A Bit of an Inconvenience

Backroads is generally a safe area when you consider mayhem that happens in big cities. Well. Except for that time a headless body was found in a septic tank about a half mile from our house... I wrote about it at the time, on my supersecret blog. But aside from that, I don't dwell on possible danger when I leave home. Heh, heh! In retrospect, I might be safer AWAY from home!

Thursday was errand day, which found me over in Sis-Town at the Casey's, getting T-Hoe's gas. I was second in line at the counter. The guy ahead of me was a portly fellow, perhaps late 20s, with a shaved head. He set a case of beer on the counter. 

The clerk was a young guy, probably 21 at the oldest, with a nondescript haircut, black framed glasses, and a nice-guy nerdy demeanor. He pulled that case of beer off the counter, set it on the floor, and said, "Nope. You're banned from here. You need to leave."

!!!!!

Beer Guy was not happy. "I want to talk to a manager!"

"Okay. He's right over here." 

Clerk walked back to the kitchen. A guy in there in a red Casey's uniform shirt was making a pizza or something. Beer Guy went to that area and started arguing.

"YOU'RE the manager?"

"Yes I am."

"I want to see your badge."

"I don't have a badge. I'm one of the managers. My name is [REDACTED]. You can call here any time and ask if I'm a manger."

"I want to talk to you out here."

"I'm not coming out. You need to leave. You have been banned from this store."

"Oh, okay."

"You need to leave."

"That's what they always say. Why don't you make me?"

"Get out now, or I'll call the police."

"CALL THE POLICE THEN!"

"You need to go."

Meanwhile, my clerk in the kitchen was calling the police, I assume, because he was on his phone. He came back to the counter as Beer Guy went out the door hollering.

"Whew! That had my heard pounding! I'm sorry you had to see that."

"At first, I thought maybe you were joking him."

"No. He's been banned. Because he always makes a scene line that. I have a good eye for faces. I knew he shouldn't be in here."

That was a little more excitement than Val needed on her errand day. Though at no time did I consider leaving in the middle of the confrontation. First of all, I had already hobbled a long way from the gas pumps to pay for T-Hoe's gas. Secondly, it was something out-of-the-ordinary to report...

Hick Is Not the Keymaster

Hick went to Illinois again on Wednesday, to pick up merchandise for his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). He finally found the scratchers he had bought there last month (and won on), which he couldn't find to take on his last trip. He took them this time, but FORGOT to cash them in! I guess the third time might be the charm.

Anyhoo... Hick sent me a text when he got back to Bill-Paying Town with his merch. I don't know exactly where Hick goes in Illinois, but it's an hour trip from here to the state line. So it takes two hours minimum just to get over there and back, plus Hick's time making his purchases, and stopping for lunch. He had planned to go by his SUS2.5 on the way home, to leave his new merchandise. 

"I just got to Bill-Paying Town to drop off my stuff but just realized I don't have keys to get in so I'll be home in a bit."

Let the record show that Bill-Paying Town, where Hick's SUS2.5 is located, is 30 minutes from home. Not really worth the time to pick up keys and go back, after being gone all day on this trip.

I resisted the urge to ask why Hick didn't just take off the front wall.

A Punishment for One of Hick's Good Deeds

I can't believe I forgot to tell you THIS. It's been a week since the closing on the Double Hovel flip house(s), and Hick has just been providing me with too much entertainment with his SUS2.5ing, and feud with the guy running a business on HIS LAND, and managing the senior apartments, and getting special treatment from the lunch gals, and clinging to his precious Beauty Shop memory while the seller moves in.

Anyhoo... way back on closing day, you may recall that I spied the good ol' boy buyer, and Hick gave him the keys to the Double Hovel right there on the parking lot of the title company. Such a nice thing to do, preventing him from going to a realtor's office to pick them up later.

The next day, Hick came home and sat down on the long couch. He shook his head. Sheepishly. It would have been the perfect GIF for a definition of sheepishly.

"I cain't believe what I done. I give that guy the keys to the flip house, but I forgot one of them opens my Storage Unit. So I cain't get into it. Not the main one I sell out of most, but the one next to it. The first one I fixed up. I have one more set of keys, so I'll take it down there tomorrow and try all of them. I ain't gonna ask that guy for the key back."

Well. You guessed it. None of the other keys worked. But don't you worry about Hick's business! Hick is a resourceful fellow.

"I took the front wall off, and pried off the door frame, and was able to get my hand in there to unlock the door. All I had to do was push out my pegboard. I put it back later, just using different holes to put the screws in to hold it up.

Anyway, I got the lock off, and took it over to Lowe's to get it re-keyed. Then I went back and put it on and fixed my building. Cost me about $7."

[That picture is from 2022, when Hick started building the front wall for his business. Of course it is prettier and painted now, but I can't find a picture of it.]

"Wait! Weren't you afraid somebody would break in while you were gone with the lock?"

"No. I pulled down the garage door part over the front. It locks."

[That is how the SUS2 looks when Hick isn't there doing business.]

"Wouldn't it have been easier just to buy a new doorknob?"

"No. It ain't a doorknob lock. It's a deadbolt lock. Lowe's re-keys them all the time. A new one would have been $15 or $20."

