An Ugly Reared Head Worms Its Way In

Hick had a tale when he got home from his SUS2.5 Saturday evening.

"You'll never guess who come in my store this afternoon. BEV! She brought a gallon of paint, and said, 'Should I give this to you, or Old Buddy?' I was busy and didn't pay much attention to her. I said, 'Old Buddy, I guess.'"

"So you wouldn't even take the paint?"

"She said, 'I thought you might want to use it for one of your houses. Then said, 'Nick wants to know if you buy shotguns.' I said, 'Yeah. I buy shotguns.' I walked off. I had customers. She left, and Nick never come in."

"I KNEW you'd take them back! What's Old Buddy gonna do with it? You'll use that paint."

"Maybe."

"What color is it?"

"It's kills paint. To cover stains and stuff. So probably white."

"Dang it! You're letting them come crawling back, after how they treated you!"

"Well, I didn't pay her no attention. I was busy."

Hick was happy, though, despite the return of Bev. He had a good sales day.

"I got a good compliment from an old man today. He come in to buy some ammunition. He said he came to me because of my customer service. He could have gone somewhere else and got it cheaper, but he likes the way I treat people."

"Oh, no! God wouldn't like that! You're charging more for it than it's worth!"

"Heh, heh! That's what I should have told Bev: 'Yeah, I buy shotguns, but I won't buy one from you because I might charge too much when I sell it.' I didn't think of it at the time."

A Typical Mother's Day for Val

The day started like any other, with Hick sitting on the long couch before leaving around 6:00 a.m. I was on the short couch. But this day, Hick said, "Happy Mother's Day."

"Thank you."

"I seen you got a nice card yesterday from Genius."

"Yes. Right on time. Pony is bringing one on Tuesday, when we have our 'celebration' with Chinese food."

"When I cook them pork steaks?"

"No! I am NOT doing any cooking on Tuesday! It's my Mother's Day! You are cooking the pork steaks tonight. I'll bake the beans, and I've thawed out the hash brown casserole to have with it, too. So this will be three meals worth, for Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday. Tuesday is Chinese. I'm not doing anything but eating."

"Oh. Okay."

Of course we rescheduled Mother's Day for Hick to have his day of business Sunday at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). That was fine with me. All my days are pretty much the same.

Then started a discussion of the tests Hick had on Friday, to prepare for the surgery he had to postpone until August due to his x-rays of not-pneumonia and uncollapsed lung. It was a Transthoracic Echocardiogram Test. Which Hick referred to as a stress test. All I know is that he had three tests scheduled that day, spread out over three hours, to determine if he is sound for surgery.

"I couldn't believe the cost of that test! It was $17,000-something!"

"No, Val. It was $13,400."

"I don't know where you get that! I just looked at it yesterday when you gave me the receipt for the $150 copay. It was $17,000-something."

"Nooo. I looked at it when they handed it to me. It's $13,400."

"I'm so tired of you doing this to me! I looked right at it. Then I threw it in the trash. I don't really want to get up right now, but later I'm going to dig it out to prove it to you."

"I can go get it right now. On my way out. Where is it?"

"You'll never find it. You can't find anything! It's in the wastebasket. Come back over here and stand in front of me."

"I don't need to do that. I know where the wastebasket is."

"That's surprising! But you won't look in the right spot unless you're lined up like you're looking right at it. It's HERE! At about the 4:00 area. Folded in quarters like when you handed it to me."

"What are you gonna say when you see it's $13,400?"

"Nothing. Because I know it was $17,000-something."

Surprisingly enough, Hick found the discarded receipt. Even more surprising, he actually brought it to show me:

"Let me see!"

"Huh. I guess I read it wrong."

"Reading it wrong is not a big deal. It's how you always treat me like I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN', when I'm actually right, and you are just figuring I won't bother to check on your 'facts' that you use to prove me wrong. Maybe next time, you'll listen to me."

At 7:22, Hick must have been feeling guilty. He sent me a text.

"I'm sorry o didn't get you a card but I do love you happy mothers day." With a big emoji kind of picture with flowers that said Happy Mother's Day.

Never mind that Hick still has time to get me a real card by Tuesday. I'm pretty sure that's not gonna happen. It's no big deal to me if I get a card or gift. 

The best part about this Mother's Day is that I got VALidation.

There's a Pole and the Bucket

A few weeks ago, I parked in my rightful handicap space beside the Gas Station Chicken Store, and noticed something new. Some type of maintenance paraphernalia was in my path to the door. 

