Dairy Queen And Country Mart Deli Are A Danger To The Eyes

I am reminded of a scene from my favorite western movie, the original 1968 version of True Grit. No, it's not a dramatic scene like John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn telling Robert Duvall as Lucky Ned Pepper to "Fill your hand, you son of a b!tch." [2:42]

No, it's a less-quoted scene, where Glen Campbell as La Boeuf is warned by a fellow resident of the Monarch Boarding House, "Watch out for the chicken and dumplings. They'll hurt your eyes. Hurt your eyes lookin' for the chicken!" [1:45]

I wish a random squirrel-headed b@st@rd had warned ME about such a danger from Dairy Queen and the Country Mart Deli.

During Christmas week, I did not make full meals, because I was making Chex Mix, and gearing up to do the potato salad and deviled eggs and roasted vegetables. No need to overexert myself! So I did easy meals that only needed oven-warming for Farmer H and The Pony, and picked up something for myself when I was in town.

One meal was a Honey BBQ Chicken Basket from Dairy Queen. I know I've spoken of it before. The chicken is delicious with that sauce. WHEN you get actual chicken inside the breading! This time, I did not.

 

One piece was 95% breading! That's where I've taken a bite, and been sorely disappointed.

But that wasn't my only disappointment for the week! I bought a container of Chicken Salad at Country Mart's cold deli counter. You know I love me some Chicken Salad. This time it wasn't packaged on a croissant with grapes, and it wasn't in a little tub surrounded by heavy grapes and apples, sold by weight. No, this time, it was in a regular labeled container. Surely that must be what they use on their sandwiches. So I bought a little tub.

 

Imagine my disappointment when I got down to my lair, having dipped out 1/3 of the contents, accompanied by a croissant from their bakery, and a sprig of reg grapes bought especially for this feast... and discovered, upon the first and second and third bites: IT WAS MAINLY WHITE LIQUID! That's right. I might have tasted a shred or two of actual chicken. But it was mainly the mayo-ish liquid that makes it a 'salad.'

The next night, I had to add a WHOLE CAN of white meat chicken to the remains of the white liquid. Here's a picture, chicken added:

 

What looks like it might be celery is actually just chunks of the canned chicken that are normal chicken color, but took on that tint in comparison to the red counter, perhaps. Because there were no solids in my Chicken Salad until I added just chicken.

You shouldn't have to add chicken to your store-bought chicken salad! But at least it was an option. No way could I stuff that Honey BBQ breading with chicken.

No Sign Of Spot-Changing From The Same Old Leopards

About three weeks ago, maybe four, The Pony re-submitted his forms for Continuation Of Pay. Since his Worker's Comp denial was reversed, he's entitled to that money he could have earned while off work due to his on-the-job broken ankle. The official paperwork from the Dept Of Labor had a reminder that the local office had 5 DAYS to get that info submitted, once notified by the employee. Well. Rules are made to be broken, especially by a federal agency.

The Pony has mentioned that they have a new acting postmaster. He's not sure if this one is filling in until a permanent one can be hired, or if he's there for good. This is a guy who did the training for The Pony when he first got hired back in April. He seems to be a nice guy as bosses go, out among the workers, with a knowledge of what is getting done. He told The Pony he would remind the manager to check on the COP, and also on the uniform order that The Pony had turned in. To get his uniform allowance, the office has to remit a payment voucher.

Anyhoo... nothing has been done. The Pony (and everyone at the post office) has been a little busy this month. Of course The Pony trusted that his pay and uniforms would be done, and didn't want to bother anyone. But he checked last week, and the uniform order was still pending. No extra money deposited in his bank account, either.

On Monday, a NEW manager sought out The Pony, to ask about the uniforms. The Pony says his office is supposed to have four managers, and they only have three. But maybe this new guy will be working there, or perhaps is just in training, and headed for another office. Anyhoo... The Pony said that no, his uniform order was still pending. So New Manager said he'd check on it.

Tuesday, The Pony saw that the order status had changed. I don't remember what he said. It wasn't exactly shipping, but something appeared to have been set in motion.

Now Farmer H and I say that The Pony should find New Manager, and ask about his Continuation Of Pay!

Time For The Pony's Latest Horror Story From Work

Shockingly enough, The Pony's latest work horror story did NOT involve a rickety vehicle he was assigned to complete his route.

"Oh, Mom. Do you want to hear my latest horror story from work? I stopped at the Casey's to get gas and use the bathroom. And by the sink, I think I saw A SEVERED FINGERTIP! That's what it looked like, anyway. There was the tip and half of a fingernail and some of the cuticle with BLOOD on it. It didn't look quite substantial enough to be a whole fingertip. It was on the floor just below the edge of the counter by the sink, and there was blood on the edge of the sink."

"NOOOO! That's too creepy! Maybe somebody didn't pay their drug money, and got whacked in the john! Or maybe it was just a press-on nail that came off, and ripped some skin."

"I was hoping that it was a fake nail, but it wasn't the whole fingernail. And it was in the MEN'S bathroom! But the women's was closed for cleaning."

I don't know what was going on there! It's the Casey's near the Gas Station Chicken Store. The Pony is still doing the route he put a hold on. He had help for an hour, a new CCA, because Tuesday was kind of a light day, even with the junk mail monthly coupon magazine going to every door. The Pony was off by 4:00 (went in at 5:30 a.m.), and took himself to Steak N Shake.

Hopefully, somebody sweeps up the fingertip. It would be a terrible thing to happen by the counter at Orb K, where that thing would be mummified before it was ever cleaned up!

Even Steven, Please Spare Us The Unwanted Pickle

Monday, I went to the main post office to mail The Pony's forms for reimbursement of his medical bills from the Department Of Labor. I hope he's not in a pickle, sending that form that was improperly and incompletely filled out by his podiatrist office. Like I said, there's not really a way to make them CARE about filling it out right, what with already having been paid in full by The Pony for fixing his broken ankle.

That packet had 19 pages! It really only needed four. A form from The Pony, a form from the podiatrist, a bill, and a receipt. Since the code numbers for treatment, and EIN (Employer Identification Number), and billed amounts appear SOMEWHERE in all those pages that were handed over to The Pony by the podiatrist gals, the information is there. The question is whether a federal employee will take the time to find them, or just toss that paperwork and send a denial letter.

The Cheerful Guy was working the counter at the post office. He asked if I wanted a tracking number. NOT-HEAVEN NO! 

"No. Last time, I sent it with a tracking number, and it took A MONTH to get there!"

"Ah. That's interesting."

No. Not interesting. ANNOYING. But I didn't spout my opinion there, because he's a nice dude. 

And speaking of unwanted pickles...

 

Check out the stem on that tiny gherkin! It's almost as much stem as pickle! I hate a pickle stem. Even the little nubs, or even the round indentation where the stem used to be. I cut off that end of the pickle. The Pony finds this amusing. 

"Mom. It's only a stem."

The Pony can eat all the stems he wants. I'M not going to start now!

The Unbearable Unfairness Of Mrs. HM's Life

I did without my 44 oz Diet Coke on Thursday, to take the Christmas Chex Mix to my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel. I had the deviled eggs and potato salad to prepare for the Christmas Eve shindig at the house of my sister the ex-ex-mayor's wife. No time for my magical elixir.

I did without my 44 oz Diet Coke on Friday, because there wasn't time to enjoy it, what with cooking the roasted vegetables for our Christmas Day dinner, and then leaving for the shindig at 5:30.

I did without my 44 oz Diet Coke on Christmas Day, because the Gas Station Chicken Store is closed on Christmas Day.

