My Cell Phone Met a Timely Demise at Home Depot

I can’t say that I was all that sad to see it go: This phone never did live up to its hype. It did require 2-3 replacement phones, plus endless hours lost on T-Mobile’s helpline. In all fairness, those who worked the Help Desk were wonderful, but when a phone has to be endlessly rebooted, the end is near. Plus, despite saving all my contacts to the SIM card, restoring my contacts was a rather spotty affair.

Next were those embarrassing moments traveling out of state when it failed completely. Since the internal memory card mysteriously would fill up, apps such as GPS would freeze, leaving me to call my client, pleading, “Please come find me.” And that was a dilemma which we now laugh about, however, not funny then. Never mind missed phone rings and text messages that took 24 hours to receive.

But back to Home Depot

I was there on another shopping expedition, and was behind the PROs desk with the staff who were trying to chase down some needed elusive supplies. I pulled the phone out one last time, and dropped it.

It didn’t bounce.

It shattered.

Pat was quick thinking, found the extra wide clear tape and patched it up.

I know, it looks really sad.

My nephew took pity on my and bought me an iPhone. Wow, it is fast, like comparing Windows 3.1.1 to almost any laptop today!

You’re Out of Favors! Or I went the extra mile for you, again.

Part of my job is being a social worker/taxi for tenants:

Early one morning I had driven a tenant to the hospital for some tests, with the promise to pick him up when he was done. I had clearly, repeatedly instructed him that THIS same door that I am dropping him off at, is exactly where I will pick him up later.

So when the receptionist called that he was ready to be picked up, I drove to the same door.

No dude. No surprise.

I called his cell phone, no answer.

I parked and walked into the lobby and hiked down multiple halls to a assorted outpatient offices and asked if he was there. Again, No dude. No surprise.

I called his cell phone, AGAIN no answer.

I drove to the back entrance of the hospital and repeated all futile efforts.

Of course, the definition of insanity is repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome.

Finally, the receptionist took pity on me and began making calls. Surprise! The man was still upstairs waiting for his discharge paperwork and stated that it would be an hour before they would actually release him.

Why the @@#$@# would you call your ride to come pick you up IF YOU ARE STILL ON THE SECOND FLOOR WAITING FOR PAPERWORK?!

The most frustrating part was hearing the man repeat, “It wasn’t my fault, there was glitch in the paperwork.” The concept that I wasted an hour hunting for him in a very large hospital, then waited out in my car for him to be brought down, wasn’t his fault! Aaarrgh!

Note to Men Out There:

Maybe I am being harsh, as a woman I have driven myself to and from various ‘procedures,’ such as root canals and biopsies, then drove home (all on my own), chased a toddler, cooked dinner and then danced around my home with a vacuum cleaner and did some laundry. The next day, I went off to work.

But we have the advantage, after all, we are the weaker sex. Sigh.

Your apartment flooded, but didn't call me because . . .

Ya cannot possibly make up these stories and the excuses given for these blunders!

We had a tenant, who had suffered a terrible accident, which left him not only physically handicapped, but with some quirky short-circuits in his logic. Despite those very broad allowances, this one still boggles my mind!

A flood in the middle of the night . . .

He rose in the middle of the night, and upon discovering a serious flood, chose to clear what he could off the floor, and then went back to bed! He didn’t want to wake us up in the middle of the night

I don’t care what time of day, when there is a flood, CALL US!

The next morning, he continued picking things up off the floor, but still didn’t call us.

His neighbor did. He is not much brighter: but at least HE called.

I flew downstairs and discovered that the water had now seeped into the next apartment: Two units were now underwater, and it was all preventable!

The 2nd tenant just laid in his bed

I had mustered some help: the water shut-off valve was found, wet vacs were deployed and urgent calls made to our boss and the plumber. It was all-out chaos.