This is unlike Man Owner, to leave equipment lying around. I've often seen him sweeping up, or tossing out salt for a snow forecast, or taking trash to the dumpster. I can't imagine anything that would cause him to leave tools outside where a customer could trip and take a tumble and get an irreputable injury attorney to sue for his livelihood.

Of course I did not plan to lie down beside those items and holler, "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" That would be silly. Because I really CAN'T get up! I just took a picture, because I want to know what this is.

I walk by that post all the time, sometimes putting a hand on top to steady myself, like it's a complementary industrial cane put there just for my ambulatory needs. The top is sealed with concrete. I've never noticed any openings down the sides. Yet it looks like that hose might be attached.

Is this some kind of a hand-held pump? Does it pull something out of the pipe, and pump it into the bucket? Eww! Is is sewer? Is it a way to get water outside? Does it pull a sample from the gas tanks? 

I took the picture so I could ask Hick what's the purpose of this contraption. Yet I keep forgetting to ask Hick. He will not like being disturbed while he's at his SUS2.5. So I'll ask when he gets home.

____________________________________________________________________

Hick was stumped! Said he didn't know what this thing was. He's never seen anything like it. His best guess was that maybe Man Owner was using it to flush out the downspout on the corner of the building. Like the contraption might blow air up in the downspout to dislodge something blocking it. But it still doesn't explain the bucket. Unless he could suck water up in it, to blast out into the downspout. The bucket was empty when I walked by.

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Hick Rescues Another Elderly

Hick had another phone call this week. It was the daughter who had just moved her mother in. She had been paying for the apartment for two months, but just now moved. Daughter said the toilet was leaking. She had already left, but wanted Hick to know. 

Hick drove to town, and I delayed his supper. He got there, and the door was unlocked. He figured the Daughter had taken her mom somewhere. He knocked and nobody answered, so he went in. And saw a purse sitting there. He hollered, "I'm coming in." And the old lady said, "Just a minute. I'm getting out of the shower."

Hick went back out, startled, and waited for her to come to the door. He checked out the bathroom. Said the rubber seal between the tank and the toilet must have deteriorated with the toilet not being used for a while. It didn't leak continuously, but only when flushed. He went back the next day and replaced it.

Hick noticed that the woman didn't have any kitchen furniture.

"I have that table I used at the flip houses, for running my saw. And I have four chairs I got when the dentist office closed. So I got them and put them in. I called the Daughter, and said, 'If you don't want them, I'll take them out. But she has a table and chairs to eat at now.' The Daughter thanked me and said that was nice.

I feel so bad for some of these old people. It's like their family shoves them off and doesn't want to do anything. This one old lady was worried that her cashier's check wouldn't be good. She's been there a couple months, and has always paid on time. But she said that she called her bank, and the money wasn't in her account. I told her it's a cashier's check! They wouldn't have given it to her if she didn't have the money. It will be fine. She said she had called her daughter, worried about it, and the daughter said, 'You'll have to deal with it, Mom. I didn't have anything to do with it.' Which seems kind of mean. The lady was really worried."

Sometimes, I think you can't actually pay Hick what he's worth.

A Nice Gesture is Good for Business

The mail contained a strange tiny envelope on Monday. I saw a last name on the return address, which seemed familiar, though I couldn't place it. I figured it must be one of Hick's acquaintances. I knew I'd heard him say that name. Hick leaves all the mail for me to open. HEH, HEH! I am delirious with power! Of course HE trusts ME. It's not like I have MY OWN MONEY or anything...

Inside was a little card with a handwritten note:

_____________________________________________________________

Dear Hick, Val, & Pony,

I'm glad we finally got this one wrapped up! I appreciate your patience & the opportunity to help get it sold.

Please let me know if I can be of help again down the road. Enjoy a little shopping trip on me when Target opens!

Realtor Guy

______________________________________________________________

Inside the note was a gift card for Target, which is in the process of building a store over in Bill-Paying Town. I'm sure it would work for online ordering as well.

Wasn't that nice? A $50 gift card! (He wrote the amount on the back.) Even Hick was impressed. I'm pretty sure we'll be using Realtor Guy for our future flips, even without the paper forms ultimatum Hick had planned. Realtor Guy had honored the commission percentage given to us by our dear departed Realtor, and was always available for Hick's questions. We don't blame him for the Bargain House marathon. He was quick to get back to us as soon as he heard anything from the Buyer. Even late at night, and on Sundays.

Realtor Guy has good marketing sense.

