In the day

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Post  #2688.   Memories. It was just a matter of time before I would come across the perfect container for storing this item. I made a mental note to keep an eye out. Sure enough, after some time, no way to know how much time, here was this little black vinyl packet, about the size of several CD's, nice big fold-over flap, no lettering or logo, even a little fuzzy inside. Just right for .... what? Now, what the heck was it that I needed to store? THAT memory was gone, gone like it never existed gone. You know how that feels - your mind is never going to be able to pull it up.

I've put the container in a location fully in view in my kitchen should the lost item ever turn up. When it does, I'll finally be able to match them and store the package in some place in this house where I'll never find it again.

This sort of thing goes on All The Time. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Post  #2687.   The Rock. Of course, I should use bifocals. If I did, the check would have been written for the amount of the premium due instead of the dividend. So many numbers, so little attention span. To shorten this up, I discovered it the next day while filing, called the mechanical information center to get the mailing address for that type of mistake and sent off a new check. About ten days later, I received a notice from Prudential and THAT'S when I got on the phone.

It was the same lady machine. Evidently, she handles all the calls, only this time I became hopelessly lost somewhere in her mind. Help sent me to General Help, same person there! Complete Silence While Not Even Breathing got me "Sorry, I didn't hear that." She had the bases covered better than an indignant 40-year wife just inside the door at 3:31am with a rolling pin. Eventually, I managed the golden reply (which is REPRESENTATIVE, by the way, make a note) and was call-forwarded to Tim. I suppose it started to go downhill when I mused aloud that it seemed unlikely that "for my protection," the giving my full address, ZIP code and telephone number to a complete stranger was truly in my best interest. Although Tim retained his basic English-speaking ability, he suddenly lost the comprehension part. I could tell when he asked me if I had been drinking when the dog bite occurred.

The usual ponderously long story made short, I eventually got to a genuine 'maircun named Roger in Wisconsin. He told me, after some prodding, that Tim was in Panama. AHA! A new location in my call center trip around the globe. One of these days I'm going to land in a country where I speak the language, like Amharia or Urdustan and then I'll have them, won't I? Incidentally, Roger was so oily that I needed a Arm 'n Hammer rubdown when I finally got done with him.

Seriously, folks, this doesn't happen very often, and I want to assure you that I DO NOT START IT. Many, many times I have had delightful exchanges with customer service and learned all about Jean Ann's acceptance into beauty school and Uncle Horace's battle with psoriasis. Because I ask. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Post  #2686.   An alternate ending.  Several years have passed, important and life-changing years. Anastasia "Ana" leaves the bedroom, carrying little Precious, not her name but what they call her, and goes into the living room where, almost buried in the d├ęcor and overwhelming view of the city, sits the husband, reading, of course.

"Darling," she interrupted, "Often when I'm changing Precious I remember so well the night we made her."

Interested, he had to ask, "How could you know?"

"A woman knows," she said with considerable certitude, "And I certainly knew at once that new life was there."

"How wonderful," he said, putting down his book, "But why only when you're changing her?"

"Oh that's easy, silly," she laughed, "That was the first night you peed on me."Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Post  #2685.   The other neighbors.      Mrs. Cleese lives a few houses down with her two children. The son is about twelve, and his name is Corcoran, so-named because that's where his father was when he was born. Despite the spotty parenting, he seems like a nice boy. The baby girl's name is Velveeta. Mrs. Cleese named her that because she was extremely pissed at being knocked-up again just before Mister Cleese was headed back to prison. That's how she explained it to me anyway. Grandma Cleese warned her not to name the child Velveeta, but Mrs. Cleese is very headstrong. I know. She's my neighbor. I predict little Velveeta will also turn out to be pretty assertive. Corcoran asked if he could mow my lawn for some extra money. I'm "thinking it over." If I pay him too little, he may have me killed. Too much and he'll think there's money here and rob and kill me in the night. Then again, he may just mow the lawn like any regular kid, and not even steal anything. I like to be fair. Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Post  #2684.   One more time.

Post #2512. Rerun, Boast, Milestone. One of my posts, #2435, had words in it, when searched, make it to the top of a Google. It was just a little post.

Post #2435. 4411 Huguenot Walloon Drive. That was just for you folks who were trying to remember, What WAS that address? Sometimes I'll laugh out loud, thinking about those two kids. They're still alive, you know. He's 79 and she's 78. And still very much in love, we'd like to think. Hint: Mike Nichols and Elaine May

Of course, Mike's gone now. But there will always be a 4411 Huguenot Walloon Drive. Google reports, politely, as always, "We couldn't understand this location."Rick Macherat Rick M. In the day. RMacherat

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