Coming home from work yesterday was not a pleasant experience. My wife was washing her car since our younger two sons just won’t do it; didn’t this weekend in spite of her repeated asking. She was finishing up so after a brief hello and how-are-you I continued on into the house. As dinner should shortly begin preparation, the kitchen counters were found in a messy state, and one on our sons was in the middle of preparing spaghetti, using up precious stove surfaces. I had mistakenly thought it was one of the younger ones – perhaps they missed customary after-school grazing, and with such was now cutting into the standard family dinner preparation routine. So off the burner goes the pan, and in walks my oldest. He was fixing spaghetti, being with hunger and unexpectantly home for a brief moment from work. Bad energy event (BEE) #1.
Seeing he really had a need and my presence in the kitchen was frowned upon, I went back outside to help dry off her car. After he left the kitchen, dinner preparation resumed and sought what I thought was my well-deserved post-work pre-dinner treat consisting of a small bowl of cereal (yes: I still act like a teenager in that respect), only to find quite a bit of volume missing, let alone a hole in the bag. An interrogation of two sons revealed they hadn’t; the third was sleeping so I’d question him later. BEE #2.
Then my wife says wants to go to the store. I’m hungry, and a bit angry re: my cereal – nonetheless see she has a simple request and as a docile hubby I oblige. We have a tandem garage, and she suggests I park my pickup inside after she pulls out. So off I go across the street, running towards my pickup, and my keys fall then my foot kicks them into the storm drain. Having an extra set provided temporary salvation, so with some frustration, I drive into the garage, figuring I’d go fishing for them later. BEE #4.
At the store she feels sorry for herself for the way our son’s have been ignoring her and hands me a Vogue, People or some other magazine, then candy, and finally some pens for her classes, me thinking I’ve just enough to buy a half-tank of gasoline tomorrow; maybe less when this is done. At the register the clerk says he will be right with me (really?), as the patron before me in line is out and about somewhere in the store. Then he shows up and we are able to move on and return home.
I find a flashlight and my crowbar and head toward the storm drain cover, ready for the expedition to begin. One finger is all I can get through the one hole in the cover, and not being Mr. Universe I wedge the tip of the crow bar into the perimeter. With the flashlight - the sun had set long ago - and poor unassisted eyesight, no keys can be seen. The base of the drain is say 8 feet away. My ladder is too wide to fit through, and I question the needed effort to lower my 15-year old son with rope around him into the abyss. But first the thought of determining if the keys are even there overshadowed weighing the validity of any creative recovery methods. Returning with my glasses, two extension cords and drop light, the sum of the latter two came up 5 feet short. Argh! Plugging into my neighbor’s (vacant house-for-sale) outlet and there’s now enough reach but awwwwh – too bad: no power. BEE #5.
Pitching the drop light idea and now having my glasses on I’d figure one last look before wasting any more energy. Sure enough: there they were: direct center. Returning to the garage I scanned for available long-reach tools of any shape, size, or form: rake/shovel/broom? Nope – not long enough. Telescopic-extension pole? There – now that’s better. I took a hanger out of the coat closet and cut it up, forming it to a hook shape, and attached the formed shape to the pole tip with packing tape. Mohaha! Capt. Hook, here! Lying on my belly, with one hand holding the flashlight and another manipulating the pole, the keys were on the hook with the third try. Phew!
As I was downing dinner, pride had entered into my mind at just how ingenuous “me” is, after all. Once upstairs I noticed my middle back had the feeling of a pulled muscle, and a rib bruised. Now how did that happen? I asked my wife to rub the area, and as she was doing so I told her of the loss and recovery effort, thinking she would reinforce my thoughts of the recent exploit, but nope! “Why didn’t you just call the City? They do this thing all the time…” And the rubbing did no good either…but thanks anyways.
I then went over to the teenager’s room, wanted to check for e-mail, and whilst awaiting startup, logon, etc., I ask the cereal crook what gives? He seems to think he deserves it; that its “not fair” things belong to or are consumed exclusively by me. “Look, do you sleep in my bed too? Maybe when you do some work around here like you’re told you too would deserve something special”. BEE #6.
