Answer: False. It seems as though a year has gone by since the redneck said, “Hey hun, since we can’t move, let’s just make our living space bigger.” My guy is gifted with the ability of looking at something and then making it a reality. He doesn’t draft a print, doesn’t need a manual, he just does it and it works. For the most part. I stare at the transformations literally taking shape right around me and try to capture each one with my camera but it’s tough to keep up. I’m not saying all of this because he paid me or because I’m in trouble. I am in trouble, but that’s not why. And he most definitely didn’t pay me.
Answer: False. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Working from home can be a challenge under the best of circumstances. Said circumstances that do not include buzz saws, hammers, the occasional cussing and the inevitable yell for when the nail is missed but a thumb is found. Add the forty million hounds of hell barking non-stop from next door due to the aforementioned, the lack of actual walls, and no sound dampening barriers, and last but not least, a small breaker box fire or two. I haven’t been at my best. I’m honest enough to admit that. I don’t do well with noise. I was okay though. I was maintaining. Maybe not necessarily the poster child of happiness everlasting but I was good until last Friday.
You wouldn’t like me when I’m perturbed…True/False
Answer: True. I have weathered power loss from electrical wires accidentally being cut, for which I was heartily grateful no one was hurt. I have withstood power surges from the cut wires being patched back up with duct tape. I’ve dealt with the lovely aroma of melting plastic wafting lazily about. I’ve endured the plague of flies, mosquitoes, and all forms of creepy crawlies. But when someone who isn’t family comes banging upon the one remaining door, the one that has a sign only the blind are unable to read, “Do NOT knock, I work here,” I get…angry. Just ask the Omaha Steak Guy.
But you’ll really hate me when I’m mad…True/False
Answer: True. Omaha Steak Guy (the same one that picks the wrong time to come calling, every damn time) stopped by and commenced to blithely bang on that door. A firm believer in not taking no as an answer, he shows up once a month just in case I might have had a change of heart and decided I was a fool for not wanting his frozen steaks in his truck and welcome him with open arms. While he might’ve not read the do not knock sign, I’ll bet he sure as hell told his boss he quit following his encounter with me, mostly because he wasn’t getting hazard pay. He was happily pounding away when my control snapped and I let loose a battle cry of pure frustration. I yanked open the door to tell him where to go, willing to provide helpful instructions for his navigation, as I’m all about customer service and quality these days. Okay, so that was the plan.
CeeLee is a door ripper off-er…True/False
Answer: True. What actually happened was that I threw open the door, gripping the knob with white knuckles, furious at what I felt was an intrusion into the shreds left of my productivity and…literally tore it off it’s hinges as I yelled “Can’t you read?! Do NOT knock!” Imagine being confronted by a red-faced screaming harridan with her hair standing on end. One who possesses the strength to tear a door off the hinges and throw it down into the now thoroughly trampled beyond all hopes of redemption garden. If you’re anything like the big burly Omaha Steak Guy, you’d give a strangled girlie scream while tripping over your own feet trying to make it back to the safety of your truck where your supposedly frozen grade A steaks are probably defrosting in the heat of August, cringing in the face of my wrath and holding your discount flier up in front of you for protection. The redneck didn’t tell me he had taken the screws out of the door hinges in preparations for taking it out later. Surprises just abound here in our happy home of holes.
Essay question…Tell the redneck about the door or let him guess?
If you thought let the redneck guess, you clearly don’t know me. See even if I had elected for that option, I’d be stuck having to explain the tire tracks zig zagging across the yard, like a drunken redneck version of a rodeo. Ones that don’t belong to my car. I just told him that my backdoor man didn’t know when he was coming home and was in a rush to leave. And he didn’t have any chicken. That’s why I’m in trouble. The redneck didn’t find my humor all that funny. Yeah. But his friend sure did.