(Welcome to my fridge.)

Moving in with my boyfriend has been riddled with obstacles, but they’ve been obstacles that I’ve met with good cheer–well, as much good cheer as can be summoned by a sensibility permanently set to “tempest in a teapot”, anyway. This morning, however, saw me in a faceoff with The Final Straw.

I haven’t had cooking gas since I moved into our new apartment last Tuesday. I waited one week for the gas man to come, and even scheduled my Fresh Direct (an online grocery company) delivery to coincide with The Big Day.

When the National Grid guy got here this morning, the basement door, which had been flung wide open every day since I arrived, was padlocked shut. My landlord wasn’t picking up his phone. With no access to the gas meter, the gas man packed up his tools and drove away.

Just as his van was turning the corner, my landlord returned my call and promised to be right over. I got the gas company on the phone and begged them to send their man back.

Not only was it too late, they told me, but the next available slot was on July 16. That is, two weeks from today, and a full twenty-one days since I’d first made the appointment.

At this point, I did what any self-respecting adult woman and food blogger would do: I started to cry.

“Please don’t cry, ma’am! Let me see what I can do.”

The operator re-emerged after six minutes of muzak to offer me an appointment on July 8. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the alternative. As he rattled through the standard confirmation patter, one question stood out:

“Would you like the engineer to call you before he arrives?”

“Call me? I answered yes to that question when I made the first appointment! If your guy had actually called me, I would have been able to get my landlord to unlock the basement! I wouldn’t be crying on the phone with you, I’d be baking my third batch of patriotic cupcakes in preparation for the holiday bloody weekend!”

“He didn’t call you, ma’am? I’m so sorry that happened. Hold on just a moment.”

[sniffle]

“Once again, I’m sorry for the inconvenience. We will have someone at your house tomorrow morning.”

If it were 1998, I might imbed a MIDI file of “Ding Dong Merrily On High” and maybe throw in a couple of animated GIFs of angels blowing horns. Instead, you’re getting a Youtube link to the aforementioned hymn being performed by an outfit named Celtic Woman, who are sort of like a cross between The Corrs and the Playmate aesthetic, and not at all like any Celtic woman I ever met in my four years in Scotland.

While I’ve been writing this, my Fresh Direct delivery arrived. The corn, the cantaloupe and the sweet sausage will just have to wait until tomorrow. As for tonight’s meal, I guess I’ll have to suck it up and let my boyfriend take me out for dinner!

• BROWSE
• « Avoid These Products, And Three Unhappy Questions
• » I have no words

Related Posts

• Oodles And Oodles
• The Ten Worst Things I Have Ever Cooked
• Stick To Butchering Meat