As you might imagine, Mrs. HM was mighty excited on Sunday, to get to town for her 44 oz Diet Coke! That was my first stop. You can also imagine my HORROR at finding the only 44 oz cups at the soda fountain to be the flat-bottom kind! Not the tapered little bottom to which T-Hoe's cup holders are so accustomed to hugging. The barrel-shaped flat bottom that will not fit! That can only be wedged into the leather of the passenger seat by a purse and something else. I didn't have something else. So no magical elixir for me!

 

I figured I could get by with a can of real Coke at home. There was one on the bottom shelf of Frig II that I had put in the day before. The Pony has a habit of drinking them, even though he declares Sprite to be his soda of choice. I had several cans, because Country Mart had a sale on the 12-packs last week. There was already a Sprite in Frig II, on the second shelf. I put in two Cokes beside it, just in case, when I got back home at 4:00.

The Pony was having an early soak in the big triangle tub in the master bathroom. When he got out at 5:30, to join Farmer H and me in grilled sausages and Christmas leftovers, he said, 

 

"I'm having a Coke with supper. Oh, and I had one with my lunch, too, when you left for town."

"WAIT! You had that Coke I was saving for myself from yesterday?"

"Mom. There are two more in here. I'm only taking one. There's one left for you."

"But I just put them in there! The other one was colder!"

"These are cold. Feel them."

"Not as cold in 90 minutes as one that's been in there over 24 hours!"

"Mom. It's cold."

"Put that last one in the ice bin for me. THEN it will be cold, by the time I get these dishes washed and my plate ready."

It was. But if I hadn't found out, I would have been disappointed with my less-than-icy real Coke.

Sweet Gummi Mary! Man Owner at the Gas Station Chicken Store has only been ordering the cups once a week for 30 years! You'd think he might have mastered that task by now. I guess I'll have to take my tapered-bottom cup along with me tomorrow, and pour my magical elixir in it for transport, once I get to T-Hoe. They don't let you bring in refill cups any more.

Contributing To The Delinquency Of A Farmer

The Pony and I were putting the finishing touches on our Christmas dinner spread, waiting for the Sister Schubert's rolls to come out of the oven, and setting out the roasted vegetables and baked beans. Farmer H was out on the side porch, tending GassyG Jr with the steaks and pork steaks.

"Pony, go see if Dad has a tray to put the meat on. And ask if he wants a drink. I bought limes yesterday. I can add some lime juice to his Wild Turkey and Diet Coke."

"Okay. I think he already took a tray out. There's one missing. But I'll go ask... Yeah, he has the tray, and he says he'll take a drink."

"Get me a Solo cup. He's not having one of the GOOD glasses out on the porch!"

Pony took the drink to Farmer H. He's a big help, WHEN HE'S HERE! He took the rolls out of the oven and buttered the tops. Set the table. Put out the potato salad and deviled eggs on the counter. Farmer H came in bearing the tray of sizzling meat. He had his plate filled and was digging in before I even picked up my plate.

As we sat at the table enjoying our feast, talking about Pony House and Pony Job, Farmer H poured his Diet Mountain Dew from the bottle he'd had outside into a GOOD glass with ice provided by The Pony. It was then that he let it slip that he had WILD TURKEY in his Mountain Dew.

"Wait a minute, Dad! You mean you let us make you a drink, and you already HAD a drink? How did you get it in the bottle of Mountain Dew?"

"I just poured it in from the bottle."

"Um. That's not how it works. The mouth of the bottle is not the right size to do that."

"But I did it! I just drank a little of the soda out, so I'd have room."

"I guess now I'll have to assume you're drinking, every time you have a bottle of soda!"

"Nah. I just did it to take outside."

By the end of the meal, Farmer H had changed his plans of going for a drive after eating.

"I don't think I'd better be driving ANYWHERE right now. I'll just go sit in my chair and watch something on TV."

Yeah. Good idea. He found a show on The Discovery Channel that he'd never seen before. It was having a marathon. I even liked it! Some British show called The Repair Shop. They fix broken keepsakes for people. Here's a 4-minute clip, but it's not one of the episodes we saw.

Let the record show that both Farmer H and The Pony sat at the table with me until I was finished eating! It took a LONG time, but they had dessert, and got carried away chatting about plans for Pony House.

A Not-Very-Christmasy Eve

The Pony got off work at 4:00 on Christmas Eve. Only a 10.5 hour day! So he didn't have to meet us for the Christmas Eve party at the home of my sister the ex-ex-mayor's wife. She lives less than two miles from the main post office. Pony had time to come home and shower first, then ride back with us. 

We left the Mansion at 5:30 p.m., to arrive at the start time of 6:00. It was already dark. I saw fewer Christmas lights along the way than we usually see. To be fair, this hasn't been a very Christmasy season. Temps were in the 70s all day, and when we drove home after 10:00, it was still 65 degrees!

Everybody had a good time, ate a lot, and games were played. I'll probably tell that tale on my not-so-secret blog.

Here it is, late in my lair, the eve having progressed to actual Christmas Day. Still not feeling Christmasy. I'm glad The Pony is still under the Mansion roof, and that he has two days off in a row for the first time since he returned to work on his healed ankle in September. The tree is up, but to be fair, we haven't taken it down in two years! I like seeing it from my OPC (Old People Chair). 

 

I didn't even buy stocking stuffers (CANDY) this year. The only gifts Farmer H and The Pony will get are scratchers. They're okay with that! The Pony's boots have not even shipped, the best I can tell, even though they were supposed to after Dec 15th. I DID tell him about the boots yesterday. We'll see if I need to order another pair. I don't think we can avoid snow for the whole winter.

The only food I have to make for Christmas Dinner is a pan of baked beans. Which means I pour two cans of beans into a pan, stir in some diced onions, and put it in the oven for about an hour. The roasted vegetables can warm up as I put the Sister Schubert's rolls in the oven. So setting the table will be the most work I have to do. Until clean-up. At least the weather will be nice for Farmer H to do the grilling. 

We'll probably have finished the leftovers and most of the candy and cookies Sis sent home with us by the time Genius arrives on Wednesday for his one-day visit. I think Sis and Ex-Ex-Mayor are going to join us for a casino trip that day, after a tour of Pony House.

Abandon Candy, All Ye Who Enter Here

 King Farmer H's iron fist grows stronger by the day.

The Pony got another gift on his mail route Thursday. It was a plastic tub of homemade treats! He sent me a picture around 2:00. I could tell it was homemade, but not what kind. When he got home, The Pony proudly carried his plastic tub into the Mansion, and came to the short couch to show me.

"I have cookies and fudge and peppermint bark and a thick cookie bar thing with icing, and a couple I don't know what they are. Like those two white things."

"Oh. That's divinity. Like white fudge, probably with walnuts."

"But if it was like fudge, would it be so squishy? LOOK!"

"OH! That is NOT divinity. It must be a homemade marshmallow! And that other stuff over there IS divinity."

"Do you want this peppermint bark? It's the only thing I don't like."

"Okay. Give me that smallest one."

"Oh. I hear Dad at the back door, trying to get in."

"Yeah. He's been delivering Christmas stuff to The Veteran's family, and eating there."

Farmer H came to sit in his recliner. The Pony proudly showed him the treat tub.

"Do you want this other piece of peppermint bark? Mom had the other one."

"Yeah. I'll take it. [looking into the tub] MMM! FUDGE!"

Farmer H motioned to the fudge, and held out his hand. The Pony sighed, and grudgingly gave it to Farmer H. Who placed it on the side table, next to two homemade chocolate covered cherries that my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel gave us for Christmas...

Yep. Anything in the Mansion belongs to King Farmer H. Even a gift of Christmas candy given to the hard-working Pony for his efforts.

No More Vacation Available, And The Doctor's Office Has Given The Pony The Business

Of course the ankle doctor has not literally given The Pony the business! I mean it in the way they used the phrase on Leave It to Beaver. To tease someone. To toy with them.