However, the 2nd tenant, just lounged in his bed, which was a box spring and mattress on the floor, and next to it was his TV, also on the floor. The man was not dressed and was barely concerned about the ankle deep water, and the people trudging through his apartment. I made the very strong suggestion that he should move his TV OFF the flooded carpet. I actually had to explain that water will short out the TV.

He then asked, "WHERE should I move it?" AAAARRRRGHH!

It got worse

When the pipes under the foundation first broke, we could have contained the damage to just ONE unit, but remember, the tenant didn’t want to wake us up and disturb our sleep. (Remember that phrase!)

The apartment was so badly damaged, he lost most of his furniture and bedding (no renter's insurance), and since the floor had to be ripped up with a jackhammer, the man had to be temporarily relocated.

Guess where?

Not only was the tenant handicapped, he had a large dog. We knew he wouldn’t do well in a motel, so we invited him to bunk with us. My brother-in-law, a non-smoker, gave up his own bedroom for him, and permitted the tenant to smoke in the bedroom IF he only smoked in a certain chair next to a certain dresser: NEVER in bed. I placed a large towel to mark the area and to protect the rug. (We just had all new carpeting and linoleum installed.)

Guess where the cigarette burns were? Yep, next to the bed, the kitchen floor AND in front of the sofa.

The Finale

We asked him to be careful smoking: our floors will remember him.

We clearly stated, “No company.” Yet, my web cam recorded many people lounging in our living room while we were out. We juggled beds. We had another large dog underfoot in addition to our 95 lb Labrador, which left a very unhappy kitty scrambling for new hiding places. We lost a lot of sleep, our privacy, bathroom schedules and my desperately needed quiet morning coffee was invaded with chatty conversation (I do not do well in the morning before coffee kicks in). Oh, I had to 'serve' coffee. It's a small kitchen with two men underfoot. Plus the chaos of contractors stopping in. Did I mention that I freelance from home? May I get some sympathy?

He moved out a year later and has since asked to rent here again. No. We went the ‘extra mile’ in customer service, and never mind the preventable flood damage. The Business Manager has repeatedly declined his request. Whew!

Annoying Contractors

They dragged the job on for THREE MONTHS!

It is a ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT!

We GAVE them a CLEAR Work Order.

We had to hire someone to clean up their painting and repairs.

They left this calling card in the solid wood kitchen cabinets.

Of course, where else do you choose to store a razor blade but by digging it into the door of a perfectly good wood cabinet?

When Kitchen Appliances Go Bad: The Great Applesauce Fiasco

This story has two parts: The day before, I broke out the brandy-new food processor, fed it about a dozen apples—Gallo and Granny Smith—to create a big batch of fresh, homemade applesauce.

The First Mistake

To make applesauce, I use a cup of water, or some really great apple cider from the legendary Delicious Orchards in Colts Neck, NJ. It’s worth the drive!

I didn’t read the expiration date: I made two quarts of bitter, vinegar goop. It took five Oreo cookies to get the taste out of mouth. Dratz.

The Second Mistake

The next day, I started another batch. After several hours in the crock pot, my home smelled like heaven. I then poured it into the blender to smooth out the lumps: And the saga began.

When I attempted to remove the carafe to pour the applesauce into a container, the carafe jammed. It wouldn’t budge. So of course, the old adage, when something is stuck, force it.

Dumb move. The base of the carafe stayed on the blender, the carafe came free, 1 ½ quarts of applesauce poured out from the wide open bottom—over the blender base and onto the kitchen counter, and headed toward the floor. Dratz again.

I couldn’t scrape the overflowing sauce into a bowl fast enough. Double Dratz.

I finally set the blender base on the floor with a towel and called the dog over. He’s not a fan of applesauce. I even 'spiked' it with cat food. Darn.

A Good Excuse for a Glass of Red Wine

So, after two days of cooking applesauce: The first batch I screwed up, the second batch mechanical hell took over. From nearly two dozen apples, I managed to make about a cup and half of sauce. It’s really great sauce, but I am now out of apples.

I did pour that glass of wine.

I am sipping it now.

Tomorrow’s another day. Sigh.