I'm sure you're all relieved that Hick suffered no loss of business due to his good deed, and that his world is once again secure. Breaking into his own store, and fixing the problem, took about an hour.

Hick Can Hardly Deal with the Dismemberment of His Darling

Hick came home around 1:30 on Monday. He was in the bathroom when I heard his phone ring, and a muffled conversation.

"Who was that, your girlfriend?"

"It was Old Buddy. He went by the flip house, and seen that guy who bought it has the water heater out of the Beauty Shop, and on the front porch of the main house. I guess he's already tearing it out. I can understand him wanting to switch the water heaters. The one from the Beauty Shop is new. The other one works fine. It just needs to be flushed out, because of the water standing in it. Oh, well. It's HIS. He bought it. So I guess he can do what he wants with it..."

Poor Hick. And his buddy Old Buddy. They've put so much time into that property. And now it's being ripped apart. Too bad that Old Buddy lives near there, and that it's on Hick's way to The Pony's house and the Senior Center. Maybe when the construction starts on the new roundabout, their paths will be diverted by the detours.

Father's Day Feast

The Pony came out Sunday to join us for a Father's Day Feast. Hick and The Pony had ribeye steaks, and I had a bratwurst.

There's Hick's plate. Ribeye, garlic cheese bread, roasted vegetables, a random slice of bacon that was cooked on the vegetables, and a salad. Yes! Hick asked for a salad! He washed his meal down with a bottle of Michelob Dry.

The Pony had the same, with the addition of a bratwurst, and a giant baked potato. The Pony's beverage was rum and Coke, with a bottle of Sprite on the side.

I had a bratwurst, bread, vegetables, and salad, with a Shasta Zero Sugar Cola. That's not some artsy smear of sauce. Just the liquids leaking from my vegetables. They were flavored by cooking with a dash of Worcestershire Sauce and steak sauce and Hidden Valley Ranch powder, with slices of bacon on top. This was a new flavor of bratwurst from the Save A Lot over in Sis-Town: garlic parmesan. I recommend it!

Again, I forgot pictures of dessert. We had a big cookie with a Father's Day message and a hammer drawn with icing. Also an angel food cake, and some powdered donuts. All storebought.

Plenty of leftovers went home with The Pony, with the rest in FRIG II for future suppers.

The Double Hovel Kitchen Table Has Been ReHomed

Don't you worry about the furniture Hick took out of the Double Hovel flip house(s) on the Thursday before closing. Part of it has already found a home. It only took a couple of days. Hick had it in his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) that weekend.

"This lady come in with her three kids. A boy and girl maybe 8 or 10, and an older girl. The Lady said she would give me $50 for the table and the benches. The older girl rolled her eyes and said, 'WHY? It's so ugly!' The Lady said, 'Right now you're sitting on the floor to eat. This is a good table. When you start earning money, YOU can buy a table you think is good enough.' Then she told her to go wait in the car. 

I said, 'A teenager, huh?' and The Lady said, 'She's 19 and thinks she knows everything.' 

I told The Lady, 'You can have that table for free. I appreciate that you're trying to raise your kids right. If you want those two end tables and the lamp, you can have them too.' She thanked me and said that was great, that she would love the lamp and tables. It took them two trips to get everything hauled off.'"

That's my Hick. Willing to pass up a 50-cent or even a $50 profit to make a point.

They're Reuben Val the Wrong Way

The day after our closing on the sale of the Double Hovel flip house(s) was REUBEN DAY at the Senior Center! I had seen it on the monthly menu, but hadn't mentioned it to Hick, because we'd been a bit preoccupied with the closing. And getting our CHECKS! Good thing Hick realized there would be Not-Heaven to pay if he ever ate a Reuben and did not bring one home for Val.

Now there was a monkey wrench The Universe had great chortling joy tossing into our Reuben routine. And on the very day after the long-awaited sale of the Double Hovel. Oh, Universe! You're such a prankster! 

Hick had nowhere to keep the Reubens between the end of lunch at noon, and when he comes home at 5:00. It's a 20-minute trip. No longer can he stash those Reubens in the refrigerator(s) at the Double Hovel! Hick has taken the fridge out of Bargain House for remodeling. The only solution was leaving our Reubens at The Pony's house. Which was fine, because I was going by at 3:00 to pick up our CHECKS, which were also at The Pony's house. Catastrophe averted!

Anyhoo... when I eventually got home, Hick was already there, to carry in some groceries and the Reubens. The Reubens were in two white plastic grocery bags sent out by the Senior Center. Each bag contained a large white styrofoam box, and a small white styrofoam box of dessert on top. The bags were tied with approximately 1,033 knots apiece. Don't get me started! My mom used to tie up bags like that. What's the point? Are the contents going to escape like runaway socks in the dryer? A single half-knot should suffice.

Anyhoo... I had to cut open the bags while Hick was out in the yard/field mowing. To see my precious Reuben, and what came with it. Hick said he had ordered mine, and as he was leaving after lunch, the workers (Hick's gals) asked if he wanted one, too. Of course Hick did! I started with the desserts, because they were on top.

It was coconut cream pie. One of these things is not like the others! In fact, I think I am using the term "pie" loosely, in regard to the container on the right. 

I opened the sandwich container that had been under the broken pie:

Mmm! That Reuben Sandwich looked just fine. And there was double salad. It came with a squeeze pouch of ranch dressing.