Yes, it was too good to be true. Pony getting the call to pick up his reimbursement paperwork to send to the Dept of Labor, at 10:00 a.m. the day after the office gals told him they needed the out-sourced worker to do it when she came in the next day. I have a sneaking suspicion those gals went ahead and did it themselves, after The Pony declined their offer to do it right then.

Here's the thing. Since The Pony paid his bill in full, that office has no incentive to fill out this DOL form for The Pony to get his reimbursement. They have received payment for services rendered. Why would they want to pay an out-sourced contractor for the time it takes to fill out this convoluted form? You can't really fault them for it. It's sound business practices. At least they were polite, gave it what I would most certainly call NOT their best shot, and handed over 15 pages of medical records to The Pony.

In reviewing that form Tuesday night, I saw much more wrong with it than just the lack of entries in the amount charged column. I couldn't have augmented that column if I wanted to! Three of the four codes they put opposite the charges were for OFFICE VISIT-NO CHARGE. Yes, those codes were on The Pony's billing statement, right under the other code for X-RAY charges. Which they did not bother to write in.

Overall, there were about 10 items that deviated from the detailed instructions for that form. However... since the actual codes are on the billing statement, itemized, I think that may suffice. There is no question that The Pony was billed by this medical office for treatment of his work-related injury. There is no question that he has paid those charges in full. The codes show that treatment was for services allowed by the DOL. The only problem is that this info is not on that one single form.

No, I was not able to get the paperwork mailed on Wednesday. Now it is going to be Monday. I have Mabel plans on Thursday, and since Friday is Christmas Eve, I don't think any mail will be going out until Monday anyway.

The Pony is adding a paragraph to his cover letter to explain the situation.

He has used a rare day off to try to get this form. It took two days, and was incomplete. He can't take off infinite days to keep going back until the form is correctly filled out. The doctor's office reaps no benefit from spending time on a situation in which they will receive no payment, nor a penalty. I think the most reasonable approach is to send the form as it is, with the accompanying paperwork from the office which shows the items that are lacking on the form.

The worst that can happen is that it will be returned with no reimbursement, and The Pony will have to use his time off he will take for moving into his house to TRY and get the form completed correctly. Again, I don't see why the doctor's office would take the time to do so. But it might come to that.

No (Complete) Business Done On (The Day After) The Pony's "Vacation"

The Pony dropped off his medical reimbursement DOL forms at his orthopedic group on Monday, and they said he could have someone pick up the completed paperwork on Wednesday morning, after their out-sourced Worker's Comp gal came in.

Tuesday, I came home from town and saw a paper-clipped stack of forms lying on HIPPIE on the kitchen table. Farmer H has been talking about his business tax forms, so I wasn't clear what was draped over HIPPIE's lid.

"What is this on my laptop?"

"Them forms for The Pony."

"You were supposed to get them on WEDNESDAY."

"I know. But he called me today, and asked me to go over and pick them up. The office called him and said they were ready. Then when I got there, they had no idea what I was talking about. So I said, 'What do you mean, you just CALLED HIM to say they were done!' So they went in the back to talk to someone, and came out and pulled them out of a drawer off to the side."

"Okay. When The Pony gets home, I'll have him look them over, to make sure everything is there. Then I can get it copied and put together tonight, and mail it tomorrow."

The Pony actually had the NERVE, on Monday, to declare that HE could mail his own reimbursement forms! It went like this:

"Well, I guess I can find time to take them over to the post office. I have to start baking those cakes, and we're taking Mabel's Chex Mix over to her house, and I have to get two batches of deviled eggs and potato salad made, and go to the store to buy the meat for Saturday... I guess Dad could mail it while I'm doing all that."

"Mom. I LITERALLY go to the post office EVERY DAY! I can mail it."

"Funny how you couldn't mail Genius's letter for me that one time I asked. Since you DON'T WALK BY THAT PART OF THE POST OFFICE."

"Yeah, but I COULD. Except since I'm going in at 5:30 now, the counter isn't open."

"See? You knew you couldn't mail it yourself. You were just trying to shame me for complaining."

Anyhoo... The Pony got home from work, and looked at the forms Farmer H had brought.

"Um. Mom. I think Dad is going to have to take this back over to the office. They didn't fill in the CHARGES part of the chart. It looks like they have everything else but that. It's on my statement where they billed me, but the instructions from the DOL say EVERYTHING must be on this form. It has those line by line instructions like tax forms. And this CHARGES column is one that has to be done."

"Well. They have that info right here on this other form from their office. So they'll just have to copy it over. It's right there."

Farmer H interjected: 

"If you're smart, you'll just write that in yourself, and be done with it!"

Such sound advice from Farmer H. Of course I am smart. The Pony is smart. We know exactly what needs to be written there, and one of us has remarkable handwriting skills...

The only reason this packet needs to go through the post office clerk is so that proper postage can be purchased. NO NEED FOR A TRACKING NUMBER! If it gets lost, we'll re-submit. We won't even start to worry unless The Pony hasn't heard within a month that it has been received. Since that's how long it took to get there WITH a tracking number and two-day shipping.

No Business Done On The Pony's "Vacation"

The Pony got off to a later start than planned on his "VACATION," which was a regularly scheduled day off for his new mail route. He'd planned to be over at the orthopedic group in Bill-Paying Town by 10:00, to get an official form to file with the DOL for reimbursement of his medical bills. However... he didn't leave home until around 10:15, because he was still filling out his portion of the paperwork. The hour shower didn't help. Nor the half-bottle of wine the night before.

Anyhoo... The Pony said the office girls were very nice. They explained that they outsource their Worker's Compensation claims, so they could not just pull a form out of their files, nor print one out. They DID, however, offer to try and fill out the blank form for The Pony. He politely declined. Telling me later, 

 

"I know how THAT goes! If they don't normally do it, I doubt they'd do it right. So I might as well wait and get it done right the first time."

The office gals said the lady who does their Worker's Comp claims would be in on Tuesday. They would give her The Pony's form, and tell her what he needs. That they will have the paperwork up front on Wednesday morning. And that The Pony can send someone else to pick them up. A job which will fall to Farmer H, who has other business in Bill-Paying Town that day.

I'm hoping this will be as simple as it sounds. Something tells me it won't...

It's Like A Vacation, Declares The Pony

The Pony's day off was Friday. He worked 11 days in a row before that, most of them 12 hours. He put a hold on a route for this week. That means he gets the same route every day. Which means you get used to it, and you get faster at it. It just so happens that regular routes have a scheduled day off. The one for this route is Monday.

The Pony is thrilled that he will also be off on Christmas Day. THEN he has asked for his day off to be the following Wednesday, because that's when Genius will be here, for one day only. They haven't seen each other for almost three years!

Anyhoo... this means that The Pony will not work more than four days in a row during this time. He says, "It's like a mini vacation!"

That doesn't mean The Pony will be lolling around eating Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies, playing computer games in bed. He will spend Monday over in Bill-Paying Town, trying to get a form he needs to submit for his reimbursement of medical bills. 

 

It shouldn't be a problem. The orthopedic group already submitted this form three times in hope of payment from the Dept of Labor, but were rejected due to The Pony's case being slow-rolled, then denied. So they should have a copy of what they sent. It was all itemized on the statement they sent The Pony for payment, but he needs the official submission form required by the DOL. You know how government agencies are persnickety.

Anyhoo, The Pony already has a plan in case they say it will take a little while to get the copy for him. He'll go eat lunch at Steak N Shake, then go back for it!

I Suppose Things COULD Have Been Worse

In the grand scheme of things, having a 9-hour power outage is not the most inconvenient thing that could happen. During the Great Icepocalypse of '06, the Mansion was without electricity for nigh on TWO WEEKS. The boys and I moved in with my mom, and Farmer H stayed to run a kerosene heater to prevent the pipes from freezing, and to discourage looters. Heh, heh. We all know how discouraging Farmer H can be!

