Good morning, y’all. I called my attorney, Adam Dimwit, for some litigation help and got stonewalled by his secretary. I guess he wants money and it looks like I’ll be forced to sell off some of my famous guitar picks to get some scratch. Anybody interested in an autographed Ace Frehley, circa 1977? Now’s the time to buy.
Since the Corona I’ve been having to pay a handy man to fix anything that requires close quarters with tenants that I know are anti-vaxxers. I’ve also got a “Lawn Care Specialist” who’s charging me about $60 dollars an hour. I don’t care if he does provide his own equipment and gas, we’re getting up near Dentist rates with my grass man. He doesn’t even do anything. He’s got two Hispanic fellows that literally run behind their mowers while my “Specialist” sits in his F350 truck with the A.C. blowing. I live for the day when I get to fire that scurvy dog.
Anyhow, I did have a call that I felt was safe enough that I could fill this morning. We have a new tenant in Number One, Ms. Filet Minyon, who has moved in to the trailer formerly occupied by B.A. Ware.
As you all remember, Mr. Ware was our “alleged” peeper, and his antics forced TackyToo to install our first ever security system. Well, it took a couple of weeks, but we got him. Just like a gambler’s gotta gamble, a peeper’s gotta peep. About two weeks after putting up the cameras, I got a perfect picture of B.A. “amusing” himself outside of Number Fifty Three, Anita Goodman’s trailer. With police response time being what it is, and me on a short tether, I waited until the next day to call a tenants meeting. With all of his neighbors gathered round, B.A. was confronted with the evidence on the big screen in the rec room.
No amount of denials could outweigh the evidence of B.A.’s “Mustache Rides 5 Cents” t-shirt, that he proudly wore on the surveillance tape. I gave him a week to clean his things out, and boom, we were done with him. It took another week and three jugs of Clorox to get the trailer ready for proper folk again. Ms. Minyon moved in on the first of September.
The nature of Ms. Minyon’s call was a broken toilet seat. No problem for an old hand such as myself. Probably the only advantage I can think of growing up poor is that you learn how to do things for yourself. Plumbing, electrical, you name it, I’ll throw my hat in. I grabbed my long screw driver and pliers and sent Mulva off to Walmart to buy a replacement seat.
It took Mulva two trips, there is a difference between round and elongated, even if the measurements are the same. Anyway, while Mulva was making her return trip, I had the occasion to visit with Ms. Minyon. She was right chatty, and when I got round to asking how the toilet seat got broken, I was stunned with her forthrightness. Seems she was concerned how her butt looked in this dress, I call it the Kardashian effect, and had stood up on the toilet seat to look back over her shoulder at the mirror above the sink. Next thing she knows, craaccckkk, and the toilet seat is split in two.
It was “just impossible to go” with the seat broken in half like that. Well, finally, Mulva showed up with the right seat, and ten minutes later, we were out of there. I suggested to Ms. Minyon she get a full length mirror for the back of the bathroom door and that I’d be happy to install it for her.
When I told Mulva the story, she laughed and said, “yeah, I can see how that could happen”. I gave Mulva a curious look. I will never understand the female mind. I headed over to the rec room to watch the Alien talk football on the SEC Network. Just another day at TackyToo.