A Burned Bridge and a Hicksplanation

Hick drove me to a leg appointment Tuesday afternoon. I'm not sure it will lead to an eventual knee replacement, but it's worth a try. I'd never been to this facility before. It's a 45-minute drive, and I didn't know how the parking would be. I hate to take Hick away from his busy unscheduled schedule, but he's handy for dropping me off at the door.

The good news was that there's parking right up against the building, so next time I can drive myself. The bad news is that my appointment took 90 minutes! Anyhoo... that's not the topic here today.

Hick was driving A-Cad, which has his phone in sync with the radio. We just got on the highway to home around 2:30 when a call came in. Hick can't see the tiny radio screen very well. He relies on me to tell him while he's driving, so he knows if he wants to answer, in which case I tap the screen.

"It's says 'Nick and Bev neighbors.' NOPE!"

"Yeah. No. I'm not answering that."

What goes around comes around, and now Nick and Bev can reap the harvest of their burned bridge. Hick did not get any further communication from them later. No text or other missed call. When it comes to their former loyal handyman Hick, they shall remain forever unhelped.

It was a rainy, dreary day. (As opposed to a rainy cheery day, or a sunny dreary day!) I had worn a hoodie, but I was still cold. The ride there wasn't bad. I had my heat control turned up to 75, and the warmth was blowing comfortably. The whole way home, I was freezing. I didn't look at the temperature dial until we were already at Mailbox Row.

"No wonder I'm freezing! You turned off the fan while I was inside! That 75 is just a number. There's no heat flowing in here!" I turned the dial about 1/4 of the way up. "NOW it can blow 75-degree air!"

Hick got out to go around for the mail. "No, Val." He gave one of his Hicksplaining chuckles. "It's just blowing regular air."

What in the NOT-HEAVEN is THAT supposed to mean??? There was most definitely warm air shooting out my vent now. Not "regular" 53-degree air from outside.

After that incident, I wasn't really sorry that Hick had to waste 90 minutes of my appointment time, plus the trips there and back.

Why Hick Is Not Allowed to Handle the Bookkeeping

Hick can do a lot of things, but accurate handling of our finances is not one of them. In fact, he is not allowed access to the checkbook. I rue the day that debit cards became a thing! Sometimes I get receipts. Sometimes I have to resort to interrogation concerning mystery charges as I try to reconcile the checkbook register through the bank's automated phone system. The Pony scoffs. WHO would actually try to balance a checkbook these days? The elderlies, that's who!

Hick writes down his expenditures on scraps of paper. I'm lucky that he has a legal pad to record expenses for the flip houses. I can usually decipher them, and get one at the end of each month, with variable amounts of prodding. Now Hick has the senior apartments to deal with. He's quick to whip out our debit card and Lowe's card to purchase materials. Then he gets reimbursed by the nonprofit agency that operates the apartments. He gives them the receipts. I am left to untangle those expenses from the flip expenses and our household charges.

Hick gave me a note Monday evening, before going to bed. How convenient, avoiding an imminent interrogation.

He tossed it on the table, and said, "I'll pay us in cash, so you don't have to go to the bank this week. And I'll need a check by Friday." Referring to our weekly cash allowance, for spending and squirrelling away in a safe for future bills like insurance and Christmas and incidentals like road gravel and new used trailers. I wasn't sure about the check, because sometimes it's for Mick the Mechanic, or a glass guy, or a roofing guy.

Well. No way was I going to record this in my checkbook register without a deposit slip. I can't trust Hick on amounts. He rounds off, or transposes numbers. Lucky for me, I found the deposit slip tucked inside this folded paper the note was written on. The deposit was actually $2450.06, which was his slightly over $300/month salary, plus expenses for renovating an apartment. Not that anybody could tell from this note. Which you might be marveling over yourself, as I did upon first glance.

Weed check. WEED check??? 

What in the Not-Heaven? Who buys weed with a check? Even in a state where it's legal, as ours is now. Hick can't have weed! He would lose his federal license to sell him most profitable merchandise. Not even weed cream to help his arthritis in his metal plate upper spine and cadaver bone lower spine. What's this about a WEED check? I asked him the next morning.

"WEED check? What are you talking about?"

"Your note. And that is NOT the amount of your deposit."

"Val. It says I need a check. That's the amount for my rent on my storage units for six months. Then the amount that I gave us in our account after I took off the $729.30 for the water heater that busted at the apartments. And the $781.24 is what I still owe us after you give me my rent check. So I'm giving us cash for that, and you won't have to take money out of the bank this week."

"Well. Excuse me for not understanding that from what you've written on your note."

Confused? Welcome to MY world! As the unpaid bookkeeper for Hick's assorted business ventures. At least he's not asking for a check to buy weed.