Yes, it COULD have been worse, but when I got up at 10:30 to respond to one of Farmer H's texts, it would have been hard to convince me of that. 

I HAD A SORE THROAT!

Oh, you may THINK you know, but you have no idea how that triggered me! I had climbed into bed, between the brown plaid flannel sheet and the gray thermal blanket (Farmer H made the bed), being in perfect health. I tossed and turned mentally, though barely moving my limbs. 2:20 a.m. was early for me to go to bed, and my body was not fooled.

I prefer to sleep on my left side. That leaves my back to Farmer H. Not by design, that's always been my most comfortable position, and he wanted the side of the bed nearest the bathroom. Around 4:30, when The Pony questioned the lack of power for his shower, I turned onto my back.

Everything would have been fine, except for Farmer H sighing heavily and getting up for a bathroom visit. When he came back to bed (no, someone had not taken his place, heh, heh, in keeping with yesterday's title theme)... Farmer H turned to lie on HIS left side. 

The room was pitch dark, but while bouncing the mattress as if it was a trampoline, I could tell how he was positioning himself. Not on his back, per usual, but on his left side. He let out a HARUMPH, and in that second, I felt

A DROP OF FARMER H SPIT LAND ON MY LOWER LIP!

Eek! I could not have been more panicked than Lucy Van Pelt, upon receiving a dog kiss from Snoopy! Boil some water! Get some disinfectant!

"Oh, yuck! I just felt your saliva on my bottom lip! That's NASTY!"

"Oh, you did not."

"Why would I make that up! Even with your breather not working, I still get your germs sprayed onto my face!"

"I didn't get no germs on your face!"

"You did too! It didn't come out of nowhere! Now you're gonna lay there BREATHING across my face all night!"

Of course you won't be surprised to hear that Farmer H did not change his position. Nor whip out a convenient spit hood like used by law enforcement, which I thought he might have stashed away from a surplus bought at the auction.

So... in the two hours that I was exposed to Farmer H's breathy breath, his cooties worked their way to the back of my throat while I was finally able to sleep, and began burrowing their way into my mucous membranes while I was unaware.

Of course Farmer H denied it when he returned home from his Storage Unit Store.

"I didn't make you sick! You're always blaming me!"

"I was fine until you coughed your spit on my lower lip. And then breathed across my face for two hours."

"You're crazy. Maybe you're getting sick, and this is just the time it hit you."

"Well, wouldn't THAT be convenient for you. YOU, who was sick last week! While I was fine. YOU, who goes out every day around a million people, and me, who only goes to buy a 44 oz Diet Coke."

"You ain't sick."

"Feel my neck balls! They're all swollen now! OUCH! I said FEEL, not SQUEEZE!"

"They are a little swollen. I guess you're just coming down with something. I didn't have anything to do with it."

"YOU SPIT ON MY LIP!"

Farmer H was still in denial when I got in the shower. After first taking an acetaminophen (for my sore back from making the Chex Mix bending over the oven). I gargled about 10 times with hot shower water. Still hurting, but not as much. I drank some water and a canned Diet Coke and the juice of an orange that The Pony brought me from his route. One house leaves out treats for the mail carrier.

12 hours later, my neck balls are halfway back to normal, and my throat doesn't hurt. 

I may be able to fight off Farmer H's cooties.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Ain't No Rock, And She Ain't No Island

 A winter's day, in a deep and dark December, WITHOUT ELECTRICITY FOR 9 HOURS!

Yep. Sitting in my basement lair last night, all cozy in my fleece jacket, mini radiator heater emanating weak waves of warmth, typing up my Saturday CENTSus on my not-so-secret blog, at 2:20 a.m., not a care in the world--

DARKNESS OVERTOOK ME!

Then New Delly bravely tried to resuscitate himself with a blue screen, while the lights flickered--

DARKNESS AGAIN!

No, sweet, sweet light signaling all was fine--

PERMANENT DARKNESS REIGNED IN THE DEEP DARK BASEMENT LAIR!

Good thing I have a tiny blue metallic LED flashlight stashed there for just such events. Even though the under-counter plug-in emergency light Farmer H has scattered throughout the Mansion came on within seconds, giving me a dim view of my lair. 

 

I waited for power to be restored. For about five minutes. Then gave up and made a visit to the NASCAR bathroom. No flushing, but I had another dim view from another plug-in emergency light. Which would have been better-utilized out in the basement proper. It was darker than The Pony's sense of humor!

I gave up on completing my two blog posts and answering comments. Headed up those 13 rail-less basement stairs by way of blue metallic LED flashlight. Although at the top of the stairs was another plug-in emergency light.

The Mansion is all-electric. No light, no heat, no water, no landline. I sighed and climbed into bed next to Farmer H, who was busy asphyxiating himself in a breather that was not working. No electricity, no breather!

"You know the power is off, right?"

"MMFPH?"

"The power is off. Since 2:20."

"I guess I don't need my breather."

At 4:30, The Pony came calling.

"Um. MOM? Oh. You're not downstairs. Did you know the power is off?"

"Yes. Since 2:20. No shower for you."

"I know. And no shaving."

"I'm sure you could get a little bowl of water from what's still in the pipes."

"Yeah. I might do that. And I'll eat something, since I'm up, and I can't shower."

The Pony left for work at 5:00, with a plan to take the alternate route past the car-repair shop, to avoid our road in case there was a pole down. We'd had rain all night, but no lighting or wind. He sent a text that the electric company had floodlights at the prison, like that's where the problem was. WE HOPE!

The electric company sent me about 10 emails over the course of the outage, reporting that we had an outage, and keeping me from getting a good snooze with their interruptions. Farmer H signed up for that notification service, with MY email!

At 7:30, power had been restored. The furnace came back on. I know, because even though finally in a deep sleep, Farmer H's EXTREMELY LOUD CLOCK RADIO ON HIS NIGHTSTAND STARTED BELLOWING COUNTRY MUSIC. Not even GOOD country music. Of course he was long gone, up to his Storage Unit Store, which is closer to town than the prison, and had electricity. Which he knew by checking on his surveillance cameras, I think.

Anyhoo... I had to get up and go around the bed to figure out how to turn off that racket. I settled down to snooze again, only to be awakened by Farmer H by text at 10:30, asking if I STILL had power. Which I did not. No furnace, no glow of the bedside phone or red radio digits. 

 

Then the electric company sent me another email that power was out again. And then one that the problem was equipment related. And then one that crews had been dispatched, and would determine a restore time. Sweet Gummi Mary! The previous crew that didn't fix the problem right should still have been within the area!

So... I've not had a very restful night. The electricity was back shortly after 11:00. Yeah. That's right. I knew because I got a couple emails. I had to trek down those 13 rail-less basement stairs to get my daily blogs done, since I needed pictures stored on New Delly. HIPPIE is barely adequate for my blogging needs.

Asking For It

As the resident bill-payer of the Hillmomba Mansion, I thought it necessary to address King Farmer H concerning a concerning development on the tax situation. We got all our county taxes paid when Farmer H walked them over to the courthouse a couple weeks ago while I was being denied bond redemption. However... we also get an assessment bill for our lake property that the crazy scammer guy tried to sell with the wrong lot number.

WE HAVE NOT GOTTEN THAT BILL!

I was worried that maybe the Scammer Guy had somehow gotten our lot transferred to the guy he supposedly sold it to. Farmer H has been too busy to drive back out there and see if the New Owner got all his crap off our lot. Normally, we get our assessment bill shortly before or after Thanksgiving. It's due by the end of the year!

