The Life of Riley is a weekly post that details my activities since I ended a thirteen year career as a corporate drone. These posts are usually long, personal, and geared more for my own memory than the reader’s entertainment. This edition is a day late because made more time for my house than my writing.

Sunday (Day 518): Lord And Lady Douchebar

We started the day by bringing all the lights over to the house because the electrician was scheduled to finish up this week. After everything was loaded in, we opened the bathroom mirror and found that it was broken. We sort of stood over it for a minute before making the trip to Lowe’s to get another one. I opened that one in the parking lot to make sure that it was fine, but it ended up being broken the same way that the last one was. We returned that mirror too, and didn’t take our chances on a third. We were now back to square one on what we were going to do for a bathroom mirror, and we were not too psyched about restarting another decision process.

So, we didn’t. Instead, we went out looking for a regular, screwed to the wall shower curtain rod because I hate tension rods. I have many reasons for this, but very few of them are valid. After searching at least three different stores, and yet another simple thing was turning into a process. I was not amused.

I was amused by being able to ask #1GF! if we needed a “douche bar”, and then would point to the package with raised eyebrows and say that I was just reading what the manufacturers wrote. She was unamused, but it ended up being the highlight of my day. I’m even considering referring to shower curtain rods as a douche bars on a permanent basis. Thankfully for #1GF!, douche bars don’t slip into conversation all that often. Douche bar. Doooouuuche Bar. Douchebardouchebardouchebar. Heh heh.

In our search for a solid douche bar, we occasionally veered off to look for some cheap rugs. We didn’t really find anything, because it seems that “cheap” and “normal looking” aren’t necessarily compatible in the world of rugs. It was like going to buy a cheap sweatshirt and finding that everything in your price range had a cat in gold sequins glued to the front of it.

#1GF! got frustrated because of my irrational hatred of tension shower rods and my inability to accept any of the cheap rugs we saw, and I don’t blame her. Sometimes living with me can’t be the easiest thing in the world. Sure, everything comes with a side of humor, all your spiders get sqooshed, and you have someone to defend you until the bitter end, but I can see how my irrationality over seemingly inconsequential details could be maddening.

We went to buy some vitamins and other stuff at the giant super drugstore that really does sell sweatshirts with gold sequined kitties on them, and then went to Chili’s for a late lunch. I’m going to write this as a reminder to myself: At Chili’s, you pay $9 for a friggin’ sandwich, and that sandwich is invariably going to suck ass. Next time you go in there, you are not allowed to bitch about it, because you knew the deal ahead of time. The place is a pit, and it always smells like industrial-strength cleaner mixed with something stale. The next time that you suggest Chili’s and #1GF! reminds you how much you hate it, you are not allowed to dispute that fact. And if you do, you can’t bitch about the dog shit that you pay $9 to eat. #1GF! may point to this paragraph as proof of how much you hate it there. Yes, you do.

We returned to the house later to try to figure out what height to install the bathroom light given #1GF!’s fancy mirror requirements that, in all likelihood, will be forgotten before they are met. We had a minor argument over it, but got over it quickly. We went home, and didn’t end up eating dinner because of the late lunch. I think I might have had a bowl of cereal or some corn chips, but I can’t say for sure.

Monday (Day 519): Damn You, Douche Bar!

I wrote LOR until 2:30 and then went to a small, local hardware store in my quest to find a non-tension shower rod. They didn’t carry them because they dented so easily, so he sent me to an even smaller hardware store that seemed like it had been jammed into a house against its will. They had exactly what I was looking for in the attic in what seemed like it had once been a small bathroom.

By the time I got the bar back to the house it was 3:30, and I had an hour to install it because the sun was going down and I still didn’t have any lights installed in the bathroom. I tore open the packaging, and found that the rod was dented. Sunufa. I sat and stared at it, but that didn’t make the dent go away. Saying “Come on, man” didn’t seem to work, either. Normally, I would’ve returned the rod and got another, but it was under $8, and I decided that I just didn’t fucking care. That rod was getting installed in the next hour, and if the dent became a problem in the future, I’d spend another $8 to replace it.