Then I opened the container under the nice large slice of pie:

Hullo! What's this then? AN EXTRA HALF REUBEN!!! I smelled a rat! Not literally. I smelled a delicious Reuben (and-a-half). Yet there was only a semblance of salad. Something fishy is going on at the Senior Center!

Of course I quizzed Hick, after proclaiming that I was taking the extra half Reuben. That's only fair, right? Hick had eaten a full Reuben at lunch, and would now still have another full Reuben for supper. Plus he would have double salad. Hick doesn't get enough greens. AND I was giving him both desserts. I was doing Hick a favor, actually, by hijacking that extra half Reuben.

After we had eaten, I pointed out that those workers play favorites.

"Well. You can sure see how partial they are at the Senior Center. Imagine all those elderlies who get the take-out lunch, having a broken sliver of pie. And then YOU getting what looks like a double slice of pie! Plus an extra half sandwich. What was supposed to go in that other section?"

"Beets. It was beets. I know you don't like beets. That one was supposed to be yours."

"Yeah, sure. They gave me an extra half sandwich because...? No way was that container meant for me, with a giant slice of pie on top. And they know you don't eat your salad. All the other times, you've brought me beets and said you never had any idea I don't like beets."

"What can I say? The gals there like me. Oh, and they gave me the extra half sandwich. Because Maxine couldn't eat all of hers. She can never eat the full meal. So they asked if I wanted it, and I said yes."

So much is so wrong here! But I will gladly accept Maxine's leftover half Reuben, just like kids swapping out a school lunch to trade favorites, even though I had to steal it from Hick. 

I don't mind Hick getting The Favorite treatment from his gals, as long as it doesn't affect 

MY REUBEN! I hereby lay claim to any extra Reubenage in the future.

Hick's Rumpus Wants to Kick His Check-Writing Mouth

Hick has had a bee in his bonnet over His Land being used by the garage door guy. 

"If he's not gonna buy My Land, I'm going to drive stakes right down the middle of it! 

I have a right to grow a garden on My Land!"

"It's not that big. You're going to get yourself shot."

"It's 40 feet by 80 feet! Even though it's shaped like a slice of pizza, I could use it for something!"

"You're starting a feud, and the city will find ways to make you suffer. The Pony's house is there, and it's still in our name. Don't do anything crazy."

He went by the city offices on Tuesday to ask about That Guy's building permit. The gal working the desk told him the sign is not an issue, because now That Guy has a building permit. Hick kept trying to ask how he got it, since the building inspector is the one who told him the sign was not approved and would have to come down. 

"She just said, 'I am not going to argue with you over this.'"

"Yes! You're making a nuisance of yourself. There are already people with the city who don't like you. She doesn't have any power to do anything. She's just a secretary or something, I'm sure. She can't do anything, and she was just trying to get rid of you."

"Well. I have my meeting with the building inspector on Thursday, and then I have my meeting with Lawyer to see if it's worth it to try and sell My Land to That Guy. I'll ask Lawyer about what the building inspector tells me."

Hick got a call from the law office, saying they had an earlier appointment, and stopped by to talk to Lawyer on Thursday morning, concerning His Land that has been encroached-upon by the garage door business.

"Lawyer said he could not represent me in this, because he also represents That Guy with the business. Said he couldn't take either side in this one. Can't represent either one of us. So I asked him if I could get anywhere with the city, about letting him put his sign up without a building permit, on a part of my land. Lawyer said I COULD talk to the city about it, but they'd tell me what they wanted about easements and such. And to remember that the city has a lawyer working for free, and this businessman is bringing in tax money for the city, while I would be paying my own lawyer. So I said, 'Basically, you're just saying that I might as well quit paying taxes on My Land and let it go back up for the tax sale in three years?' And Lawyer said yes, basically."

"Then that's that. I don't see why we should be paying taxes on it if another guy is using it. Even though it's not that much."

"OR, we can just keep paying the taxes, and let the kids deal with it when we die."

At least nobody is going to drive stakes down the middle of it...

Let the record show that the real estate tax on Hick's Land was $8.59 last year. 

I'm pretty sure it is increasing, since we just got a letter from the Board of Equalization last week. It specifically mentioned increases for our hillbilly mansion, The Pony's house, the (now sold!) flip house, and Bargain House. I think our other assorted properties will also increase, but probably not enough that the county saw need to notify us on each one.

It would be IRONIC if Hick's Land had a tax increase because it's improved property, due to That Guy's business being on it.

Hick's Money Is No Good Here

While on the way to our closing for the Double Hovel flip house(s) on Monday, Hick got a phone call. His number is programmed into the radio of A-Cad, so The Pony and I heard the whole thing when he answered. It was guy asking about the Senior Apartments. Hick gave him the square footage, the layout of the rooms, the price, and other pertinent information. Then agreed to email him the requested application, if he would text Hick his email address.

When the call was done, The Pony asked Hick if he'd cleaned out the bad refrigerator yet.

"No. It will have to be taken outside for cleaning!"

"I can help you move it, if you need somebody."

"No. Old Buddy and his girlfriend are doing that job for $80. They can use the money, and I don't have to do it."

