I have had some sort of odd adventure every weekend for the last three weekends. And while those have made for some really fabulous blog fodder, the recovery process from these events has left little time to write.
So, I’ll just start from the beginning and write blog posts until I catch up…
Let’s start with my visit to FlyOver. FlyOver is the pseudonym I’m giving a particular state in the middle of the country that is the very definition of a fly-over state. I used to think that term was so rude – “fly over state”. As if that state had nothing to offer! The people that live there must love that state! Certainly they don’t think of it as a fly-over state! And then I visited a few of those supposed fly over states. And yes, some held their charm. But there is one in particular…well, let’s just say it’s charm escapes me. I will say, that this last visit restored some of my faith in FlyOver. I actually met residents who had all their original teeth and didn’t think that best role for women was barefoot and in the kitchen. To those people, I say thank you.
But anyway…
I went to FlyOver with M because he owns a house there. (Long story. Looooong story.) We were about to sell it when we realized the home had sprung a leak and developed a severe mold problem. We spent the weekend up to our elbows in bleach, moldy drywall and claw hammers. I’ll tell you this – a little bit of you will die after you spend an entire weekend without showering and living in your most gross clothes while donning a breathing mask, goggles, and dish gloves. I’m sure the neighbors wondered why there was a rookie hazmat team in our home.
One night, as we finished ripping out the last bits of moldy dry wall, we realized our disposal plan had a significant flaw. We lacked a place to actually throw out said materials. But then, I remembered…TOMMY. (Again, name held to protect the innocent)
I met Tommy over a year ago. M was gone at a military school and I received a call that the house in FlyOver had been damaged and needed repair. That is the last thing you want to hear when you’re sitting hours away in Michigan, with little hope of actually getting to FlyOver to assess the damage with your own eyes. I was desperate and started calling every person entitled “handyman” in the yellow pages. The first person to answer their phone was the first person to get the job. That person was Tommy. Nevermind that Tommy showed up at the door with his truck tailgate duct tape shut. And his advertising included a neon pink posterboard that had been taped the passenger side door. We needed a handyman and Tommy fit the bill.
Tommy’s rates were ridiculously low, in part because he was trying to avoid the IRS and because, as I later found out, he worked at a pace associated with sloths, snails, or in his case, the heavily drugged. But, he did the job. He also hauled the garbage created by the project away to an actual waste disposal site, which appealed to my rule-following, by-the-book nature.
So, I recalled this as M and I stood in front of a large pile of mold-infested drywall in our alien-ish outfits. And I called Tommy. He answered with his Southern drawl and replied that yes, he would LOVE the work, and he could be there RIGHT AWAY but oh, his truck was broken but he could borrow a good one from his neighbor.
An hour later, as our nephew stood as lookout on the porch, waiting to wave Tommy down as he drove by, we heard him yell “Hey Chris…do you hear…do you hear a truck backfiring? “ M and I ran outside in time to see a monster truck – literally – backfiring up the road, driving toward our home. It slowed briefly, continued to backfire past the house, then abruptly stopped, and backed up, jerking spasmodically the entire way, then stopped again, this time in the drive way.
Yes, our garbage removal crew was also part monster rally team. But it worked. Tommy saved us again, with a monster truck, and his materials disposal license. Thanks Dude, we really appreciate it.
That ended up being the highlight of our weekend. There was the Craigslist purchase of a dehumidifier from a guy who resembled Jeffrey Dahmer in far too many ways. Countless trips to the Lowe’s. The discovery that the Dollar Store is the best place to buy buckets in large quantities and that mold is the worst stuff to deal with.
And so concludes weekend #1. You’ll find that it’s all on the upswing from here. I promise you.
