. He needed a sleep study in order to get a replacement "breather." That's what I call his C-PAP machine. 

Here's something spooky for you... Hick's current breather is one he got from a dead man. His old breather quit working. I forget if he found the dead man's breather at an auction or a flea market. Of course he washed the mask part of it. It was different from his, and he didn't know for sure what setting to put it on. Lately it hadn't been working as well. Hick said he was more tired when he woke up than when he went to bed. 

Anyhoo... to get a new breather, Hick's doctor nurse practitioner said he had to have a sleep study to verify that he needed it. She said somebody could come to the house and do it. Or maybe she just said Hick could do it at home. Hick wanted the actually study at the sleep center of the hospital, like he had before. At a different hospital. It took over three months to get this appointment.

"My buddies down at the locker said I'd probably wish I'd just done it at home with a ring. That's what they say. It's just a ring you wear. I'd rather make sure it gets done right."

Hick left home at 6:45, to make sure he got to the hospital by 8:00 p.m. He took along shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in. Said it was 8:30 before the nurse came in to hook him up. She asked if he was watching Ghost Hunters. He said NO. 

"One of my buddies said they let him go home at 1:00. Said they had all the information they needed. I was up three times for the bathroom. Every now and then the gal come in and adjusted the machine. She said it needs to be set on 12. I think the one I've been using is set on 7. So if I'd just done the home study, I doubt they would have figured out the right setting."

Hick sent me a text at 4:28 a.m. that he was on the way home. Got here around 5:15. He said he was taking a shower, because his head was sticky. I was tired, and didn't pursue that revelation. I guess maybe they stuck some kind of sensors on his head?

"I don't think I had a good night's sleep. But I sure did dream a lot."

Again. No elaboration. Hick packed his lunch for the SUS2.5, and was out of here by shortly after 6:00. I forgot to ask if the staff was wearing Halloween costumes.

Halloween Back in the Day

Friday was bright and sunny, 72 degrees. It had the look of fall. Not from our trees, which don't show much color this year due to little rain. But the sky, and the angle of the sun were very fall-like. Plus I smelled smoke from burning leaves. I don't know how. I was on blacktop parking lots at 10Box and the Gas Station Chicken Store. Not exactly a residential neighborhood. The country people around us know not to be burning now, unless they want to risk an out-of-control wildfire.

Anyhoo... that smell took me back to Halloween when I was a kid in the 1960s. We always smelled burning leaves when trick-or-treating. None of that daytime stuff for us! We had to wait until dark. That's back when daylight savings time came before the first weekend in November. So the wait wasn't long. We always had supper at 5:10. That's the time my dad got home from work. By the time supper was done, it was plenty dark for trick-or-treating.

Our costumes came from Woolworths. The kind in a see-through box, with a plastic mask on a thin elastic strap. I can't remember what I was. Most often a witch, I guess, because that's all that comes to mind. No pretty princess for me. That was my sister, 18 months younger than me. We had a big fight one year when I told her she had boy toes. Sometimes I was just a ghost under a sheet. Which coordinated well with the pillowcase I toted to collect candy.

OH, the CANDY! That's the main purpose, you know. Getting candy. Not dressing up, or walking around at night getting spooked. Eventually we got the plastic pumpkins to hold our bounty. It seemed like a lot more in a pillowcase. 

My dad always took us. He'd follow about 10 feet behind, staying in the shadows, on the main sidewalk, letting us go up on the porches. There were throngs of kids. Mom stayed home to hand out candy. We traveled our street, and the next street over. Four blocks of each. Not every house had the porch light on, but most did. You knew the old spinster ladies would be giving out popcorn balls. Or apples. Or even worse, PENNIES!

When we got home, all the candy got dumped out. We were careful to keep our piles separate. Then the bargaining began. Sometimes I could persuade my sister to trade. Sometimes not. Mom and Dad got the things we didn't like. Which wasn't much!

Chocolate was the best. Especially if you got a FULL SIZE HERSHEY BAR. Mostly they were the "fun size," which were bigger back then than they are now. I liked the Baby Ruths best. Then 3 Musketeers. Milky Way was just okay. And Butterfingers I would trade. I'd also trade the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

Sugar Daddy suckers were on the trade list, but I'd keep Sugar Babies. I couldn't get rid of those black and orange wrapped chewy candies fast enough. I hated them. They were like caramel with a dab of peanut butter inside. Nor did I like the big square banana chewy candy, or Now and Laters. I hated Necco Wafers. And the Boston Baked Beans. Plain caramels.

Candy corn was fine with me. And Safe T Pops and Dum Dums and Tootsie Pops. Tootsie Rolls were good, especially the fruit flavors. Lemon Heads were good. The mini jawbreakers that came in a box, or the big individually wrapped jawbreakers were keepers. Root Beer Barrels. Smarties. Wax Lips. The little boxes of chalky "cigarette" candy.  And Twizzlers. Any kind of gum. Chick O Sticks. Milk Duds. Little bags of jellybeans. The Bit-O-Honey was something I'd try to trade for. Usually successfully.

In the years before the plastic pumpkin containers, our pillowcase candy was put into a shoebox and set on the counter above the kitchen sink, for browsing through as we wanted. Mom and Dad didn't steal our candy. I imagine they just ate what was left over from our handing-out candy. And poocorn balls and apples! We didn't have any rules about when we could eat it. Our stash just dwindled a little each day, until we finished off the least-favorites.

It was a different time. Kids could wander the streets, knock on doors, and eat candy from strangers. All it takes is the smell of leaf smoke to transport me back.

Not the Harem

Hick was getting his plate for supper on Thursday, and started chuckling.

"There's this guy at the Senior Center. He calls himself a preacher. He come down for his lunch. I watched him going back upstairs. He stopped by the salad bar and took a stack of plates a couple inches high."

"I guess maybe he didn't want his plate to collapse."

"The salad bar wasn't even open! It's only open a couple days a week."

"So they leave the plates sitting there?"

"Yeah. They're styrofoam plates. He probably had ten of them at least."

"You mean after he ate, he walked by and took empty plates?"

"He don't eat down there. He usually comes down and gets his in a to-go container, and takes it upstairs."

"I guess maybe he wants to have a normal meal on a plate."

"He took enough of them!"

"Is he one of your Harem?"

"Nah, he don't talk to nobody much."

I don't really see a problem with this. The guy might want to sit at the table and eat off a plate, not out of a container. It's not like he's selling them out of the alley in a trenchcoat, or using them to build a beer cooler. That I know of...