"Are you paying them? Like you pay Old Buddy cash for helping you?"

"No, the association is paying them. The one that runs the apartments. Oh. I got in trouble the other day from my boss. Because I took a couple people's rent money in cash. He said I wasn't supposed to do that. I told him that was the first I heard. Nobody ever told me not to take cash."

"I can see how they might not want that. A tenant could say they paid you, and somebody not honest in your job might keep the money and not turn it in. So it's a good policy."

"I give them a receipt. In fact, that's the only people I give a receipt. The ones who pay in cash. But that ain't the reason. He said the accountant gal don't like havin' money layin' around."

"Heh, heh! An accountant who doesn't like working with money!"

"I guess I'll have to tell them to get a money order next time."

I suppose having cash around might be like bait for burglars. But how long do they hang onto it? Can nobody make a bank drop? Other businesses seem to be able to deal with cash. It's just one more thing about Hick that some people at the city don't like. Don't get me started on the issue with the guy building his sign on "Hick's Land."

Oh, the BeautyShopmanity!

I hope you're ready for this. I have a case of smelling salts. Some cool washcloths for forehead application. A bevy of fainting couches. Some supplemental oxygen. Try to remain calm. This too, shall pass...

While waiting for our appointment time on the parking lot at the closing facility for the sale of the Double Hovel flip house(s), Hick got out to give his set of keys to the buyer. Try as we might, through surreptitiously cracked windows, The Pony and I could not hear the conversation. When Hick got back into A-Cad, he shared some cold hard facts with us.

"That guy's daughter is friends with the people who bought the green house. The one across the street from ours, that just sold after them guys renovated it."

"Oh. Is she young? That could be the gal I saw in jeans shorts when the Red Truck Guy was parked in front of the Double Hovel last week."

"I don't know for sure how old she is. Or if she's going to be living there. Only that she knows them people across the street."

And then Hick revealed the most unsettling information of all! Are you sitting down? Do so, immediately! Position your device so that you may read the following proclamation with your head between your knees.

"That guy is going to turn the Beauty Shop into a workshop."

"NOOOOO!!!"

The Pony and I exchanged WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN looks.

"That was the best part! Realtor said everybody was always calling about the Beauty Shop! It's so cute! And after all that trouble you went to, rebuilding it from the floor up."

"I know. It is what it is. I had thought about making it a workshop before."

"You did not. You were going to make it a garage."

"Well, it would have been easier to sell that way. People could have got loans on it, with just one house and an outbuilding."

"Yes, but you didn't know we'd have trouble selling until you already had it listed, and Realtor told you. AND we would not have gotten this price for it with just a garage."

"That's true. It's just a shame he'll be tearing out everything I put in."

"Not really, Dad. He'll have a bathroom in it. And a fridge where he can keep drinks and snacks."

"Yeah. But I put in the washer and dryer for nothing."

"They were used. It's not like you bought new ones."

"Yeah. It'll make a nice workshop."

You know that if Hick had turned that building into a workshop, nobody would have been interested in the property. They'd have been wishing there was an extra little cottage on it to rent... At least that's what I keep telling myself.

The Double Hovel Has Changed Hands, but the Fat Lady Has Not Yet Taken Her Curtain Call

Our closing for the Double Hovel flip house(s) was at 2:30 on Monday. We picked up The Pony, and got to the right place (!) at 2:00. Hick had forgotten my handicap placard, which was hanging in SilverRedO because he took it to Illinois on his business trip last Wednesday so he could park closer with his sore knee. That's kind of illegal, but I don't begrudge Hick using it. I'm pretty sure he could get his own placard, what with his age and back surgery. Anyhoo... Hick shamelessly parked in one of the four handicap spaces anyway. Almost daring anybody to complain when I got out with my cane.

We didn't see Realtor's car, and I didn't want to go inside yet, not knowing how long we would wait, and the seating situation. All at once, I noticed a man walking towards a RED TRUCK that was parked in the row across from us.

"That's HIM! The guy I saw at the flip house the other day. In the red truck!"

"Are you sure that's him?"

"Yes! Look at him! I said it was a good ol' boy! I don't know that woman, though. She's not the one I saw with him. She must be a realtor."

"If you're sure that's him, I can give him this set of keys."

"It's him! Just get out and say you hate to interrupt, but is he the guy who just bought that property? And then give him the keys."

"Yeah. I could. If you're sure it's him. Otherwise he'll have to get my set of keys from Realtor."

"It's HIM! He'll be glad you don't have keys anymore!"

Hick got out, and inserted himself into their conversation. Then he handed over the keys, and stood chatting. The Pony and I put our windows down, but couldn't overhear. Then Realtor arrived, and we all went inside. Of course The Pony and I got there after Hick and Realtor were already seated in the singe chair, and on the leather couch. 

Realtor stood up. "Oh, you can sit here."

"Thanks. But I'd rather not. I don't know if I can get up!"

Hick suggested that I sit on the arm of the couch, which was nice and flat, like a seat. But one of the staff came out and must have been worried about my ample rumpus, because she said, "Oh, come on back. I can put you in your room now." 

The room had carpet with confetti all over it. And a long table. And four rolly chairs. I was hesitant to sit. I don't like rolly chairs. But The Pony stood behind mine to stabilize it. And wouldn't you know it, when I sat down, that chair sank to its lowest setting!!! I hate it when that happens. Sometimes my rolly chair in the basement would do the same thing.

