Thursday, August 8, 2013

Easily Divisible

The pest-control people call yesterday and say it’s time again.  I ask how soon they can be here and they say 7 a.m. today.  I say great.

I’m awake at 4 a.m., out of bed by 4:30.  My old healthy routine has reasserted itself (start coffee, take care of cats, check Facebook, play outside), but it gets disrupted again when the pest control guy doesn’t show up on time: not at 7, not by 7:20.  I have maintained “looking nice without a shower” for as long as I can.  I have put off what I want for as long as I can.  I pick up my jump-rope and do a fast 56, finishing up with a must-show of 44 more.  I pick up my weights and lift them as slowly and as carefully as I can, because it’s harder that way.  I put them down and jump more to 76.

What is it with easy divisibles today? I think.  I look at the bare patch of dirt where my jump rope always hits.

As the homeowner, I know that my next few actions should be more house-oriented and less me-oriented: I should call the pest control place and ask where the technician is.  I wrap up my rope and criss-cross my weights before I’m ready to, putting them away before I sweat into the house from the back yard to the phone inside.  I’m reaching for the phone and thinking: I should ask for a discount.  I have clearly been waiting forever when I should have been the first person on the list.  This service isn’t even worth it because he never gets all the bugs.  I have to show him every time.  I could do this myself, and I should.

I lighten my grip on the phone.  I don’t need to be angry.  I got some good exercise in. But my time is worth money!  I could tell them I had to miss work for this!   No you couldn’t, I advise.    That was never fair to use.

I gather myselves and dial the number; a nice lady picks up.  She puts me on hold, comes back still nice, and says the technician is 20 minutes away.  “There were some technical problems on his end,” she says. “For that inconvenience, we’d like to take 50% off of today’s service.”

An image of myself as a pest-control technician at this juncture in my life jumps into my brain: drunk, heartbroken, loss of interest, broke.  Dirty sheets.  I would take pity upon myself if I were that person.  

I take pity upon myself anyway.

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