I installed the rod and was home by 5. I tried to write a post for Tuesday, but ran out of time before I had to make dinner. I made the raviolis that my uncle bought for me for fixing his computer. He was right: they really were some of the best frozen raviolis that I have eaten. He estimated that if I was really hungry, I could probably eat ten of them. I ate twelve, and later realized that I should’ve stuck with my uncle’s recommendation. Twelve big raviolis is a lot of cheese.

After dinner, we watched Run, Fat Boy, Run, which had way too much romance and far too little humor to hold my interest for long. I decided to clean up the dishes before it was over, but #1GF! watched it through to the end.

Tuesday (Day 520): Slave Mentality

Before she left for work, #1GF! mentioned that she wanted me to schedule the floor guys to come in. Because I wasn’t sure how long the electrician and the contractor would need to get their work done, I wasn’t ready to schedule it. #1GF! really wasn’t happy with this, but there was nothing that I could do. I wasn’t going to pay to have the floors redone just to have some workers come in and accidentally scratch it up.

Once she left for work, I headed over to the house to explain to the electricians where the various lights should be installed. They were a half hour later than expected, so I wandered around the house trying not to notice all the plaster and paint issues staring back at me. I eventually went down to the basement to pick a spot for my work bench because there isn’t much to look at down there.

The electricians showed up and said that it would two or three days to get things done, so I was glad that I didn’t call to schedule the floor guy in. I left them to their work, and headed out to do the food shopping.

The minute that I pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store, the electrician called to tell me that we had bought the wrong type of under-cabinet lights. I needed low voltage lights, but had bought lights that were wired for regular voltage. They would have to be returned for something that was compatible with the under-cabinet wiring. I didn’t mind running out and picking up whatever it takes to keep the job going, but now I had to drive twenty minutes back to the house. I had just taken a pointless, forty minute drive to see a parking lot.

I arrived at the house, and the electrician was waiting for a call from the electrical supply place to see what king of lights I should pick up. They called back while I was there, and we found out that they didn’t have the lights we needed, so the electrician would have to figure out something to make it all work. He would compile a list of things that he needed by the end of the day so that I could make a single trip to the store and wouldn’t waste time running back and forth.

Unfortunately, I had wasted the time to come all the way back to the house for nothing. He asked me to weigh what my time was worth versus the cost of driving back and forth a couple of times. That’s when I said it.

“My time isn’t worth anything. It’s free,” I said. And when I got in the car, I started to stew.

My time isn’t worth anything. I can run around on everyone’s fucking whim and do whatever they need because my time isn’t worth shit. I don’t have a job. Oh, I’m getting one because this IS FUCKING BULLSHIT. I’M TIRED OF FOOD SHOPPING AND RUNNING AROUND LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT. IF I’M GOING TO RUN AROUND LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT, I MIGHT AS WELL GET PAID FOR IT. MY TIME HAS NO FUCKING VALUE. The only people who’s time isn’t valuable is a slave’s. I have a slave mentality. FUCK.

I pulled over to call #1GF! to tell her about the lighting situation and tried not to be a frustrated prick. I failed miserably. She suggested that I go back to the house and work on something so that if the electricians needed something, I’d be there. That was just about the worst suggestion I could’ve heard given that I was feeling like a slave to the fucking money pit that we call a house. I didn’t explain why. I just sort of got off the phone. She had shit to do at her job and didn’t need to listen to me, and my job is being a fucking slave to the house. FUCK.

I tried not slide all four wheels around the rotary in out complex when I turned around to go back to the grocery store once again. I had a decent headache, even though I had downed a couple of Excedrin and a Coke to keep myself at least functional. I wanted to put my foot on the floor and ram cars off the road, and then back up and ram them again before peeling away to ram someone else off the road.

Of course, I didn’t. I drove back to the supermarket under the speed limit and sat in the parking lot listening to “Muscledog Shot” by Milligram. I didn’t want to get out of the car. I wanted to just get on the highway and drive somewhere. Oh, but I couldn’t, because someone would call from the house and need something and if I’m somewhere else, I wouldn’t be able to be their fucking bitch.

