105
R. Linda:
As a friend of mine says, "suffice it to say" we thawed out and I will take up the thread of the eventful holiday I be having yet again. Today, the mailman came by and there I be not six feet from the postbox on me way down to meet the tow truck that is on the way to pull the car out of the pond.
The postman stops, unloads the junk mail and with no wave or anything chugs on. I figure since the tow truck isn't there yet I'd pick up the junk mail. Well, low and behold, there is one of those slips that say because you weren't at home when the mail was delivered, you have a package at the post office that you can pick up after twelve.
To say I was dumbstruck is a far removed version of the truth. I was madder than a wet hen stuck in an Irish bog I was. There I was, I know he saw me and well . . . I dislike him intensely now. I do. I never not liked anyone, but him, oh yeah, I dislike him, I do, I do, I do!
The man is incompetent, I tell you. No question. He is old and has a white beard and looks like Santa Claus, but unlike Santa he's a cranky old codger. I don't like him. Did I tell you that? I think I did, but I be telling you again because I freaking don't like him!
Who does things like that? I mean leaving us for frozen in the snow yesterday and now THIS! I tell you what, I will purposely go down there and leave him mail with no postage stamps on them. Yeah, that's what I'll do.
The tow truck showed up and the man took the car off to his garage to see what the damage is. The way he was looking, I could tell it isn't good and it might be expensive. Good thing Tonya has insurance because I be thinking, between you and me, new car.
After the tow truck was gone I sloshed and slid my way back to the house and I plopped down the junk mail in the bin and handed Tonya the pink slip of paper. She read it and said to me, "Gabriel the post office is 20 miles away. We have no way of getting this."
I wanted to tell her even if there was a way, there really wasn't because . . . oh bloody hell, I blurted it out. I told her the sad story of me next to the post box, HIM dumping mail and leaving, having SEEN me, and not delivering the "live" whatever it is.
She looked at me, her disbelief changing to laughter, telling me she is too mad to cry. Her laughter was contagious because we both started laughing like idiots. She said, "Gabe, the thing will be brown when it gets here, dead even," and burst out into more laughter, laughing so hard I can see her ribs are hurting the way she is holding them.
The laughter was cut short when the phone rang and the garage said to contact the insurance company because the engine was full of water and well, you can guess the car will never run again. So, do we get a new engine or a new car, that was the question. Seems the insurance will pay the difference of what the vehicle was worth toward a new one and that's what we are going to do. Tonya has some extra savings and that's what she wants, so ok.
The problem that struck me is that we are stranded. Can we get someone to come get us? There are no taxi companies, no nothing. We have food except for whipped cream (no more cocoa? God I hope so), and I know neither of us is hiking the twenty miles to the post office for the probably dead package of whatever it was that Tony's sister sent us.
Stranded in snowman land. HELP.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
As a friend of mine says, "suffice it to say" we thawed out and I will take up the thread of the eventful holiday I be having yet again. Today, the mailman came by and there I be not six feet from the postbox on me way down to meet the tow truck that is on the way to pull the car out of the pond.
The postman stops, unloads the junk mail and with no wave or anything chugs on. I figure since the tow truck isn't there yet I'd pick up the junk mail. Well, low and behold, there is one of those slips that say because you weren't at home when the mail was delivered, you have a package at the post office that you can pick up after twelve.
To say I was dumbstruck is a far removed version of the truth. I was madder than a wet hen stuck in an Irish bog I was. There I was, I know he saw me and well . . . I dislike him intensely now. I do. I never not liked anyone, but him, oh yeah, I dislike him, I do, I do, I do!
The man is incompetent, I tell you. No question. He is old and has a white beard and looks like Santa Claus, but unlike Santa he's a cranky old codger. I don't like him. Did I tell you that? I think I did, but I be telling you again because I freaking don't like him!
Who does things like that? I mean leaving us for frozen in the snow yesterday and now THIS! I tell you what, I will purposely go down there and leave him mail with no postage stamps on them. Yeah, that's what I'll do.
The tow truck showed up and the man took the car off to his garage to see what the damage is. The way he was looking, I could tell it isn't good and it might be expensive. Good thing Tonya has insurance because I be thinking, between you and me, new car.
After the tow truck was gone I sloshed and slid my way back to the house and I plopped down the junk mail in the bin and handed Tonya the pink slip of paper. She read it and said to me, "Gabriel the post office is 20 miles away. We have no way of getting this."
I wanted to tell her even if there was a way, there really wasn't because . . . oh bloody hell, I blurted it out. I told her the sad story of me next to the post box, HIM dumping mail and leaving, having SEEN me, and not delivering the "live" whatever it is.
She looked at me, her disbelief changing to laughter, telling me she is too mad to cry. Her laughter was contagious because we both started laughing like idiots. She said, "Gabe, the thing will be brown when it gets here, dead even," and burst out into more laughter, laughing so hard I can see her ribs are hurting the way she is holding them.
The laughter was cut short when the phone rang and the garage said to contact the insurance company because the engine was full of water and well, you can guess the car will never run again. So, do we get a new engine or a new car, that was the question. Seems the insurance will pay the difference of what the vehicle was worth toward a new one and that's what we are going to do. Tonya has some extra savings and that's what she wants, so ok.
The problem that struck me is that we are stranded. Can we get someone to come get us? There are no taxi companies, no nothing. We have food except for whipped cream (no more cocoa? God I hope so), and I know neither of us is hiking the twenty miles to the post office for the probably dead package of whatever it was that Tony's sister sent us.
Stranded in snowman land. HELP.
Gabe
Copyright © 2004 All rights reserved
