My Adventure With The Crazies

Last week I sat for a total of 8 hours (6 with kids, 2 without) in the car fix-it place getting Nathan's car tuned up. His Honda Accord (oh, blessed be it) has 388,000+ miles and just needed a little work. However, as the store I was in had 60 magazines (all hunting, fishing, or sports) and the TV channel was stuck the whole time on the hunting/fishing channel, Nathan SO owed me!!! So off I went. I thought doing the errands and going to the thrift store alone would be a happy reward. Don't get me wrong- I love my kids, and they are not "store brats"- but they SSSLLLLOOOWWWW me down.

The thrift store was my first stop. Ya never know with those places. I was anticipating a relaxed browsing. Nope. There was an older lady who kept loudly complaining to her daughter about "that stupid dinosaur toy that keeps snorting!" She was worried "because EVERYBODY is looking at me like I'm on oxygen." Let me clarify by saying that I neither saw nor heard any such dinosaur toy. Note to all friends: if I ever suffer from early-onset dementia, please, please do not allow me to make scenes in stores if possible. I'd prefer to suffer with some level of dignity- thanks!

On to Wal-Mart, where my mere presence coaxed an employee/stocker to share her life story, her family's genealogy, her cosmological beliefs, her grandson's educational prospects, and her views on prejudice. I heard about the Trail of Tears, gifted classes, how she was going to lead her grandson through the spirit world after they meet around the ancestral campfire (the stars). All-righty then. I think I used at least 5,000 of the my daily word quota in "Well... ok... I need to be... Sorry to cut you off..." Whew. By the time I got home I was exhausted.

Something must have happened in that last encounter. Maybe she cursed me with a Navajo crazy curse or something, but by the time I reached our neighborhood, I realized I was putting on the blinker TO GO AROUND CURVES.

But read on, dear reader- the best is yet to come. Nathan was at the office (that's NOT the best part, I promise) to prep for an interview. I, his helpful spouse, was made aware that a smoke detector was beeping downstairs in his dedicated man cave. So I'm thinking I'll get rid of the annoyance by changing the battery before he gets home. BUT I COULDN'T FIND THE DETECTOR. After about 30 minutes of looking, I determine it MUST have been installed in the unfinished basement before the drop ceiling was installed. I begin removing tiles. Using a flashlight and a compact mirror, my search was still in vain. Despite my best intentions, Nathan arrives home to ladder, tiles, wife with head in the roof, etc. He joins the search. We removed 9 tiles, even begin chipping away at the drywall above the ceiling with a hammer. The noise is incessant and TRAVELING. We hear it there, get there, and now it's behind us by 3 feet, move there, oh dear- now it's the the left by 5. So I go to plug in the shop vac and clean up the drywall dust. We've decided some moron has installed this thing heaven-knows-where, and the electrician will have to find it. (Did I mention I called the fire dept. on the non-emergency line to get advice as well?) That's when I saw it: the carbon monoxide detector, normally plugged into the bottom of the wall, has slipped down by the treadmill and is the culprit. How the sound traveled all over is a mystery of acoustics. How Nathan felt at that moment is not. Let's just say I thought it was funny, he did not.

Well, there you go. I have re-joined the world of the sane. May your week have a least a few laughs in it, even if they are at yourself....