When I finally walked into the supermarket, I knew that the expression on my face was a mixture of “stay back 500 feet” and “do not touch” that rarely surfaces anymore. I couldn’t help it. I almost walked out right back out to avoid throwing cantaloupes across the store. I stood for a minute. “Breathe. Your frustration is your problem. Not anyone else’s. Deal with it. Get what you need, and don’t spread misery.”

I relaxed enough to grab a basket and do some minor shopping. I picked up about a dinner’s worth of food and only bought what was written on the list because I just didn’t care. No food in the house? Fuck it. I don’t care. I’m tired of the fucking domestic routine. I’m tired of paying for the house. I’m tired of people needing more and more money. I’m tired of getting pushed off and pushed off until there’s no time left. I’m tired of having to make do with all the mismatched shit I have in storage that sucked five years ago and probably sucks now. I’m tired of holes in my socks. I’m tired of pushing down the frustration and smiling when I want to punch someone in the fucking face and tell them to get the fucking job done. I’m tired of biding my time and storing up “evidence” against the last contractor. I’m tired of it not being socially acceptable to choke someone out when necessary.

Fuck.

#1GF! called in the afternoon, and I was better. I still had a headache, but at least I wasn’t pissed. I tried to resize some pictures for the kitchen people’s website, but they were coming out at 100kB, which is far too big for the web. I took a break to make #1GF! some plain pasta for dinner (I said I barely shopped) and watched one show before I felt like I should get back to work. I headed back upstairs to my PC where I remained until bed. I realized that I had forgotten to go back and check on the electricians and never called anyone I was supposed to because I had gotten so wrapped up in the pictures I was retouching. I needed to be distracted by minutiae, and the pictures did the trick.

Wednesday (Day 521): Running Around

The electricians returned to install lights, and I ran out to pick up some items for the electrician. The electrician was going to rewire the lights we had, but he still needed a transformer and some switches to make it all work. I was also going to return our dining room light because it was not only ugly, but it was bent.

When I got to the store, I bought $300 in various electrical devices, and once the purchase was done, I was told that I couldn’t return the light because it had been installed. I countered that it was broken, which we didn’t notice until it was up. The woman said that she’d have to speak to her manager, but he wouldn’t be in until Friday.

How do you drop $300 and then get told that you can’t return something? I’ve seen people return obviously used paint sprayers to Home Depot, and they take them back without blinking. I buy a broken light, and I can’t return it unless I have authorization that is going to take two days to procure. Sometimes shopping with the little guy can end up being a big pain in the ass.

I put the light back in the car and drove back to the house. I dropped the stuff off to the electrician and he asked when I was going to install all the switch plates. I mentioned previously that I didn’t mind doing it, and he later said that he would do it, so I thought I was off the hook. I don’t like to give anyone a reason to do anything but the best job, so I said that I’d take care of it the next day. He’s been good about getting things done and this was a grey area in our contract, so if installing the plates sped the job along, I was perfectly willing to do it.

I think I spent the rest of the day researching and building The Beard Playlist.

Thursday (Day 522): Putting On Switch Plates And Cleaning Up

I went to the house to put on switch plates while the electrician finished up. Yes, I used a level and turned the screws in the same direction. The fire inspector did his inspection, and we passed. In the testing process, I found out that we had talking fire alarms that tell us where the location of the fire is. It literally said something like “DANGER! THERE’S CARBON MONOXIDE IN THE HALLWAY / BASEMENT / ETC.” before beeping insanely. Yup. That’s going to be annoying as fuck when I’m burning dinner.

I also found out that running a shop vac on certain circuits trips a maintenance mode in the fire alarms. The electrician called the company and they said that it happens all the time and there’s no solution to it. I know you’re thinking this sounds like bullshit, but the phone was so loud that I could hear what the guy from the smoke alarm company was saying. It might be bullshit on the part of the company, but at least the electrician isn’t bullshitting me.

Once everyone left, I went home for a quick sandwich before going back to clean up all the boxes and mess that had accumulated over the week. When I had all the usable moving boxes separated from the trash, I headed out to two home improvement stores to pick up a mirror and some house numbers. I brought them back to the house, but it was 4PM and I just didn’t feel like working on the house anymore. I went home and had to redo all the pictures for the kitchen people because I had somehow lost all of the previous day’s changes. Hey, if you don’t save early and often, you have no one to blame but yourself.

