August 6, 2004
A Nasty Turn
The Rational Mind in me eschews luck, fate, karma. In a universe of randomly colliding molecules it is primitive maundering that leads one to states of Belief, and Omnipotent Beings, much less Aggrieved Gods. And yet. And yet. Witness:
The AC compressor on my car found its 72 virgins, and the dollars ran deep. Put it this way: iffen I were an Arcadian fur trader in 18th century Canada it would have taken an entire sled full of sable pelts to satisfy the repulsive appetite of the grease-nailed vendor in question. In fact, I believe I saw the tumescent beginnings of an erection in the Dickey trou of the accursed as my credit card sang Bingo Is His Name.
No problem. Timing, age, a confluence of borrowed luck, come home to roost. But: then my homestead air conditioning went tits up the next day. That would be yesterday. My HVAC skillets are nothing if not timely, and despite the current heat wave they arrived today in the form of a bleached blond Reprobate, who seemed dismayed that the subjects of the many child pictures in evidence were not lolling languidly by the pool.
So: a bad compressor motor, which I had diagnosed myself straightaway, but Reprobate did not have the wherewithall to repair it. He did, however, have a stop-gap motor in his van, which he rigged up to give us blessed comfort until the Appropriately Priced machine arrives Tuesday. The stop-gap motor sounds like a fucking steam hammer, and is about as unbalanced as Teresa Heinz Kerry, but whatthefuck. My beloved family, and, more importantly, me, are cool, for now.
So it gets more interesting. As Reprobate was departing I noticed a significant puddle of water extruding from my refrigerator. Not mere moisture, but a pool one could launch a paper boat upon. I slid out the fidder-fadder (my Father's euphemism for anything more modern than an icebox) and espied a length of environment-shattered water hose. I tried to carve out the bad spot(s), but it was no use. I'll have to replace the hose tomorrow, and the ice in the tray will have to get me through a sordid Friday night.
Did I mention I have two sprinkler heads gone awry? Shooting precious H2O into the streets? That's a new thing I also noticed today. As is the fact my main cordless phone is dead due to hellish abandonment by the aforementioned beautiful children.
I almost forgot: the voltmeter in the Blazer is drawing down like an Egyptian whore at a Knights of Columbus confab. The Dickey trou brigade told me the new compressor would fix that, but, apparently, they were wrong.
Nay, I am beset not by God, but daemons, small imps with tiny pitchforks intent upon harrying me. Foul devils with foul hearts. Little bastards with my discomfiture on their timecards. Father Merrin don't know the half of it.
I once overheard my father and his brother fantasize about running away from their families. I was repulsed and shocked at the time, but I'm beginning to understand a few things in my dotage.