Thursday, I called the lake development. My call kept going to a voice mail. I refuse to leave a message. Nobody ever calls me back. Yeah, I'm talking about YOU, my nurse practitioner office, about my unrequested POOP BOX! Anyhoo... I called the main number for general purposes. A frazzled-sounding lady answered.

"Hello. I'm calling because we haven't received our assessment bill."

"Nobody has, Sweetie. We're working on them right now."

"Oh. Okay. So it hasn't been lost in the mail. I'll wait for it. Thank you."

Whew! So it's perfectly normal that the assessment bills haven't gone out 14 days before they're due. There had better not be a penalty if payment isn't received by year's end. We KNOW how the mail gets delivered these days...

A Break In Sight From The Tongue That Bites

Farmer H may get a brief respite from Mrs. HM's nightly chastisement. You know, that period set aside for: This is the Time We Discuss the Most Recent Thing You've Done Wrong. Probably just for one night, though. And it may not happen, depending on what he does wrong!

To earn this reprieve, Farmer H declared that

"I could grill for Christmas dinner."

You betcha! I'm okay with that! Farmer H is a good griller. Better yet, while he's grilling, that's a dish I'M not making! He really thought it could help take the workload off me. However...

My sister the ex-ex-mayor's wife has decided that this year, guests will bring a dish. Or two. Fair enough. She goes to a lot of effort and expense to host her Christmas Eve shindig. We determined that it's no good for me to bring a hot dish, because it would be cold by the time we got there. Besides, the ex-ex mayor LOVES my deviled eggs and potato salad. Those are the dishes I am requested to bring.

So... it doesn't really save me much from my own Christmas dinner preparations. I'll make enough for US, too, since I have to make them anyway. And The Pony loves the roasted vegetables. So we'll have them. I offered to make baked beans for Farmer H's grilling. He loves baked beans. All I have to do is open a can of beans, chop an onion, and shove a glass dish in the oven.

I won't be making the 7-Layer Salad, because I'm not sure I can find romaine. It was suspiciously absent from Save A Lot on Wednesday. And I won't make the hash brown potatoes, which aren't that hard anyway. We'll still have Sister Schubert's rolls. And The Pony MIGHT want Stove Top Stuffing. Takes 5 minutes.

Yeah. You can bet I'll make sure Farmer H grills enough meat to last for leftovers. He and The Pony want steaks. I'd like a BBQ pork steak. Then we'll have some sausages for future days with our sides.

Hillbilly Mom Said There'd Be Days Like This

Tuesday was not a good day for The Pony. Maybe the fact that his office received 12,000 packages on Monday had something to do with it. But The Pony doesn't shy away from hard work. He plugs away without a need for nagging.

 

The Pony was assigned an LLV that had a dial in the red zone. He called his supervisor, who said it was just reading the temperature wrong. So he had to keep driving it. Nothing bad happened. From the gauge.

 

While delivering on foot, The Pony lost the key to the LLV. It fell out of his back pocket. Which he realized when he got back to the LLV. So he had to re-trace his steps along the route, looking for the key. After 20 minutes of no success, squatting down to peer into the grass intermittently, during which a downpour drenched him, The Pony called his supervisor to report the loss of the key. She said to call the garage that repairs the LLVs, to bring out another key. Five seconds after he called the garage, Pony found the key. So he called back to cancel.

 

When he got back to the LLV, his right leg was hurting. The Pony didn't know if it was from wearing his new shoes, or from the squatting to look for the key. 

 

On the way home after his 12+ hour shift, The Pony took his shoes off to let his feet dry out. Which he soon regretted, because...

 

"I could smell my own feet!"

The King Has Been Kinging Again

The Pony and I enjoyed a brief respite from the iron-fisted rule of King Farmer H on Monday night. The King was at the auction, counting out his money. The Pony was enjoying a boneless skinless chicken breast, on a toasted-bun sandwich, with a side of 2/3 of a package of Stove Top Stuffing. I used the brand name box, in honor of our Kingless repast.

"I'm not having any stuffing. You can have as much as you want. Dad is at the auction. If you have any left, we'll put it with your other piece of chicken for you to have tomorrow. Dad doesn't need any stuffing. I'll make some biscuits for both of you, and some salad."

"Oh, Mom. When you moved my Pop Tarts in the pantry? Do you remember how many were in the box?"

"I think two. It was kind of heavy. I put it in the corner, on top of your new box of brownies."

"Yeah. I found the Pop Tarts. But there was only one in the box. I mean one pack. You know, they come two to a pack."

"Uh huh. I'm pretty sure when I moved it, there were two packs."

"I guess Dad got one..."

That would be a logical conclusion. If only I'd known, I could've asked the King if he wanted me to pick up some Pop Tarts at the store. He was here when I left for town.

"Do you want anything from the store?"

"No. There ain't nothin' I want."

"Chips? Do you want some chips?"

"NO! There ain't no reason to have more than one bag of chips open around here."

Which pretty much tells me that my chips will continue to disappear.

This Leopard Ain't Changin' His Spots Any Time Soon

King Farmer H is wielding his power again at the Mansion Castle of Hillmomba.

All I did was ask a simple question:

"Have you been eating my chips?"

"Chips? What chips?"

"The chips sitting on the cutting block."

"The only chips I eat was the ruffles."

"We don't have any Ruffles."

"Them ones with the ridges."

"The mini packs in the pantry?"

"No. Them ones sitting out."

"The Cheddar chips with ridges on the cutting block?"

"Yeah. I guess that was them."

"AHA! I KNEW the pack was closed up different than I left it. Almost the same, but different."

"They ain't YOUR chips!"

"I bought them to take down a few at a time in a baggie, with my lunch."

"You and him is the same! It ain't YOUR food! It's MY HOUSE, and I'll eat whatever food I want!"

"What if your candy on the table was gone when you went to get a piece?"

"My candy ain't gone!"

"That's my point. WE don't eat your stuff without asking. We don't care if you eat some, but don't SNEAK IT! So that when we want something we've planned on having, it's GONE!"

"It's my house and I'll eat what I want!"

"EVERY time I go to the store, I ask if you want something."

"I don't want nothin'."

"But you'll eat something WE pick out for ourselves."

"It ain't your food!"

I don't know why I thought talking about it would do any good. First of all, Farmer H started out with his usual stalling before outright lying. AND if he really thought I'd bought those "ruffles" chips for HIM, he wouldn't have tried to fold up the top just like it was, AND put my gently-used paper towel that I used for drying my hands RIGHT BACK ON TOP OF IT!

I'm not as stupid as he wants me to be. Which is what I used to tell students who were being particularly untruthful...

Postal Pony Sing This Song, Faux Pas, Faux Pas

On the day The Pony got his official letter that his Worker's Comp claim had been RECONSIDERED, and he would now receive his back pay for broken-ankle time off, plus his medical expenses... he was checking his bank account when he saw that his credit card has been unlocked from the security hold. I guess The Pony went whole hog investigating his financial situation, because he discovered a disturbing fact.

"Oh, Mom. I checked on my credit report, and it DROPPED! I guess it must be from my credit card being stopped by the credit card company. So now I'll have to start using it again and build my credit back up."

"That's weird! You've never missed a payment. Never been late. Because I always remind you and harp about it until you pay it. Huh. Maybe it was because you had to pay back that money for the week of pay you already got when they denied your Worker's Comp claim." 

"I don't know. It didn't go MUCH lower, but it did drop."

Two days later, we all got an identical notice in the mail. Farmer H, The Pony, and I. Of course I opened mine. It was from The Pony's credit union down in Oklahoma. The account he used exclusively before he got his job here.

It was an overdraft notice! "Your account balance is -$40." It had been so since Dec 3.

I sent a text to The Pony.

"I wonder how that happened. I guess I forgot to move some automated subscriptions to my other account. I'll transfer some money."

