Pages

Friday, 23 September 2011

Fancy Lights Up


No, no, let's be clear here. Fancy is not a smoker. That would make me stinky and wrinkly. I paid a lot for these sparkly teeth and I plan on keeping them. What I mean is that I am currently at the total and absolute mercy of the man who means the difference between getting any work done, putting on my make up or letting the Minis have their Elmo hour versus moving to a Fancy Hotel. Yes, that's right. My electrician is here.

And he has me by my Fancy balls.

"So, Frau Fancy, as you can see the Whackashocker is a low voltage Slipashooter. That means this here wire--which is much longer but I bravely sliced through it with your kitchen shears, with no thought to my own health and safety seeing as how important I know this is to you---has become as brittle as your mother-in-law's overbleached hair."

"Okay. Um, sure. And?"

"Without a limber and flexible new Transformerroboticaeroplane you will live for ever in darkness."

Why can't they speak English? Even British English. I might understand something. I feel like he's just showing off now.

"So," he continued, "the process here now is that I have to go look in the truck. Maybe I have a replacement or even a Ohmfusionater to use."

"And if you don't?"

"Well then I'll have to run to the shoppe and get one."

"Okay." Like what else am I going to say here? Oh wait, I think I've got one of those in my jewelry box?

"Uh, well, I'll have to charge you. For the time and all that."

"Okay." As if I have any other options here.

"And congestion charge. But that doesn't have VAT."

What exactly does he expect me to say? That £10 is going to keep me from saying yes to a project that is clearly already cleared £200? I would think it a safe assumption that if I have already agreed to an emergency site visit from a company offering same day service that I am desperate. I need light. I need make up. We need Elmo.

Home ownership. The process by which many skilled labourers enter my home, stick a vise on my proverbial balls and then pull wads of cash out of my nose. At least this one takes a credit card.

Let there be light.