"Great! Now I'll never get up! Of all the chairs to choose, I got this one! I feel like a child, peeking over the table." Indeed, my chin was about level with the surface. The Pony had a different kind of rolly chair, and Hick and Realtor had the same as mine. They all offered to switch, but I didn't really want to get up and take another chance.

Then the Closer came in with an extra chair of the same kind. And left to get paperwork. I decided to try the chair in the corner. It was black leather, with four metal legs, no wheels. The Pony helped me up and moved that chair. It was better! I couldn't scoot it up to the table, but my arms were long enough to sign, and I didn't feel like I was sitting on the floor.

We signed about 10 forms, and the deal was done. Closer asked if we wanted a wire transfer, or checks.

CHECKS! We wanted checks! She left to go get them printed.

Realtor said she thought that was a good idea. "There are too many crooks who have way too much time to figure out how to steal wire transfers. And with a check, you have it right there in your hand, to deposit. You don't have to keep checking to see if it's in your bank."

Well. After 10 or 15 minutes, Closer came back. "The other abstract company is sending us a wire transfer. I expect it within the next hour. Would you like to wait? Or come back? I can give you a call when it's in."

Hick said he would come over the next day to pick it up.

HOW IS THAT FOR BEING CHEATED OUT OF OUR GRAND SELLING EXPERIENCE??? I had gotten a text from The Pony that morning, asking if I was as excited as The Pony to be getting our checks today! So we've sold the property, but we left without any money!

It's always something...

The King and Queen of Garbled Information

As you read this, it's the day of our closing on the sale of the Double Hovel flip house(s). I really hope everything goes off without a hitch. No small feat when two of the involved parties are Hick and Realtor. 

I have only spoken to Realtor at other closings, and she seemed fairly normal and savvy to me. Hick is another story. But lately, I don't know which one is wielding the monkey wrench. Dealing with them is like watching a performance of "Who's On First." The amateur junior college theater version.

You may recall the NO CONDITIONS contract on our property. And the "inspector" that turned out to be an inspector and an appraiser. Then there was the "behind the courthouse" site for our closing. And just a few days ago, Realtor called Hick in a panic, asking where the report from the building inspector might be. 

I thought this "report" was in reference to the inspection/appraisal that just happened last week. And shouldn't Realtor be the one who had that? Why would Hick know where it was? Surely the buyers and/or their own realtor would have a copy. 

Hick said no, this was about the original report from the building inspector from the city, back when work was finished, and he certified the residences for occupancy, and we listed the property with Realtor. "She took it because she was afraid somebody would pick it up." WHAT? That report was just lying around the house? Hick said he told Realtor that she had put it in our file, saying she wanted to keep everything together. Realtor didn't have it, but said that she was sure the city building inspector could send her a copy.

Anyhoo... I'm not sure where all this confusion originates. Realtor has been around here doing business for a long time. She's no spring chicken. You'd think she has all her ducks in a row, though Lawyer mentioned to Hick that Realtor has been sick lately. Small town, you know...

Anyhoo... midweek, Hick said he had a text from Realtor with the closing time, and the location was different from that "behind the courthouse" place Hick had ASSUMED it was before. Not sure if this is a Hick problem or a Realtor problem, since Hick could never actually give me the name of the place, and consulted my estranged BFF Google for the info. This time he read off the name from Realtor's text.  It is NOT behind the courthouse. It is over a mile from the courthouse, and across the road from a Colton's Steakhouse.

Hick can do a lot of things well. Providing reliable information is not one of them.

I really hope we show up at the right place for the closing!

Hick Gets a Call From the Mayor

Saturday evening, Hick reported that he had gotten a call from the Mayor of Bargain House Town. It's also the town where the Double Hovel flip house(s) is located just a few blocks away.

"The Mayor called me to say that the city sidewalk for Bargain House will be repaired once the new budget kicks in. They've already used up all their money for this year, but the fiscal year starts in July. So they'll fix the sidewalk at Bargain House after that."

"The Mayor called you on a SATURDAY?"

"Yeah."

"That seems odd. That's all he said?"

"He asked if we were having any luck with the flip houses. I told him it was under contract, and that we're closing on Monday. He said that was good."

"Heh, heh! He was REALLY calling you to check on the flip house! Because he doesn't want any money from his new budget going to the city lawyer to fight splitting that flip house property! I don't know why he would consider it so important just to call you about repairing a city sidewalk."

"Maybe. But I told him that getting the sidewalk fixed would really help us with the value of Bargain House when we go to sell it."

That Hick! Such a rumpus-kisser. I can't imagine a sidewalk being THAT important. Hick had led me to believe that it is the front sidewalk. But now he says it's the SIDE sidewalk. Hick is not a good communicator. Here's the sidewalk he's talking about:

It doesn't look all that bad to me. If I was buying this house, the side sidewalk maintained by the city would not be on my radar. 

Anyhoo... I guess the Mayor reeled in the information he was fishing for. It doesn't affect anything we have planned. Hick is not as suspicious as ex-teacher Val, who is adept at sensing ulterior motives.