Logging onto E-Bay revealed some guy outbid me on a billet triple clamp by one whole dollar (even bad times can be dirt-bike related). I wanted it badly; too bad. Gone.
At least I slept well last night, and didn’t have to scuba dive.
Thanks for listening – I feel better already.
Seeing he really had a need and my presence in the kitchen was frowned upon, I went back outside to help dry off her car. After he left the kitchen, dinner preparation resumed and sought what I thought was my well-deserved post-work pre-dinner treat consisting of a small bowl of cereal (yes: I still act like a teenager in that respect), only to find quite a bit of volume missing, let alone a hole in the bag. An interrogation of two sons revealed they hadn’t; the third was sleeping so I’d question him later. BEE #2.
Then my wife says wants to go to the store. I’m hungry, and a bit angry re: my cereal – nonetheless see she has a simple request and as a docile hubby I oblige. We have a tandem garage, and she suggests I park my pickup inside after she pulls out. So off I go across the street, running towards my pickup, and my keys fall then my foot kicks them into the storm drain. Having an extra set provided temporary salvation, so with some frustration, I drive into the garage, figuring I’d go fishing for them later. BEE #4.
At the store she feels sorry for herself for the way our son’s have been ignoring her and hands me a Vogue, People or some other magazine, then candy, and finally some pens for her classes, me thinking I’ve just enough to buy a half-tank of gasoline tomorrow; maybe less when this is done. At the register the clerk says he will be right with me (really?), as the patron before me in line is out and about somewhere in the store. Then he shows up and we are able to move on and return home.
I find a flashlight and my crowbar and head toward the storm drain cover, ready for the expedition to begin. One finger is all I can get through the one hole in the cover, and not being Mr. Universe I wedge the tip of the crow bar into the perimeter. With the flashlight - the sun had set long ago - and poor unassisted eyesight, no keys can be seen. The base of the drain is say 8 feet away. My ladder is too wide to fit through, and I question the needed effort to lower my 15-year old son with rope around him into the abyss. But first the thought of determining if the keys are even there overshadowed weighing the validity of any creative recovery methods. Returning with my glasses, two extension cords and drop light, the sum of the latter two came up 5 feet short. Argh! Plugging into my neighbor’s (vacant house-for-sale) outlet and there’s now enough reach but awwwwh – too bad: no power. BEE #5.
Pitching the drop light idea and now having my glasses on I’d figure one last look before wasting any more energy. Sure enough: there they were: direct center. Returning to the garage I scanned for available long-reach tools of any shape, size, or form: rake/shovel/broom? Nope – not long enough. Telescopic-extension pole? There – now that’s better. I took a hanger out of the coat closet and cut it up, forming it to a hook shape, and attached the formed shape to the pole tip with packing tape. Mohaha! Capt. Hook, here! Lying on my belly, with one hand holding the flashlight and another manipulating the pole, the keys were on the hook with the third try. Phew!
As I was downing dinner, pride had entered into my mind at just how ingenuous “me” is, after all. Once upstairs I noticed my middle back had the feeling of a pulled muscle, and a rib bruised. Now how did that happen? I asked my wife to rub the area, and as she was doing so I told her of the loss and recovery effort, thinking she would reinforce my thoughts of the recent exploit, but nope! “Why didn’t you just call the City? They do this thing all the time…” And the rubbing did no good either…but thanks anyways.
I then went over to the teenager’s room, wanted to check for e-mail, and whilst awaiting startup, logon, etc., I ask the cereal crook what gives? He seems to think he deserves it; that its “not fair” things belong to or are consumed exclusively by me. “Look, do you sleep in my bed too? Maybe when you do some work around here like you’re told you too would deserve something special”. BEE #6.
Logging onto E-Bay revealed some guy outbid me on a billet triple clamp by one whole dollar (even bad times can be dirt-bike related). I wanted it badly; too bad. Gone.
At least I slept well last night, and didn’t have to scuba dive.
Thanks for listening – I feel better already.
