A message on the machine.

One of my rituals when I come back from a trip (other than the internet Papa John’s order) is to, first, scroll through my caller ID and see who wants a moment of my time.  Sidenote:  Caller ID?  One of the greatest inventions.  Ever.  Scrolling through I see:  Unknown, BFF, Unknown, Unknown, MIL, My sister, Unknown, Monument Company.

Huh.  Well, I guess it’s been close to three months since I placed the order and that’s what the guy said it would take to get Stephen’s rock from India.  So I listen to the messages.  The message from the monument company goes like this: “Hi, this is Lance from B.H. Monument.  I need you to call me back when you get this at 277-xxxx.”  End of message.

So I call him back. 

“B.H. Monument.”  Um, Hi.  Is Lance avaliable?

“This is.”  Okay.  Hi.  This is Jennifer K., returning your call.

“Yeah.”  Silence.  More silence.  Well, you left a message on my machine

“I’m going to need more information than that.” 

I am confused at this point.  HE called me.  HE left the original message.  I can’t read minds.  I don’t know why he called.  So I start rattling off pertinent info…Stephen’s name, cemetary name,

“Yeah, yeah.  Okay.  Lemme get the papers.”  Sidenote:  I’ve met with this guy multiple times over the course of the last few years.  He has *never* been an ass.  Not once.  “Okay, we poured the foundation yesterday and there’s a problem with the stone you ordered.  We can’t do what you want.”  Okay, I’ll bite.  Why not?

“Well the part that he’s buried in doesn’t allow 2 part stones.”  I don’t understand.  Does that mean we have to leave something out?  Or….

“Yep.  You’ll have to come in and we’ll redraw it.”

Figures.  The little piece of paper that has his stone drawn on it is soft and worn.  It’s been folded and unfolded many times over the last few months.  I take it out every couple of days and look at it and put it away again.  I had convinced myself of what it was going to look like among the other stones.  I was more than happy with the design.  So now I get to spend tomorrow morning doing what I don’t want to do.  What I already did.  And that guy was an ass.

MIL will be here late Friday afternoon so tomorrow is a cleaning day.  The littles will be farmed out for the morning and some of my girl-peeps are coming over after bedtime to help me organize the basement and sort toys and move my sewing around.  I will pay anyone a good chunk of cash (or anything else for that matter) to come and clean my house.  And throw away things when I’m not looking.  And organize my flat surfaces that I should not be allowed to have. 

There will be cash involved.

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One thought on “A message on the machine.

  1. I would LOVE to come clean and organize. I’d do it for a living if I thought it could support me financially. I love the story behind the “things”.

    I stumbled across your blog through another blog and I love your writing and your courage 🙂
    Thank you for sharing!!!

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