Friday (Day 523): Mystery Money, Jesus Freaks, And The AutoEscalator

I met the electrician at the house for the electrical inspection, but the inspector didn’t show up because of some personal business. The electrician had to call the inspector to reschedule for 4:30. I said that I be at the house to meet him so that the electrician didn’t have to make another trip. The kitchen guy was supposed to come by at around 10AM to install the kitchen and bathroom knobs, so I figured I’d clean the attic while I waited. I had to call #1GF! for something, and she asked if I actually brought the knobs to the house for him to install. I didn’t. I had to run home to get them.

The kitchen guy showed up on time, but he didn’t have all of the pulls, so he was going to have to come back another time to finish them off. While he was working, the doorbell rang. He answered it because I was up in the attic trying to find the floor. It was a lady spreading the good word.

By the time I made it downstairs, the kitchen guy was in the middle of a conversation with the lady. He looked like he was trying to extract himself, and she had the blank, smiling stare of the preacher from Poltergeist 2. As I was covered in insulation and dirty as a mule, I stood back like the kitchen guy’s lackey.

Preacher Lady: Are you the owner of this house?
Kitchen Guy: No. I’m only working here.
Me: [thinking] De-fense [clap clap] De-fense [clap clap]

Preacher Lady: Do the owners live here.
Kitchen Guy: [not even looking at me] No, they don’t.
Me: [thinking] Goooooooooaaaaaaal!

Normally, I don’t mind talking to people who want to chat. I’ve been known to stay on the phone with telemarketers and even get poked by people in wheelchairs, but I really didn’t want to get into a discussion on the origins and status of my soul right then. It was nice of the kitchen guy to run interference.

Me: Hey, thanks for that.
Kitchen Guy: Well, it’s not like I lied. I answered her questions. Plus, if you haven’t heard it all by now, I doubt she would’ve told you anything new.

I went back upstairs to clean the attic and the kitchen guy continued on with installing the knobs and pulls. Once he installed everything that he had, he headed out, and I figured I’d run over to the big home improvement store to pick up some mirror hanging supplies. They had nothing, so I had to go to their competitor. I picked up everything I could, still unsure of what I really needed. I was getting tired of going back and forth to the store, so I figured it was better to have to have more than I need than not enough.

I returned to the house and started cleaning the attic yet again. I found light bulbs, empty tubes of caulk, and even lumber thrown into the blown in insulation as if it were a giant garbage bin. I also found a part of a newspaper from 1944 that had an article about a man getting arrested for running around with a loaded shotgun. I also found some some dollar sized bundles of stapled tissue paper. Old house plus hidden bundles of tissue paper? I was sure that I had finally hit the mother load.

When a fire ripped through my old house, I gutted it to the studs myself, and was positive that I would find some money hidden in the walls somewhere. I tore through every inch of that house, and know what I found? Nothing. Nothing at all. When I was rebuilding it, I made sure that I slipped $20 into one of the walls with a note that said something like “Eureka!”, just in case someone like me from the future happened to have a bad reason to tear down the walls, and needed a good story from it.

Now that I had these four bundles of tissue paper, I was positive that an old lady in the forties had stuffed them in the insulation to keep them safe. And her name was Helen. Or Gertrude. No, Helen. And she wore an apron around the house and stuffed money under floorboards and such in case the banks failed again.

I sat there in that dusty attic for a couple of minutes looking at the brown paper wrappers. Hell, I didn’t care if they only contained a dollar. I popped open the first one and unrolled it carefully to keep the paper from disintegrating in my hands. I got to the end, and found… tissue paper. I realized that Helen would surely hide a few dummy packets around to make the ones stuffed full of money look ordinary. You are a wily one, Helen. Wily indeed. I started on the second packet, but less carefully. Still nothing. I tore open the third and fourth and expected nothing and that’s what I got.

I was not happy with the old lady for robbing me of the thrill of finding treasure, but thought that she probably deserved to spend all that money she earned it by secretly servicing airmen during double u double u two. She earned it. I didn’t.

