Some Days, The Forever Vacation Feels Like A Job

When I retired, my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel told me I would love The Forever Vacation. That's what she calls retirement. She was enjoying it several years before I. For the most part, it KICKS BUTT! I guess I had post-traumatic stress for the first year, because every night I would catch myself getting anxious, more so on Sunday nights, thinking about the next day--until I remembered I was RETIRED!

Now I don't give it a second thought. I've grown accustomed to staying up late and getting up late. Doing my own thing. The closest thing to a deadline is writing a weekly letter for the boys, and getting it to town before the mail goes out Friday morning. I can shop whenever I want at The Devil's Playground. Any day! Not just the weekend. I can make doctor appointments for any hour. Visit The Pony on a four-day road trip. Go to a casino at the drop of a hat. It's a great non-job if you can get it!

Some days, I have designated duties. Tuesday, for instance.

I'd made plans with my favorite gambling aunt to meet for lunch at 11:30. Farmer H knew this. Yet he left a note on the kitchen counter (sneakily, after I'd gone downstairs) for me to find. He tasked me with calling the electric company, for a folly project he has undertaken. I wasn't at all sure I could do this task, since Farmer H's name is on the account. I figured I'd give it a try before heading to town for lunch. I thought I allowed plenty of time...

I had all the info at my fingertips. Computer open, email account logged in, just in case they had to send me a code number. I had Farmer H's original paper plate, with his instructions and specifics. I had the statements for both accounts we already have for the house and BARn. I took the phone number off the statement, since the Electric Company didn't seem to want it to be found online.

My original call, after selecting the service I wanted from the automated line, gave me a recording that calls were at their peak, and I would have a considerable wait. Uh huh. Of course I would. That recording recommended that I help myself online. I went to their site, and typed in all kinds of info, trying to complete my mission. Of course there was always something just a little bit off. I reset passwords, started a new profile, jumped through every hoop. But no. After reaching the final stretch, I discovered that the task I was attempting COULD NOT BE DONE ONLINE, but needed a phone call with a service rep. Uh huh. There went an hour of my time.

I barely left the Mansion on time to make my lunch rendezvous at Pizza Hut. Halfway there, I heard my phone bloop. I was on the slow road past the bowling alley at the time, and glanced at it. A text from my favorite gambling aunt. I pulled over on the slow road behind the local high school to read it. Hm. She was going to be late, because she had company. I texted that I was already halfway there, so I'd go into The Devil's Playground to do my shopping. It's next to Pizza Hut. Then I wouldn't have to go after lunch, as I had planned.

As I was getting out of T-Hoe, my phone rang. Auntie said she had gotten rid of her company, and was putting on her pants to come meet me. Huh. Kind of informal with company, my pantsless Auntie. I asked if I should wait, or shop. She said she moves pretty slow, to go ahead and shop, and she'd wait for me in Pizza Hut.

On the third aisle of The Devil's Playground, I ran into my sister the ex-mayor's wife, and the ex-mayor himself. Of course we had to stop and chat, even though I'd spent 49 minutes on the phone with Sis the previous evening. Then the ex-mayor's sister-in-law stopped by. And we saw a common acquaintance, my old neighbor, and one of their fellow church members. When I got up front to check out, cashiers 1-5 were closed, so I had to walk halfway across the store from my parking end to pay. The Devil's Handmaiden was a friendly sort, and wanted to chat about the Ginger Beer I had bought for Farmer H. (More on this another day, perhaps.)

When I finally got to Pizza Hut, Auntie was inside reading a book on her phone. While lunching and gossiping, I got a text from the Department of Motor Vehicles, saying that Farmer H had left off a vital signature in his quest to recoup some of the sales tax between buying SilverRedO and selling his truck and TrailBlazer. So I knew there was THAT to deal with later.

As usual, Auntie and I extended our lunch well into the afternoon, leaving the waitress a good tip for her troubles. Okay, maybe not a GOOD tip, but an okay tip, mine being 22%, since I gave her all the change from my twenty after paying for my personal pan, and a medium pepperoni and breadsticks for Farmer H's supper.

From there I went for scratchers and a 44 oz Diet Coke (I had water with lunch, because I really wanted my 44). By the time I got home, it was 3:45, and I still needed to get that electric company business taken care of. I put away my groceries, hoping my slaw had not spoiled while sitting in T-Hoe's rear for 3.5 hours. I don't think so. It was in the soft-sided zippered cooler, with smoked sausage and mushrooms laying on top of it, with a towel over the top, covered by my quilted winter coat. I cranked back in the La-Z-Boy with all my electrical info, and GOT A REAL PERSON within two minutes, and got that chore done forthwith!

Farmer H came home, and filled out the copies I'd kept of his four-page submission to the DMV. So then all I had left to do was make four copies and address an envelope. Oh, and pay the A-Cad bill that came in the mail.

Those tax returns will just have to wait another day...