Following Sunday’s power outage, there was another one on Monday. Apparently Sunday’s was caused by a driver mistaking a power pole for the road, and Monday’s by some kind of fire, though no-one I know in our local fire department (including my brother and my co-worker Erin’s husband) had heard about the fire. Either way, I had to re-set all the clocks I had re-set the day before, and now the one in the living room is on that annoying military time, which I hate. Nothing is worse than being forced to do math in your own home for no reason.
The power wasn’t the only utility to go on strike this week. When I got home from the jobette on Tuesday night, there was no water. Hmm.
Megan was already at work and Rob wasn’t answering the phone, so I called Zach, Mark’s brother-in-law and my neighbor. I realized that I still don’t know who to call when things need fixing in Mark’s extended absence. Zach came over and volunteered to look for Rob. Eventually, he found him, and Zach reported back that Rob fixed the well (needless to say, I never understood the technicalities of the stoppage) but it would take a few hours for the well to fill up and water service to be restored.
Normally, this wouldn’t be too much of a problem, since the Brita pitcher was full and there are several emergency bottles of water in the studio. But on that particular evening, I was in somewhat desperate need of a shower.
Erin has taken over the retail side of the jobette, and has made it look more fabulous every day. That day, a couple of carts – wheeled wooden things to display stuff for sale – arrived fully assembled. The total weight was 940 pounds. The delivery guy left them in the alley and bailed, leaving is with almost a ton of problems.
Erin quite reasonably expected that the carts would arrive disassembled in boxes, instead of assembled on huge wooden pallets. We unwrapped them and tried to wheel them through the delivery door. Nope. The wheels made them too wide. We rolled/dragged them to the front door, where they could fit through the double street doors, but not the inner door.
We were going to have to disassemble them and reassemble them.
So we did. We eventually got the first one inside, but the second one had a couple of stripped screws that made it impossible to remove the legs to get it in the door. So we left it in the foyer, put up the “Closed” sign, and locked it in for the night.
My morning’s shower had long worn off by then, and I had a conference call scheduled for 6:30 the following morning. Instead of being able to have a shower when I got home, I had to get up extra early to do it, when the well had re-filled. Waking up with yesterday’s mascara ringing my eyes gave me a curiously youthful feeling, as if I had fallen asleep after clubbing all night instead of dragging around unwieldy pieces of furniture.
By the time I arrived at the jobette the following day, the guys from the Skunk Train were already removing the offending piece of furniture, so all was well that ended well.