Uh huh. I think we discovered the reason for the drop in The Pony's credit rating. 

Adulting is hard work.

You Gotta Know When To Fold It

I'm a little concerned about the strapping young man who checked me out at Country Mart on Friday. He's the one who rang up my FREE TURKEY before Thanksgiving. He's tall, and a good football-playing size. Not fat, but a little more than stocky. He has red hair the color of Prince Harry and my nephew, son of my sister the ex-ex-mayor's wife, plus a little bit of a light beard.

Red is usually friendly and talkative. Not as much as the Christmas-decorating dude, but personable. He was the only checker working, even though the light was on at the register next to his. There were six of us in line. Finally the absent checker arrived. I let a couple whose old man had a cane go ahead of me to the newly-womanned register.

When I had my turn with Red, he just scanned my groceries and bagged them and handed them to me. No small talk. He didn't look good. His cheeks were a bit flushed. Like he was wearing rouge. AND he was dabbing at his forehead with a folded-up paper towel. Yes, he was sweating. Dripping, save for the paper towel. I hope he wasn't feverish. It WAS unseasonably warm. 65 degrees outside. I think Red might have been wearing long sleeves. So maybe he was just overheated. I was comfortable in the store (and out) with just my short-sleeved shirt.

I have been extra-cautious about keeping my hands away from my face since then. Even though I washed my hands numerous times since our interaction, and had them in dishwater, you never know. I might have touched the food that Red touched. I know I touched the bags, to carry them in, and stuff in a sack for Farmer H to use eventually at his Storage Unit Store, when he remembers to take them. They'll be sitting on a kitchen chair for a couple weeks, probably.

Anyhoo... I guess something has been going around. Farmer H came down with it last Friday night. A head cold. Just snottiness and congestion. No fever. Hardly a cough. Some wheezing for two days. I fed him Chunky Chicken Noodle Soup. Cautioned him to swill a lot of water. He stuck Vicks up his nose at night. Aside from last Friday night, when he had to take off his breather because he was so stuffed up, Farmer H didn't seem to be slowed by that head cold. He's over it now.

Neither The Pony nor I caught it, but Farmer H said two of his Storage Unit cronies had it, and the three of them hadn't even seen each other for two weeks. Yet they all caught it at the same time.

I hope my checker-outer was only over-heated. I know it's hard to miss work if you need the pay, and if you're worried about getting fired, but he looked like he shouldn't have been there. I'm not as worried about catching anything as I was with that WHOOPING baby. We were separated by the plexiglass mostly. But I didn't like that sweating...

Believe Me, I Was As Shocked As You

Remember last Wednesday, when I tried to redeem my Series EE Savings Bonds over at our financial institution in Bill-Paying Town? Okay. Maybe you don't, because it's really not a very interesting way to spend an afternoon. Anyhoo, they said that their system wouldn't take the serial numbers as they tried to type them in. And that they'd give me a call when it worked.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Monday...

ON TUESDAY, I GOT THAT CALL!

Yeah. I guess it took a while for everybody higher-up than my Desk-Teller to get out of that meeting! She was very polite, and said their system was now ready to accept my bonds for redemption.

"Oh. Okay. I'll try to find a day when I can make it back down there. Thanks so much for calling."

You know, because I'm not gonna run out and jump in T-Hoe and speed 20 miles to do that the instant they rescind their rejection of my bonds. I have to get used to the idea again. Decide if I really want to get up EARLY to get over there and back before dark. Wonder if Farmer H might be roped into driving me again.

The more I thought about it, I decided that I really should get it done this week, because I'll have to start my Chex Mix making soon enough. I asked Farmer H, but all he does is fritter his time away over at Pony House. So I got up at the Not-Heavenish hour of 11:15, and got ready to leave the Mansion by 1:00 on Thursday.

I made it to the institution without incident. There was a parallel parking space on the side of the building, right where Farmer H had parked us before. Good thing there were TWO spaces. So I didn't have to back up at all. Just drove T-Hoe up through one space into another. I grabbed my folder and headed inside. I went to the first teller I came to.

"I know you don't do this, but I'm here to redeem some savings bonds. Last week I talked to Firstname Lastname."

"Oh, you need to see the receptionist."

RECEPTIONIST? I didn't see any receptionist. Oh. Sitting sideways in a kind of booth with plexiglass around the desk. What an odd place for a receptionist. Her back was to those who entered from the side street like me. Her side to the people at the teller counter. 

She pointed me straight across from her booth, to a desk beside the one I'd been at last week. Which was empty. I guess that gal had a day off. Or got fired for breaking the savings bond system.

 

Anyhoo... this new Desk Teller was good enough. She was polite. She took the copies I had from last week, of my ID and the death certificate. Then she had the nerve to say, "Um. I need the bonds." Well! I guess she was within bounds, asking for the bonds.

 

First thing she did was leave me and go to the back. I think they go take a stiff shot of whiskey so they can deal with those bonds. Then she came back and started pecking at her keyboard. So I used that time to text my sister the ex-ex-mayor's wife about Christmas Eve festivities. In about 20 minutes, I had to sign a paper. Then Desk Teller put my bonds in a little contraption that reminded me of a sideways see-through toaster, and they got sucked in one at a time. 

 

"Is that a copier?"

 

"No. It's a scanner."

 

What will they think of next? An actual toaster to serve the customers a snack while they wait?

 

My business was done easier and sooner than I expected. I'm still kind of in shock that somebody actually called me back like they promised. I wonder if a POOP BOX would be frowned upon as a token of my appreciation...

I'm Pretty Sure It Wasn't Sent By A Secret Admirer

We're not doing our usual extravagant Christmas this year. The boys are older. The Pony will be getting items for his HOUSE when he moves in. Genius will only be here for a day, the week after Christmas. A cash gift is good enough. Nobody's going to turn that down! AND it means I can avoid the angst of dealing with package deliveries! 

I have only ordered a few things this year. They are not for Christmas. I'm waiting on the shoes for Farmer H and The Pony. They have not yet shipped. I have two bottles of vitamins on the way. And some cows for my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel. Not real cows, silly! Collectable CowParade Cows. I give them to her every year.

Monday evening, as I came upstairs to make supper for The Pony, Farmer H told me I had a package. He had left for the auction, then discovered it was only toys, so he came back home. That's when he saw the box on the front porch.

"I put it on the kitchen counter."

 

"Oh. Was it a box, or an envelope? Is it my cows, or the vitamins?"

 

"A box. Probably cows. It's too big to be vitamins."

 

I started frying hamburgers for The Pony. I'd barely glanced at the box on the counter. Just a quick look as I walked into the kitchen. While waiting for The Pony to get his burgers out of the pan so I could wash it, I turned to the box.

 

"THIS ISN'T MY COWS! It's a POOP BOX!"

"What? A WHAT box?"

"A POOP BOX! It's one of those ColoGuard tests! Why am I getting a POOP BOX? I didn't order it! In fact, when I was at my last appointment, my nurse practitioner asked me if I wanted to take the poop test, and I said NO. Because last time it cost me $649! Even though he swore it was covered by my insurance! AND it was useless anyway, because I never even got any results!"

"You know, my brother who actually had the surgery for colon cancer says that test is useless. His doctors told him that. It has too many false positives, and doesn't really tell you anything."

"I'd like to know why I'm getting this POOP BOX! I am NOT taking this test."

"Open it up. Maybe it says something inside."

"No. Why would I want to open it? Then I might be responsible for it."

"There might be a letter inside saying who sent it."

"All right... Oh, no! I wish I hadn't opened it! It's just the same kit they send everyone. Nothing about why it's here. Just the stuff and instructions. I am NOT paying for this!"

"Call your doctor and see if he sent it."