Two Guys and a Truck With No Trailer

While Hick was dealing with the HVAC guy loading our AC with coolant on Thursday, he got a call from Realtor. She said the buyers for the Double Hovel flip house(s) had done their final walk-through, and did not want the furniture Hick had in the buildings. He sent me a text while I was in town, saying that he was going to pick up Old Buddy, so they could move it.

"I have to go to town and get furniture out of houses they had walk threw and all good but want furniture out I'm going to get Old Buddy."

It wasn't a lot of furniture. The main house had a kitchen table with bench seats. The living room had a couple of small tables and a lamp and a recliner. The Beauty Shop had a bed and a dresser with a mirror. Hick had taken these out of the QuickFlip house we bought and sold within a month last summer. You didn't think Hick would ask THAT seller to remove any furniture, did you? It was FREE STUFF!!! The Pony has one of those beds in the second bedroom. As The Pony calls it: "That dead woman's bed." Not that she died in it or anything. She was in a nursing home when she died. Her sons inherited the house and sold it to us.

Anyhoo... Hick and Old Buddy spent about 3 hours moving furniture. The bed and dresser went into Bargain House. The rest Hick put in his third storage unit! I KNOW! Before long, Hick will be the sole resident of that storage lot!

The closing is Monday afternoon for us. Not sure if the buyers will be there before or after, but we're never there at the same time, unless seeing them in passing. Hick has said that he will leave the electricity on until Wednesday, as a convenience for them. Same with the water/trash service. He had considered just letting them switch the name, so they didn't have to put up a deposit with the city, and then decided he wants the deposit back. It's $150. He probably would have let it go, but for the shingles and termite issue on that contract that supposedly had NO CONDITIONS...

Val, the Resident HVAC Expert

Tuesday night, after Hick had gone to bed, I noticed that our thermostat read 75 degrees. That is unusual. It is set to hold at 74. Oh, well. Maybe the house had heated up with the setting sun on the front of the house all evening, and it was getting ready to kick on. But wait. It sounded like the air conditioner WAS on. Yet I didn't feel air coming out the vents. I turned it to HEAT instead of COOL. It went off. After a half hour, I turned it back to COOL.

I sat down to watch TV, with a semi-conscious ear on the air conditioner. An hour passed. Still running. Now it was midnight, and the temp was 74 degrees. But the AC didn't kick off. I had no choice, did I? I woke up Hick.

"I think something might be wrong with the air conditioning. It sounds like it's running, but the blower won't kick off. It was 75. I turned it to heat for about a half hour, so it stopped. Then I turned it back on. It's gone back down to 74 now, but keeps running."

Hick got out of bed and went into the master bathroom. 

"It's blowing cool air. It's probably fine."

"Oh. Well. Sorry for waking you."

When Hick got up Wednesday morning, the first thing he did was go down to the basement to check on the AC. It was 75 degrees. Still running. Hadn't kicked off all night.

"Something's wrong, isn't it? Remember how every couple of years we have to get more coolant. I think they always say it's a slow leak that they can't find?"

"Yeah. It's froze up. It keeps blowing because it can't get no air across the coils. It keeps trying. Probably because it's low on coolant. I turned it off. You can turn it back on in an hour or so and it might work okay. It will have a chance to thaw out, the longer you leave it off. I'll call and see if I can get somebody out here."

Hick was gone to Illinois all day, buying merchandise for his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5). I didn't turn the AC on until 3:30. It was a cloudy rainy day, temps in low 70s outside. It cooled from 77 down to 75, but then quit blowing air out the vents, though it was still running. So I turned it off again.

Hick said he called his AC guy, who said he was just recovering from back surgery. He called his company for Hick, and they said they could have somebody here Thursday evening. Hick said he might look into getting a new unit, since this one is getting pretty old. But his AC guy said he'd wait at least a year, because the industry is switching to a new kind of coolant, and prices are really high right now.

I guess it behooves Hick to have an AC guy. And also to have a wife who knows what is wrong with the air conditioner.

Not the Gathering But the Hunting

Pardon the gender stereotypes, but when you know, you know. Mostly women know. We can't send a man to the store to pick up specific items. You'd think I would have learned my lesson back when I married Hick, and we were living in my $17,000 house. 

I must have been busy with something, or home sick. It was before Genius arrived. Before the era of cell phones, when a mobile phone was cutting-edge, and came in a zippered pouch to keep in the car and plug into the cigarette lighter. My dad had one, but he worked for Southwestern Bell, and had access.

Anyhoo... I gave Hick a list to take to the grocery store. It was still just a grocery store. Walmart Supercenters were not yet a thing. The store was 2-3 miles from my house. Should have been a simple feat for Hick to go buy the things on the list. But NOOOOO! Hick came home with $35 worth of groceries (way back in the early '90s), and not one thing on the list! He said he lost the list. He thought about asking to use the store's phone to call me, but didn't. Let the record show that his "groceries" included ice cream and cookies. $35 worth. Would it have been that hard to drive back and ask for another list? I think not.

MEN love the hunt. The gathering, not so much.

Last week, Hick asked if I needed anything from Walmart. He was going by to pick up dogfood. I told him I DID. Two bottles of garlic aioli, because I can't find it in the grocery stores. And since he'd be on that aisle anyway, one Kraft Mayo in a squeeze bottle. Does that seem hard? I don't think so. I even set both bottles on the top shelf of FRIG II, so Hick could see them when he got his morning Diet Mountain Dew.

