See, now that it’s all over, I can laugh. I didn’t see the humor at the time, but I do now. I guess I was in a bit of a funk… as my friend/mortgage broker Theresa described me, “a woman who wore the ‘if it can go wrong it will’ cloud for over a month.”
As many of you know, the above-referenced Theresa kindly allowed me to stay in one of her vacant apartments for the last few weeks as the whole closing thing worked itself out (let me just say this about that and then no more: I BELIEVE in Ian Malcolm’s Chaos Theory).
Her one request was simple: the previous tenants had left the power on in their name and she asked that I call Progress Energy every day to check to see if they had scheduled a disconnect. If so, let her know and she would get it turned on in her name.
So I did. Every day. Faithfully.
Until the Monday after the termite incident. It just slipped my mind, until I came home (very late) and notice, as I sleepily trudge up my front stoop, that I do not hear my wall unit air conditioner happily humming along. Odd. Then I notice that there are no lights on- not even the glow fom the computer. I swear like a sailor under my breath, stick my key in the lock, and…
Now, here’s where, in a John Hughes film, the heroine (that’s me) would be greeted by her friends and family and, what the hell, Brad Pitt, with a surprise party and $72,000 cash. I am not Molly Ringwald (thank god, I look horrible in pink), and I really don’t like Brad Pitt. So, thankfully, I open the door and am greeted by…
Hot (like how I made that a positive?). Hot air swooshes around my ankles. Terrmites? Hell, I can’t see ’em so they must not be there.
My saving grace? Wes and Jesse, the couple upstairs, run an extension cord and power strip down the stairs so I can plug in a lamp (no shade, they also provide that) and my computer. I cannot plug in the ac (different type of plug), but at least I can work. I peel off my clothes, flop onto my air mattress, and fall asleep watching a dvd on borrowed power.
The next day, of course, Theresa asked if I wanted the power on, but I was already stripping floors in my new house, so it seemed pointless. And I could have slept at Tom’s or on my new kicthen floor, so I really didn’t have to stay there. But I can now say that I have lived as close to white trash as one can get while they still have their teeth.
So, there you have it, the nine plagues. I know, I know, there were supposed to be ten. I’m painting a mezzezah on my door today in hopes that I’ll be passed over for the tenth.
Pharaoh, let my people go!