"I never get anything done when I call over there. They didn't do anything about my prescription needing further authorization."

"Just call and ask. Then you'll know."

So I called on Tuesday. On the house phone. Went through the automated section. Got a person. Asked for my NP's office. Got a recording saying to leave a message. Well. That was a bite in the rumpus. I didn't leave a message. But now I'll have a long-distance call on my AT&T bill.

When I went to town Tuesday, I used my cell phone to call again. So no long distance. And my cell phone works from the parking lot of Country Mart. Again, I got the recording saying it was the nurse, and to leave my name, number, and question. I did.

 

"This is Hillbilly Mom. 777-7777. I'm calling to see if somebody there ordered a ColoGuard test for me. Because a box was left on my porch, and I didn't order it. In fact, at my last appointment, I specifically said I did NOT want a ColoGuard test, because the last one cost me $649."

Of course I have not heard anything back. Isn't THAT a surprise? Of course they won't call, because they've been caught in a sticky wicket of prescribing something I said I didn't want. Or else they didn't, and don't want to hear me go on about it. Still, a simple YES or NO response to the origin would be nice.

I consulted my estranged BFF Google about "ColoGuard didn't order," and found an interesting link to the BBB. That's the Better Business Bureau. Seems I'm not the only one dissatisfied with ColoGuard's business practices! Many people are mystified when a POOP BOX arrives on their porch. Many more are outraged when they have to pay $649.

ColoGuard seems a bit snippy in their responses, saying they cannot send out a collection kit unless prescribed by a medical professional. They get all passive-aggressive about being happy that the complainer is being screened for their health, and sad that they don't want to pay for it. 

 

However, they say that if you don't want the test, to recycle it. Heh, heh! I'm sure THAT isn't going to happen. But I'll throw it away. Because if you don't sent it in, you can't be charged. Some poor honest POOP BOX recipient sent the kit back, and WAS CHARGED $649! Even though he/she didn't poop in it. Sent the unopened box back (paying shipping to return it) and got billed!

Oh, and some victims paid the $649 for their test, and didn't get results, and were told that results could only be given to the doctor who ordered the test. AND some others got a positive result, and had a follow-up colonoscopy at the hospital, for which they had to PAY, since their insurance said it was no longer a PREVENTATIVE TEST, since the ColoGuard counted as that. Which sounds like it was a problem to these people, since supposedly ColoGuard has a 40% false positive rate. All according to the Better Business Bureau correspondences that I read.

Here are my POOP BOX experiences from back in 2018:

I Can't Guarantee That It Don't Stink, But Apparently It's Made Of Gold

I Would Imagine That They Rue The Day Every Night

Maybe I can set my POOP BOX down by Mailbox Row, and somebody will steal it. Then again, it probably has a tracking code, and I might end up paying $649 for somebody else's poop...

The Carrier Has No Clothes

The Pony will soon be all decked out in official work gear. He came home Monday night with a new letter for his uniform allowance. He's been asking for it since two weeks after he returned to work when released by his ankle doctor. He passed his 90-calendar-day probation while off with his injury. So he was eligible for the $500-something uniform allowance. 

 

For that, he needed a specific purchase order/letter thingy from a manager. He got one, but something was wrong with it, or he waited past the time period that it was active. I don't remember the full story. I think it was equal amounts his own fault, and then the manager for not getting him the replacement thingy promptly

Anyhoo... The Pony was planning to hit SEND on the order he already had waiting, but then I threw a monkey wrench into the process by announcing that I was going to buy him a pair of shoes. I got a BA MASON catalog in the mail that day, and saw some suitable black leather shoes, and was tired of The Pony putting off shoe-buying while waiting to get that uniform allowance. 

 

I'd been pushing him to get some shoes WHILE he was off with that broken ankle. His other shoes were already worn out, and he has now worn them another four months! He delayed, because the current shoes he has and likes were discontinued.

Anyhoo... I also wanted to order a pair of shoes for Farmer H, since I'm not getting him anything for Christmas. AND his birthday is coming up. PLUS, I could get a 25% discount on my order. I used to order shoes from there all the time. 

So... two pairs of shoes are on the way. And now The Pony has put off hitting SEND on his uniform order, since I'm buying him a pair of shoes, and he wants to take off shoes and substitute more clothing.

Eventually, The Pony will look like a real mailman. You might not notice, because all you'll see of him in the dark will be that light clipped on the bill of his cap.

My Next Goal Is To Make Them Mad Enough To Wash Their Own Dishes

Let the record show that Farmer H has done his own laundry since the early years of our marriage. All because he took offense to being told to put his dirty clothes in the hamper in the bathroom. He was an hourly worker back then, and wore jeans and t-shirts that got soiled with grease during his machine maintenance duties. When he came home, he'd undress for a bath, and leave those dirty clothes in a pile on the bedroom floor.

"If you expect me to wash your clothes, you'll need to put them in the hamper. I won't pick them up off the floor."

Well. Who could have known how strongly Farmer H would feel about this topic? Surely (heh, heh, I typed SURLY) not Mrs. HM. But as you might expect, it did not hurt my feelings at all for Farmer H to selfishly do his own laundry from then on.

The Pony does his own laundry since he's moved back home. Not that I offered to do it for him. I'm pretty sure he lives in fear that I will breach the sanctity of his room to look for clothes in need of laundering.

NOW... if I could just stir up something to make them want to wash their own dishes, I'd be a freakin' genius. Yesterday I did three sinks full of dishes. Yet I hadn't gone a day without doing dishes. It's not like I let them build up. There were just too many, in such odd shapes, to get washed and drained in the clean sink. I know you don't think Mrs. HM is going to DRY the dishes, too! They can evaporate while I take a load off my feet.

I had the Tupperware container from the Oreo Cake. And skillets from The Pony making himself chicken tacos. And the muffin pan from corn muffins to go with the pot of beans I made. I normally would have put the leftover beans in my Chinese Tupperware soup containers, but I did NOT feel like wrestling that big pot. Oh, then there were the bowls from bean-eating, and countless dippers and stirring spoons and spatulas.

 

The Pony will wipe out the skillets with a paper towel. Sometimes rinse them. And if he uses a plate, he will wash ONLY THAT PLATE. Which is more than Farmer H does. He only runs cold water on a plate, washing food particles down into the sink hole to clog the openings.

I had planned on doing a load of my laundry yesterday, but The Pony claimed the washer. So I put it off until today, only to discover that Farmer H came home early from the auction, and piled my stuff from the dryer in a clothes basket in the laundry room. I'm pretty sure some socks will be missing. That was a dirty trick! I went to town as he was coming up the driveway, my clothes just put in the dryer. And that dirty dog rushed in to start washing his tighty-whities. Meaning that my dryer clothes had no chance to wait for me to fold them when I got back.

 

The Lady of the Mansion expects better treatment...

Pony, Pack-Rat, Hoarder, SHEESH!

The Pony had Sunday off from work, even though he'd missed on Thursday with a migraine. He saw the schedule for next week, and he has no day off. Fair enough. He goes in at 5:45 every day, to do packages before starting a regular mail route. They've put him on the same route all week, which could help with efficiency. The Pony likes that route well enough. AND he is glad to get home at a decent hour, like 6:30 or 7:00, even if he has to work 12 hours.

Sunday, Pony only wanted to rest. I don't blame him. But Farmer H had other ideas.

"I woulda took your car to get the tire fixed, and an oil change, if it was clean. I could come by from your house, and pick it up where you park it at work, and take it back. But I ain't takin' a dirty car to get worked on. I remember when I worked in the station. When we had one of those trashy cars, we all talked about it."

Yes. Farmer H worried about what a mechanic will think of him if he brings in a car whose "passenger" is a person-sized pile of McDonald's wrappers.

