phone rings. I give it a dirty look. I am on my couch, devoting myself to my evening vegetative state. I want to talk to no one. Let the machine get it, I think. Then I remember. My machine, pissed that I didn't call in to check it once the whole time I was at the cape, decided to go munchkin on me. The out going message is unintelligible, uttered at just under the speed of light. Alex and I tried to speak in slow motion to get it to be understandable, but when we tested it we found that the record function is also playing at SST speed. So rather that allow people to think they could actually leave me a message, I unplugged it and tossed it in the trash. Remembering this, I picked up the receiver. Hello? Hi, this is John, from Small Changes? I rack my brain, trying to remember what kind of a non-profit charity small changes is and how I can politely disengage without being terribly rude. In the pause, while I am trying to figure this out, the man continues. You remember, I came to look at your bathroom? Light dawns. THE CARPENTER! Yes, hard as it is to believe, even after I kvetched to my absentee landlord, risking eviction, there is still a gaping hole in my celing, wall and floor, allowing my downstairs neighbor to converse with my upstairs neighbor, without having to shout. John, the carpenter continues. Sorry, he says, things got so busy this summer. That's all right, I assure him, But are you really coming? will you really fix my wall? Monday morning. 7:30. It's a date. I'll need a key, he insists. You can have all the keys, all the food in my fridge, all the toilet paper in my cabinet. Whatever you want. Hallelujah.
Posted by grabiner at September 10, 2003 11:47 AM