Tough Beans

Come on. Make my day, punk!

My washing machine broke. It's really bringing me down. The worst part of it is that finding a decent person to fix it is harder than getting my sister to clean her car. I don't get it. People are falling all over themselves everywhere in the world for work, and here I am offering honest work to anyone who'll take it, and yet, I feel like I'm forcing them to do it against their will.

My regular fix-it guy just up and disappeared. Fell into a toilet and drowned. Won the lottery - I don't know. Something happened because he refuses to answer any of his phones. The next logical step is to find someone else. But who? So I found an ad I saved from the last place we lived at and called the guy. His name is Francis, but I like to call him Beelzebub. When I called I scheduled for that same day at 5pm. Raise your hand if you think he showed.....exactly. Later that evening I went out to dinner and received a call from him apologizing and telling me he would be at the apartment at 10am the following morning. Raise your hand if you think the knave showed? I called at around 11:30 and he said he would be there in an hour. Nothing. Nothing, nothing.

This is when I started calling around asking for someone to recommend a name of a person who knew what they were doing and wanted to earn some money. No one had a single name for me. As I was getting ready to go out later that evening, guess who has the gall to show up at my door? Poohead - that's who. So, I let the villain have it. I couldn't believe him. I mean, "I'll be there in an hour" means 8:00 at night!!! While I'm on my way out the door?!

Sad thing is, I didn't have much of a choice and had to employ his services, because no matter how much I wish I could have clobbered him over the head and told him to go to the Devil (where he belongs!), I still have to wash my laundry. I believed I had scared him sufficiently to put him in his place and make him do a good job. Well, I am very naive. I sent him packing and told him that because I had to leave, he had to leave, and that I wanted him to return the following morning at 10am with the material he needed to do the repair. It's 11:50 right now. Raise your hand if you think Judas showed?

If this were a movie and I were Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry I'm sure I could think of something to make this punk whimper and whine and beg like the stupid mutt he is. He would grovel and beg me for a second (third) chance to get into my good graces. But alas I am a silly old woman at his mercy. I hate, hate, hate the situation I'm in. My God! Is there no one in this God forsaken place who wants to earn some cash for an honest hour's labor? Is there no one who will offer a decent service, charge accordingly and then laugh his way to the bank, or bar - whatever. Is there no one who will stop complaing about being poor and not being able to feed their family, or have that car or house they want, and friggin' go out and get it? Is there no one, no one who will come and fix my stupid washing machine? I guess not.

May God have mercy on this fellow's soul. If he only knew what awaited him here. I spit on you Francis the Villain. May you lose your hair prematurely. May your teeth hurt every time you take a sip of cold beer. May your car always stall when you're flirting with a pretty girl at the stop light. May your stupid silver neckalaces dangling gayly from your neck turn brown and never shine again. And may your shower run dry while your in the middle of a good lather. You've messed with the wrong house mom!

P.S. He finally arrived at 12:45pm and I went Dirty Harry on his ass. I answered the door with my 9" Wusthoff Chef's knife (I felt it would be more effective than a tongue lashing). I was all smiles as I pretended to dry off my knife and said hello. He was scared. Very scared. Even made a half hearted joke where he kind of chuckled and I just stared and didn't crack a smile. I feel better now.