Hick took a picture. However... he only took the picture of the aioli. Can you believe that? How much harder would it have been, to consciously cut out the mayo? That's how close they were. Hick called me for something else, and I asked when he was going to the store. He said in the afternoon. That he had an appointment at 2:30, and would go after than. That's when he said he took a picture of the aioli, so he'd know what to get. When I reminded him about the mayo, he said to send him a picture. Which I did, around 1:00.

When Hick came home, this is what he brought me:

I suppose the aioli will be fine, even though it's NOT what I asked for. Maybe the packaging has changed. The old bottle was expired. Hick himself admitted that he got the wrong mayo. 

"I went to Walmart early. I didn't have your picture yet. I like to never found that aioli. I had to ask a boy working there. It took the two of us over 20 minutes to find it. It was on the bottom shelf, behind something else. Even the boy said he KNEW he had stocked it. And then after I'd already bought the mayo, I got the picture, and saw that I didn't get your kind with the pickle on the label. So I went by the grocery store and got the right kind. So you have the two bottles you asked for."

"I asked for TWO bottles of the aioli, and you got one. The mayo doesn't matter about the picture on the label. Which isn't even a pickle! It just needed to be KRAFT mayo. Each kind is a little bit different."

"Well, you got what you got."

Uh huh. Men are all about the hunt. As long as they bring home something, they figure they have done their job. They are terrible at gathering. Any old thing will do.

Hick Does Not Suffer Rumpusholes Cheaply

It doesn't pay to be a rumpushole to Hick.

"The guy with his driveway on my land called me. He just said his name and jumped right in before I even had a chance to think. He said, 'So what are you thinking?' I said, 'I have to at least get out what I've put into it. Around $1200 to $1500.' Then he said, 'That ain't happenin'.' 

His attitude kind of pissed me off. I said his son had talked to me about it, and he didn't say much. Like his son shouldn't have said nothin'. Then he says, 'Well, I've maintained it all these years.' And I said, 'You ain't done nothin'! You put your driveway on it. And I don't think you own that other section that the other half of your driveway is on, neither!' He basically told me I can't do nothin' about it. And he said, 'Why would you buy a piece of land like that?'"

"That's what I said! About the shape of the lot."

"It was on the courthouse steps. I didn't have a map. I just bought it because it was in the city limits, and it was cheap. I found out later it was just a strip. And I'm not sure his sign is really on my part. Technically, I think it's on the road right-of-way. The reason the city wants the sign down is because he never applied for a building permit to build the sign."

"So this guy thinks it's his right to build his business on whatever property he feels like? And that the owners of it have no rights, but should pay the real estate taxes on it for 35 years?"

"Seems like it. I'm so mad that I feel like having Lawyer send him a letter."

"I guess first you should make sure you actually have legal recourse to start something. It's not like an easement where you have to let people travel across your property because there's no other way to get to theirs."

"I'm not sure. There might be a law in Missouri that after a certain amount of time, if you don't say anything, you can't claim any damages. Seems like one of my buddies told me that a while back. Like at your $17,000 house. That driveway next door? It was technically an alley. Your neighbor used to put posts in it and block it off every now and then. When nobody did anything about it, the alley eventually became his driveway."

"Whatever. I don't really care either way. You'd think this guy would just agree to pay you, and be done with it."

"You'd think so. But I'm enough of an asshole that I'll pay money to see if I can fight it."

"The thing that bothers me is that we DID pay the taxes on it for 35 years. Even though it's not much, it's the idea that we're paying for land this guy is claiming to have a right to use. Send HIM the tax bill every year!"

"IF there's anything we can do, he'll have to get it surveyed. That'll cost him. And he'll need a lawyer. And then he'll have to get the deed recorded at the courthouse. I'm gonna call Lawyer and see what he thinks."

"Yeah. It won't cost that much. He'll know if you have any rights to your own land, heh, heh!"

This strip of land is worth nothing. Unless somebody needs it to expand his business, which is what this guy did. I don't know if he can legally do that. Maybe he can. Maybe anybody can decide to build something on land they don't own, and it becomes theirs. Just like squatters moving into a house and refusing to leave, and they can't be kicked out. The only people who benefit are the lawyers.

Like I've always said... Hick is happiest when he has a project. Even if that project is making a rumpushole miserable.

Mysterious Visitors

I took my usual route to The Pony's house on Sunday. Probably my last time to do so for the year, since it takes me right through the intersection where construction of a roundabout will begin on Monday. Anyhoo... this shortcut takes me past the Double Hovel flip house(s), on the street in front of the Beauty Shop. I always check to see if anybody might be touring the houses with a realtor. So far, I had never seen anyone.

WHAT'S THIS???

As I drove by, I saw a red pickup truck parked in front of the main house! At first I thought it might be Hick, perhaps showing one of his cronies his handiwork. SilverRedO is a red pickup truck, you know. And this one was a Chevrolet. But it didn't quite look like SilverRedO. Especially when I saw the people coming around it, headed for the gate.

