Unexplained Fires are a Matter for the Courts
Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
My car, now legally old enough to vote, refused to start last night when I got to it on the top floor of the Metro parking garage. Oh, I checked, as soon as it refused to turn over, not even a spark - had my routine of shutting-off-the-car failed? Were the lights left all day in the On position? Nope, in fact, they came on when I rotated the lever. The battery-charger you plug into the cigarette lighter was also dead, naturally.
I begin to see the lure of the cell phone, which I have resisted as another way for people to intrude on me. It allowed me to call hubby, so he'd know where I had gotten to, and get the phone numbers of some tow trucks. Just as I was hanging up, a man in a gray suit, in the cab of a big black Silverado1, drove by and asked if I needed a jump start.
He had all his equipment neatly stowed in giant plastic bins in the immaculate bed of the truck, and quickly had my battery charging on his. I note that when I stepped out of my passenger door, I was looking into his cab, but just barely, like a dog with his chin on the dinner table. Curiousity overcame me.
"What do you use this big truck for?" I asked, looking it up and down. "To haul a trailer," he reports, as he is stowing his jumper cables back in their neat bins, also shiny black. "Ah," says I, "I wondered, you with the suit and all." "Yeah, for trips with the wife and kids."
Hahaha. Maybe I overdid it when praising him and giving him man-points for the jump-start, and he thought I was making fun, or possibly coming onto him. Hee. Maybe he heard it as, "OOOOooo! What a big truck you have! Can I touch it?"
I'm grateful he came along and offered to help. There was no reason to generously offer his time and assistance. I wonder what his life is like, with all that order, with all that extra capacity he has gathered around him. He appeared to be ready for every contingency. What all was in the spiffy bins? Gas masks and MREs? His drag wardrobe? HIS WIFE AND KIDS?
THanks, gray suit man! Truly.
Also, there is now a water drip in my coat closet. From somewhere in the upstairs bathroom, water has dripped. I am sure that termites have invisibly reamed the house out from the inside, as well, as part of my identification of my dwelling as an extension of my body. (My Canyonero, right?) If I poke a broomhandle into the breach too thoroughly, I will discover that shell's thinness, and bring my tub straight down into the front hallway.
Imagination is a wonderful thing.
1Yep, a Canyonero. Smells like a steak, seats 35; it's a squirrel-crushin', deer-smackin' drivin' machine. 65 tons of American pride.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
My car, now legally old enough to vote, refused to start last night when I got to it on the top floor of the Metro parking garage. Oh, I checked, as soon as it refused to turn over, not even a spark - had my routine of shutting-off-the-car failed? Were the lights left all day in the On position? Nope, in fact, they came on when I rotated the lever. The battery-charger you plug into the cigarette lighter was also dead, naturally.
I begin to see the lure of the cell phone, which I have resisted as another way for people to intrude on me. It allowed me to call hubby, so he'd know where I had gotten to, and get the phone numbers of some tow trucks. Just as I was hanging up, a man in a gray suit, in the cab of a big black Silverado1, drove by and asked if I needed a jump start.
He had all his equipment neatly stowed in giant plastic bins in the immaculate bed of the truck, and quickly had my battery charging on his. I note that when I stepped out of my passenger door, I was looking into his cab, but just barely, like a dog with his chin on the dinner table. Curiousity overcame me.
"What do you use this big truck for?" I asked, looking it up and down. "To haul a trailer," he reports, as he is stowing his jumper cables back in their neat bins, also shiny black. "Ah," says I, "I wondered, you with the suit and all." "Yeah, for trips with the wife and kids."
Hahaha. Maybe I overdid it when praising him and giving him man-points for the jump-start, and he thought I was making fun, or possibly coming onto him. Hee. Maybe he heard it as, "OOOOooo! What a big truck you have! Can I touch it?"
I'm grateful he came along and offered to help. There was no reason to generously offer his time and assistance. I wonder what his life is like, with all that order, with all that extra capacity he has gathered around him. He appeared to be ready for every contingency. What all was in the spiffy bins? Gas masks and MREs? His drag wardrobe? HIS WIFE AND KIDS?
THanks, gray suit man! Truly.
Also, there is now a water drip in my coat closet. From somewhere in the upstairs bathroom, water has dripped. I am sure that termites have invisibly reamed the house out from the inside, as well, as part of my identification of my dwelling as an extension of my body. (My Canyonero, right?) If I poke a broomhandle into the breach too thoroughly, I will discover that shell's thinness, and bring my tub straight down into the front hallway.
Imagination is a wonderful thing.
1Yep, a Canyonero. Smells like a steak, seats 35; it's a squirrel-crushin', deer-smackin' drivin' machine. 65 tons of American pride.