I thought it was funny that I still hope to find treasure hidden in old houses though. I found it more amusing that I didn’t care how much the treasure was worth. I would’ve been happy with a nickel. I shook my head and threw the paper in the trash, completely unaware of the secret map written on it in lemon juice that would lead me right to the mountain of silver certificates and jewels buried in the yard. I didn’t have time for fancy maps and digging, Helen. I had an attic to clean.

Late in the day, the electrical inspector showed up and failed us because we had the wrong types of outlets in the basement and on the outside of the house. I called the electrician, and he said he’d get those replaced for us as soon as possible. By then, it was 5PM and I thought about installing the bathroom mirror, but you know that starting projects that late is never a good idea. You’re tired and disinterested, so you’re bound to screw up, and by the time you figure out that you’re missing something all the stores are closed. I gave up and went home.

I felt 110% better after a shower and a cold piece of pizza. I got a message from the lighting place that we could not return the dining room light, which only slightly dampened my mood.

Later at night, we went to the airport to pick up my parents. They said that they would take a cab home, but I don’t get to do things for them that often, so I wanted to give them a ride home. Plus it’s nice to have someone meet you when you get off a plane.

On the way to the airport, #1GF! and I stopped by my parents’ house to clean out their fridge of overdue produce and leave them enough food to get them through the following afternoon. We also short-sheeted their bed. The good stuff was #1GF!’s idea, and the short-sheeting was all me. We’re perfect compliments for each other. Thinking that we were really clever, we jumped back in the car, grabbed some coffee, and headed to the airport.

We wandered around the terminal, but at night, there isn’t a whole lot going on at the airport. The shops and ticket counters are closed, and the few people who are waiting for a flight are too tired to give off an excited vibe or do anything interesting. We walked to the end of the terminal and were looking over the railing at the most interesting thing that we could find: an escalator. No one was using it, yet it whirred on endlessly revolving its stairs from top to bottom.

#1GF!: What a waste of electricity. They should shut that thing off.
Me: They should have it run only when needed.
#1GF!: Maybe put a button at the top that turns it on.
Me: OR… They could put tiny motion sensors all along the track, that turn the thing on and keep it on only when people are riding. And maybe a minute or so after.
Me: [calls engineer friend]: Listen. I need you to develop a system of sensors that keeps an escalator on only when people are riding it and maybe a minute after. I’ll only take a $100,000 cut. The rest is pure profit for you.
Engineer: [clearly confused, but not surprised by the call] What?
Me: I’m at the airport
Engineer: What are you doing at the airport?
Me: Picking up my parents, but never mind that.
Engineer: [laughing] Ok. Hold on. [reads back a patent describing the idea]
Me: Not the same. My sensor idea has nothing to do with balusters. Completely different.
Engineer: [laughing] Ok, but have you ever seen people navigate an automatic revolving door? It’s a tragedy. Do you really think the average American can handle an automatic escalator?
Me: Look it. This isn’t about what people can handle. This is about selling a cost cutting system to the airline industry. Hell, we can market it as a “green” technology if we want to.
Engineer: It will cost millions.
Me: Yea, exactly.
Engineer: They’ll never buy into it.
Me: That’s it. You’re off the job. You just build it and get the same $100k cut that I get. I’m going to call [salesman friend] and let him have the millions. If anyone can sell this idea to executives it’s him.
Engineer: My Dad has this idea about walking bomb sniffing pigs down the aisle of a plane…
Me: Look, I gotta go. I think my parents are going to show up soon.

We picked up my parents and dropped them off at their house, and once we were halfway down the driveway, I leaned over to #1GF! and whispered, “Heh heh heh.” By the time we were halfway home, we got the call about the short-sheeted bed. I had so many things going around my head about the house that I had already forgotten the prank.

Saturday (Day 524): Attacking The To Do List

I had a minor freakout in the morning because I had finally reached the breaking point for writing checks that were above average and still having to go into the house to do minor stuff. For what I’ve paid out on this job, I shouldn’t have to do anything. I don’t mind it, but given what I’ve paid, it should all be taken care of. Unfortunately, most of the money was paid to someone who had no idea what he was doing and vanished, so it’s not like it’s the fault of anyone that I’m paying now. I’ve just about hit the breaking point.