Anyhoo... I told The Pony, "At MY convenience, we'll take the trash bag of junk mail out of T-Hoe, because it's getting heavy, but still has a lot of room left. I can hold it while you throw in your McDonald's trash. AND we'll take a box out there, to get back all my containers that you're hoarding! The ones I put your Chex Nuts in for you."

"I can do it. You don't have to help. I'll do it when I get up."

I had every intention of helping, but I was elbow-deep in a pot of beans at 10:30 when The Pony ate a bowl of instant spicy chicken ramen noodles, and headed out to his Rogue. He came back with an armful of the plastic tubs I use to give out Christmas Chex Mix.

"I didn't know you took THOSE! I was talking about my little containers. The ones that came with the shredded parmesan cheese."

"I've told you, Mom, every time you ask, that THOSE are at work, in my locker!"

"Well. I'd like to have them back, because I use them to give out stuff where I don't care if I get the containers back."

Heh, heh. The Pony let that one slide. No educational or advice-y comeback for me.

Anyhoo... when Farmer H got home from his Storage Unit Store, he took the Rogue to town for an oil change and tire inspection. They didn't find anything wrong with the tire that The Pony says has a slow leak. But ALL tires had 20 lbs of air, when they NEED 32 lbs.! Also, Farmer H filled up the Rogue with gas, because it was low, and he figured The Pony will be busy enough this week without stopping for gas.

Then gave him receipts totaling $59. I did not charge for my parmesan cheese containers.

People Who Work As A Team To Not Do Their Job Right, But With A Justifiable Excuse

Thursday on errand day, I stopped by the Sis-Town Casey's for T-Hoe's gas, and scratchers. There were six people ahead of me, two cashiers working. One of the waitees was a former work colleague! I slapped him on the bicep with my winning scratchers, and he squinted at me like a slug in the sun exposed by overturning a rotting log. Because he was actually looking into the setting sun, which is quite bright through the front windows.

We chatted a moment about old times, and his new times, then the drive-thru guy came out to help with customers, and said, "Is that soda all you have? Just take it." So he got a free soda! Time had passed, and I was next. I stepped up to the left register when a man completed his transaction.

The Young Man Cashier fiddled around with something laying on the front of his register. No use delaying the inevitable. It was my turn, and he was open, and I had three scratchers to cash in for $22. He scanned my winners, and printed out the little receipt, and said I had $22. I told him I wanted $22 in gas on Pump 4. And that I was also buying scratchers.

Young Man Cashier tore off the scratchers as I asked for them. He rang them up. $20, which is what I had planned. Then he went to ringing up the gas and scratchers, and I punched in Farmer H's code (which is my phone number) to get his Casey's Reward points.

It looked like Young Man Cashier had everything under control. He was not the most friendly guy in the world, but he was courteous, and seemed to know what he was doing. No hesitation. Then he did it over again. Then he called for help.

 

A more experienced gal stepped over. "Oh, here's what you do." She rang up my gas and scratchers, then took off the $22 credit from the scratchers winnings. Only she didn't. She tried it all again. Then called for a manager. I'm sure it was a manager. She was carrying a clipboard.

"Okay. Let's see..." She cleared out the entire transaction. Rang up the gas and tickets again. Took off the ticket winnings. NOT! It didn't work for her, either. "We're sorry. We'll get it figured out."

"No problem. I'm not in a hurry."

 

Manager was perplexed. Then a light bulb went off over her head. Figuratively. "I KNOW! Just cash out that ticket for $22, then use the cash to pay for the gas!" 

 

Easy peasy. Same result. I owed them $20, which I'd been holding in my hand, ready to proffer when the told me my total.

 

I suspect that Casey's might REALLY have a problem with that register. Unless that Manager trained them all poorly, heh, heh. Because last week, they had that register closed completely. At least that Manager could think her way around the problem.

 

And they were all polite.

People Giving Excuses For Not Doing Their Job Right

Last month, when my bank cut me off from cashing my Series EE savings bonds, saying "We don't do that anymore" one week after doing it... I called around to assorted financial institutions, trying to find someone to break my bonds. Our savings & loan over in Bill-Paying Town does it! Or so they said, over the phone. I even asked if nine bonds was too many. My bank didn't want to do more than three or four at a time. The S&L phone-answerer said that was fine.

I wasn't in a hurry, what with Thanksgiving on the horizon. Besides, if I waited until after December 1, another bond would be matured. Which would give me the nine I had asked about. When Farmer H said he was going over there to pay the taxes at the nearby courthouse, I invited myself along with the bonds.

We were greeted as we walked in. I went directly to a teller, as I always do when I have business there. The people at the desks are for discussing loans, I assume. The Teller asked how she could help me. I said,

"I'd like to redeem some Series EE savings bonds. When I called, I was told that you do that here."

I pushed my bonds, my driver's license, and my mom's death certificate through the slot. That's what is needed, since they are all TOD, which means Transfer On Death. My name is on the bond in that space, even though Mom is listed as the owner.

Teller looked at my stuff. Then shoved it back.

"I don't do bonds. Let me show you to someone who can help you."

Seriously. She could have told me when I said why I was there that SHE didn't do that. No need to let me drag out the paperwork, then look at it. Off she went out of sight. She came out a door to my left, and darted down an aisle between the desk partitions.

"There she is! Go!"

Teller hadn't motioned for me to follow, but Farmer H thought I should. You know how the young people these days dart around like they have somewhere to go. And they are not good communicators. So I started after her. But Teller reversed her route, and was headed back up that aisle towards me.

"No. Not here. Come around."

She took me down the main walkway, and sat me down at a desk with a Desker. Again, I explained my purpose. Got the papers out of my folder, and shoved it through the slot in HER plexiglass barrier. She looked it over. Hesitated. Picked up the phone. Talked in a hush-hush tone, but I could still hear when I decided to listen. Which I did, because it was taking a minute.

"She's right in front of me. She's right in front of me! Okay. Bye. Um. I need to take this to the back. I've never done a Transfer On Death."

Seriously? Are people just bringing in their 30-year-old bonds to cash them? Surely somebody else in the county has inherited a bond or two! Desker was gone for about 10 minutes. Farmer H had grown restless after the first minute. He said he was walking over to the courthouse to pay the taxes. He gave me T-Hoe's keys in case I got done first.

Desker finally came back, and apologized for the delay. She started typing into her computer. Then called somebody saying it wouldn't accept the numbers off the bonds. Waited. Waited. Then called Teller, to ask if she would log into that program. Then went over to Teller's counter with my bonds. Then came back and said Teller's computer had the same problem. Then called to ask if EVERYBODY was in that meeting. Seems so. Unless that's just a euphemism for not helping, it's an hour to close.

"I don't know what else I can do. We have a new program. Last time I called to get it resolved, they called back within an hour. I can't guarantee..."

"Well, I drove all the way from Hillmomba. Because I was told that you can redeem the bonds here. But I don't want to sit for an hour on the CHANCE that it will work."

"Oh, I can call you when it works again."

"Okay. You'll get a recording, so you can leave a message."

Desker gave me back my bonds, and the copy of my license, and the copy of the death certificate. Though I'm sure they'll not trust that when I come back, and want to copy them all over again.

Right now it's Friday night. I've heard nothing from Desker since I left there on Wednesday. You'd think she would have been able to find out something by now...

I told Farmer H, "It seems like we got better service there when we had more money in our accounts, rather than what we have now!"

"Yeah. Or when we still had a loan that we were paying regularly. They're really not benefiting much from us now, compared to then."

Surely that has nothing to do with our service... but I'd think a courtesy call would be nice, to update me on whether or not I can expect to have my bonds redeemed there. Otherwise I will mail them to the Treasury Department with a long form, and I don't especially want my bonds in the Christmas mail rush.