I’ll be back at work tomorrow, having taken some “comp time” Thursday and Friday to sit back and relax.
I actually filed a story for Friday, but I cut that story a couple days ahead of time so I could look busy while sitting at my computer, preventing people from talking to me in the newsroom.
Today is the 100th anniversary of Texas ratifying the 19th amendment to give women the right to vote. I talked to a Texas Woman’s University professor who says the effort actually started in 1848. “I remind women this is a journey, not a sprint.” https://t.co/3TQ7zMELMm
— Alan Scaia (@scaia) June 28, 2019
“These will be a great couple days,” I thought to myself as I walked into the house Wednesday afternoon. “I’ll be able to relax, get away from all the deadlines and think about how great that podcas–doggone it, why do the upstairs neighbors have to clomp around like that!?”
A thought occurred.
“Wait. I own this house. I am the upstairs neighbor.”
I became concerned.
Last month, I had called the HVAC guy who does my “tune-up” each spring to figure out why the outdoor part of my air conditioner [or “condenser,” if you will. I’m nothing if not HVAC-savvy] was running but the indoor part wouldn’t turn on.
He came in, went up to the attic and came down approximately ten seconds later with the thing running.
“A mouse must have flipped the switch,” he said.
“Wait,” I said. Bear in mind that I’m nothing if not HVAC-savvy. “There’s a switch!?”
Showing great restraint, he declined to charge me for the visit.
I, meanwhile, took action to prevent this from happening again, duct taping the switch into place.
I may never have mentioned this before, but I was in a car crash a few years back, so it’s kind of a pain to hobble around the attic. The trip up the ladder to investigate the clomping-around situation this weekend was lengthy and complicated, climbing over railings and scaling [scaling!] the joists. I’ve done it several times. It takes some finesse [and I’m nothing if not finesse-savvy], but I’m a man. I replace my own furnace filter and kill my own mice.
I also write in italics whenever I choose to.
So my attic is now featuring mouse traps. The neighbors and I discussed this during a summit. They had recommended a thing where the green stuff [they really did say, “Get the ones with the green stuff] makes the mice want to go outside, so they die out there.
One potential issue: It’s called “Tomcat.” I respect a good brand name, and the packaging is impressive. But Tom’s been trying unsuccessfully to catch that mouse for almost 80 years!
In conclusion, I don’t often write blogs on Sundays. This should help me make a case for more comp time. As you can see, the past four days actually involved more toil than usual.