I’m tired of kissing people’s asses to get them to do the fucking job and then having to fix things once their gone. Nothing is going to be perfect. I understand that. But, with the amount of money that got sunk into this job, it bloody well should be.

#1GF! sat quietly and let the freakout run its course, and then we tried to be pragmatic and figure out all of the things that still needed to be done. Once we got a good list, we started in on it. We dropped by the house to check on things, and then to the granite place to schedule getting our backsplash finished. Then, went to the light store to return the light that couldn’t be returned.

The manager was busy, so I had to wait, which only made me more aggravated with them. I kept it together, though. I was just as nice as a possible, and reserved the seething demon inside in case I needed it. Everything is a negotiation. Work out all points and counterpoints ahead of time. Start nice, try to find a common ground that gives everyone a win, and if that doesn’t work, make a fucking scene and start nailing people to the walls until you get what you want.

Most of the time you can get what you want once you get to a person who doesn’t want to deal with you anymore. Fortunately, it was a nice little exchange that took 15 minutes to complete, and I think everyone came out happy. I didn’t get a straight return, but I got something that I could live with and the manager got something that he could live with.

I got a call from the electrician while we were there, and he was going to the house to fix the outlets that the inspector didn’t like. We drove from there back to the house to meet him. He only had a few outlets to replace, so we cleaned up a little while we waited. He finished in about 45 minutes, and we all went on our way.

We went home for lunch, and then ran to the library so that I could pick up another Orson Scott Card book. I was out of there in fifteen minutes with a book in hand, which is pretty amazing for one of my trips to the library. Most times, I just wander around for an hour before giving up and leaving with nothing. This time, I spent more time looking for #1GF! than a book.

From there, we headed over to #1GF!’s mom’s house to work on her PC. It seemed like she was having a drive issue, but the drives turned up fine in several hardware tests. It almost seemed like the drive had a stuck head that I may have inadvertently unstuck while troubleshooting. I hate those type of fixes because the issue usually comes back later.

Fixing the PC took a few hours longer than I expected, so we didn’t get much done on the house list as we would’ve expected, but I don’t mind doing PC work for relatives. From there, we headed over to the local home megastore and picked up some supplies for fixing various holes that had been left around the house (around the light sockets from the bad plasterers and the electrical service from the original contractor.). While we were there, I called my parents to see if they had my ladder. I hadn’t seen it in over seven years, and I wasn’t sure if it was in storage or merely a figment of my imagination.

My father hadn’t seen it recently, but he had seen it before, meaning that it was either in storage or a casualty of my divorce. In any case, I needed a ladder. I bought a cheap six footer instead of the expensive ones because I have the feeling that I could easily get $40 worth of use out of it before it broke down, if it ever broke down. Generally, I don’t need the durability of contractor grade because I’m not a contractor.

We went to a local restaurant for dinner because the odds of us cooking were getting slimmer and slimmer with each passing hour. It’s so easy to get a table in a beach town in the winter. It’s awesome actually. The restaurants that are packed in the summer are barely operating in the winter, meaning that you hear “sit wherever you want” more often than not.

What I Learned

• I think I would die laughing if I lived in Europe because douche is such a common word.
• It’s nearly impossible to find a regular douche bar. Everyone sells tension rods.
• Chili’s sucks (you know this, but you keep forgetting.)
• A dozen large raviolis is too much food. Stick with ten.
• The Kirkland Signature Four Cheese Ravioli from Costco is some of the best frozen ravioli that I’ve eaten. I’m as surprised as you are.
• I still have a slave mentality.
• Sometimes you need to remind yourself that your problems are your own to avoid spreading the misery around.
• Sometimes giving your business to the little guy can end up being a big pain in the ass.
• Fire alarms talk now.
• Orson Scott Card writes really good books.
• The auto-sensing escalator is in use in Europe but is barred from use in the US because of concerns that people would get injured.
• There is no money in the walls.
• Short-sheeting a bed is sill pretty amusing.
• There are no good beard music playlists out there (until now).

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