The man was the perfect example of a good ol' boy. He might be pictured next to that definition in a dictionary. Do people still use dictionaries? If not, they don't know what they're missing. So many tangents to explore when you are perusing a dictionary page.

Anyhoo... this guy was probably named Bubba. On his birth certificate. No shade thrown on Bubbas. Bubbas are people too. He was a portly fellow, following his stomach as he walked, arms sticking out at about a 45-degree angle. I can't remember if he was wearing overalls or just jeans, with a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The woman was in short jeans shorts and a white tank top. She had kind-of-bleached hair, and was a skeleton compared to Bubba.

I was driving, and could not give my full attention to being nosy. I wondered WHY these people were at our Double Hovel. Of course, the realtor signs are still in both yards. They don't update signs to signify a property that is under contract. So maybe these folks were looking at houses to buy. I thought of turning up that street and asking, "May I help you? I own this house." Then I thought better of it.

I don't want to act like a car salesman on commission. They were probably "just looking." And why should they believe some random woman who was passing by would be the owner of that house? What are the odds of THAT? Also, you don't really want to mess with strangers these days. Strangers are like a box of chocolates...

When I told The Pony, I suggested that maybe this was a good thing. In case something goes wrong with our closing. Maybe there are backup buyers out there. The Pony had another idea.

"Maybe it was the buyers. From your description of them, it sounds like they could be from [That Town] where they are selling their old house."

On my way back home, I went by again, but nobody was there. Nothing looked disturbed.

When Hick got home, I asked if he had been over at the Double Hovel. He said no, he had been at his SUS2.5 (Storage Unit Store 2.5) all day. He had no idea who those people might have been. He also thought it might be the buyers stopping to look it over again.

I guess it will remain a mystery, since we never see the other party at closing.

Another Sabotaging of Val's Rightful Handicap Parking Space

When I drove onto the parking lot of 10Box on Saturday, I was happy to see one of the four handicap spaces available. Until I got closer. Oh, I was able to squeeze T-Hoe into it. But there was a complication.

I had to park poorly! Can you believe it? VAL straying outside the lines of a parking space? Good thing the right side of that space bordered on a striped walkway that goes next to a handicap space. So I wasn't ruining another parking space for anybody else. I HAD to park poorly, because there were CARTS in my rightful handicap parking space!

Not just one cart, or two. A whole LINE of carts, jammed together. Too heavy for Val to move. She is, you understand, not exactly spry. Lest you assume that there was no room for those carts to go, I offer the next view of the cart return area:

The entire cart return area was basically open. I've seen three columns of carts parked there before. But on this day, people only cared enough to drag their cart to the sidelines. Which might indicate that some even worse handicap-thwarter had parked a car in that space, as I saw last week.

While taking the pictures, two other cars left. How convenient that two other handicap spaces were now open. Didn't help me. I was already parked, though poorly, and it wasn't worth the effort of watching for traffic and entitled walkers while trying to back out and drive a few feet closer. T-Hoe's backup beeper hasn't worked for many years. I am paranoid about running over somebody! Especially here, where people traipse about all willy-nilly, returning carts (poorly!) and browsing the garden selections, and not controlling their rambunctious youngsters.

As I hobbled back to T-Hoe, clutching my scratchers, a lady walked in front of me and jammed her cart into that line, making it even closer to blocking T-Hoe's door when I opened it. I guess I got out of there just in time.

Just Another Perk of Having Friends in OLD Places

Hick is not a person to let items go to waste. He's definitely not filling up the town dump  landfill recycling center with his castoffs. If anything, he will wring the last bit of use out of something, then toss it down our main sinkhole. Which he considers to be nature's wastebasket for things like broken home-made kitchen cabinets.

Anyhoo... Hick hoards keeps things in case he might have a use for them later. Like those plastic jugs that held pool chemicals, which he later filled with water and took to town, to use for flushing the toilet while working on the QuickFlip house before turning on the utilities. The water in the pool chemicals jugs that was subsequently drunk by a crazy naked man trying to break into the QuickFlip house...

One of Hick's preferred "recyclables" is the white 5-gallon plastic bucket. Like the kind drywall mud comes in. Not only good for hauling water from the outside pump spigot to the chicken and goat pens back when we had livestock, but also for storing smaller items inside, or dogfood until squirrels eat the lid off of it, or just having handy with water inside for putting out fireworks mishaps.

Hick was carrying two drills in such a bucket (actually two buckets stacked together) on Thursday. He said he had a regular drill and a hammer drill, to fix two of his giant wagon wheels on the front porch that had been knocked down by the dogs (he said). Don't get me started on a hammer drill. Why not just use a hammer, or a nail gun, I wondered. But Hick said it's a drill that vibrates, to knock a screw loose to take out, or to get it in really tight. Hmm. How can it do both? It must not go in all THAT tight if you can use the same drill to get it out. But I digress...

I figured our newest dog, Pupsie, would surely love to sink her chewing teeth into that pristine white plastic, and chew those buckets into tiny pieces before eating them. I asked Hick what was in the buckets before he started using them.

"I don't know. I got them from the Senior Center. From the kitchen. Maybe cooking oil? I don't know."

"They just gave you the buckets?"

"They asked me if I wanted them, and I said YEAH. There's three more out in my truck."

Well. I'm sure the cooking oil flavor will make them even more delectable to Pupsie.