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« on: June 27, 2014, 03:45:00 pm »
My day yesterday:
Wake up late, since I'd taken the morning off to hit the Social Security office. Gotta fill out some paperwork regarding my father passing away. This starts the day off in an utterly charming mood.
Get up, get my shit together, step outside... Flat tire on the van.
As the lovely folks at Social Security are only open a few hours... Hoof it. It's a mile and a half. No problem. Nevermind that the night before was my first fencing practice in nobody knows HOW long and I woke up stiff and sore... It'll work itself out as I walk, right?
Hike the mile and a half. DO remember, before leaving the apartment, to remove a few... interesting... items from my purse that the good security guards might object to finding. I fail to recall, however, that my keychain has a little, bitty knife on it. We're talking a one-inch blade, that I use at work to open boxes, mostly. Said knife is confiscated, with no hope of return. It being Richter-sharp, I hope the bastard that takes it home with him gelds himself with it.
As I'm standing there, filling out the paperwork and coming to the conclusion that I've done a FANTASTIC job of not dealing with it over the past couple months, I get an email from my landlady.
She wants me to agree to sign a lease. Note that she has not even mentioned what said lease will entail, other than informing me that, despite the fact that she bought the building over six months ago, she NOW wants me to hand over a security deposit. Turns out the security deposit I paid to the last guy that owned the building is up in smoke, as the building was foreclosed upon. She swore up and down that she'd told me at the time via e-mail, but, oops, she apparently sent it to the wrong address. Oh, and if I don't want to sign the lease, I should consider her e-mail a 30 day notice as of July 1st, and be out of the apartment by August 1st.
Note that this is AFTER she was told that the reason I hesitate to sign a lease is that my job is ending on July 31st, and that, while I don't have anything lined up, I'm currently looking, don't anticipate trouble finding a job (I've broken some speed records for re-employment in the past. My temp agency LOVES me.), and would REALLY rather see where my job ends up before I tie myself down in Providence. (I'm looking as far afield as Boston, and, while I was willing to do the pain in the ass commute to where I am now, first as a temporary position, then because I really liked the people I work with, I won't be doing it again if I can at all help it.)
Haul my sorry ass back to the apartment to deal with the flat tire. No jack. Joy. Fortunately, I have a AAA membership. Give them a call, and, wonder of wonders, they DO show up within 15 minutes. Looking up? Well, except for the fact that, in order to get the spare out from under the van, you have to pop the back hatch... which has a busted handle, and hasn't opened in, literally, years.
Awesome. Okay. AAA driver refills the tire, and follows me to the nearest tire place. Patch it? Nope, sidewall damage. Well, shit. Okay. I'm planning to replace the van in a couple months, so just give me something that won't blow up for the next couple of months. Sixty bucks I didn't want to spent, poof.
Fortunately for the east coast, LunaBF had the good sense to take me out for an ice cream sundae.
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