My Mama said there'd be days like this

By Juli

So, here's how it is. With all the expected bad news on the financial front this week, the economy is about to be flushed down the global toilet (according to the media), and I will be circling down along with it unless the fates intervene as I enter God-knows-what-week with just not nearly enough work.

The NSF issue added an extra facet of dread to the normally un-fun appliance repair experience this morning. And I called everyone in the tri-state area looking for a reputable yet reasonably priced service company to rectify the oven gas-leak issue (the one the gas company said wasn't a gas company problem). Did you know there are appliance repair companies that charge 200 bucks just to SHOW UP? I should add that to my gig. Next writing assignment, I'm going to try tacking on a service call fee and see if it flies. Not.

Let me back up. The oven. I have it from a reliable resource that, these days, appliances are made to last only seven years. (Jack from this morning told me. He seemed credible.) I don't know about you, but we've had at least one $200 to $300 repair on each of the major appliances in our kitchen, and they are ALL under seven years old. I'm not sure what kinda funny math (maybe it involves credit default swaps) those jokers use when figuring out the cost benefits of eating out vs. cooking in, but I'm certain they don't factor in the costs of appliances, purchase nor repair. Big, loud, exasperated sigh.

Verdict on the oven. Faulty ignition switch. "Common repair." $204 with a coupon. I give him the official head nod to proceed with the repair; he says it will take fifteen minutes.

Anyway, as a happy bonus with the purchase of my oven repair, I learn that the pan drawer under the oven pulls ALL the way out so you have access to the electrical and gas goodies behind it. I couldn't give a shit about the access to the gas/electrical, but I stare in awe at my service technician like he is a Cirque de Soleil performer as he yanks it out. Why? Because I've been down on my belly, amidst the animal hair and the crumbs, hundreds of times with a ruler, a Swiffer, a stick. . .retrieving everything from Matchbox cars to brightly colored plastic jewelery and crinkly cat toys from underneath that Pandora of a stove. I've lived here for five years. How did I not figure out the drawer was removable?

Okay, back to the main plot. The big toilet is flushing, and I'm up to my eyeballs in the day's chaos. Lola is locked in the basement barking her head off, Rico is huffing and flopping on his dog bed reminding me that breakfast is late, AGAIN. The cat is just plain fucking in the way, I am watching the guy put in the new oven ignition and quizzing him about every other appliance in the house (trying to get my money's worth) when I remember I forgot to take the kids' lunch to school when I dropped them off. Lunch is in twenty minutes. To boot, I am midway through an online application for some job I don't really want but desperately need, and the phone is ringing. I do not answer it. I hope it's not Publisher's Clearinghouse.

I pay the guy, see him to the door, lock the door. Call the husband and let him know I wasn't a serial murder victim. Throw lunches together, race to the school, race back. Feed the animals, clean Rico's ears (purebreads have issues, beware). Take carrot juice (my fav) out of the fridge and notice the pan drawer is still pulled out, exposing all the horrors under the stove. Clean under the stove (priorities!) and put the drawer back after having to remove all the glass pans and such so I can lift it. Some are dusty; I really have to dig deep not to wash them all.

Ahh, day is half over, and I've done NOTHING. Nothing I'm going to get paid for anyway. So, I pick up my carrot juice and give it a good shake as I plan my "get some work" antics for the day.

I'd loosened the cap before I put it down to clean under the stove. NO SHIT.

Carrot juice is orange. Bright fucking orange. And it goes EVERYWHERE. All over me, the counters, the fridge, the stove, the cupboards.

For the love of God. My horoscope said it was going to be a good day, but I swear I just heard the burp at the bottom of the bowl, and it was in STEREO.