More than thirty years ago we took our two oldest sons to a small park in Baton Rouge. They wanted to get on this ride that went up and down and round and round.
They were four and five years old. Jonathan, who had just turned four and still could not pronounce his R's decided he did not like the ride at all. As they would swing from the top down, we heard a faint shriek that was verified as "Lady Dwivah! Let me off!!!"
We hurriedly tried to get them to stop the ride, but to no avail. He had to undergo the nightmare for a few more trips around before coming to a stop. Fortunately, he was OK, but it took him a while to get back on rides again.
Well, every now and then during the past thirty plus years I just have those days where I want to shout, "Lady Dwivah! Let me OFF!" And today as I shuffled through bills, repairs, yardwork and writing I felt that very thing. As I get older, life seems to get more and more complex. I mean, in the big picture of dealing with "life" it has gotten much easier, but then not.
For instance, I hired a teenage boy in our neighborhood who wanted some extra money to do some yard work. It happens the pruning I needed done was inundated with poison ivy.
So, I hired him to undertake the task. I modeled exactly how to do this, tip-toeing around the vines while he nodded with these big plastic white things jabbed in his ears and his cell phone hanging out of his pocket. I asked him if he got it. He then took the phone out of his ears and said, "Huh?" I asked again. He nodded.
About this time the plumber pulled in to replace our toilet that after paying the bill should look more like a throne. But the plumber did not get out of the truck. His son and a friend were there to do the repairs. This was all fine because I had to pay bills in my office and battle it out on round three with AOL because for some reason, I still have a charge on a not-cancelled account that has been cancelled.
I'm looking out my window at the teenage boy who is pulling the wheelbarrow across the yard at a snail's pace with the cell phone in his face as he walks and stumbles over limbs he does not see. In the meantime, the young plumbers are jamming out with their cell phone to a rap song dropping the F Bomb every other word and they are merrily singing along at the top of their lungs while I try to understand a foreigner who is refusing to accept thatwe are officially breaking up: I no longer want AOL in my life.
And he struggles to speak the plainest English possible as he goes on to explain to me that every time someone asked for my email account to look at another account that tied me to AOL. And the young plumbers continue their concert of profanity, and the outside phone zombie is only on his third bush after an hour and a half.
And the foreigner is asking me if I understand what I am doing by cancelling and I say, "No, I don't understand anything at the moment. Nothing at all. Between poison ivy and a toilet, you are telling me I have basically sold my soul to Satan by signing on with you people in 2003 and charged me monthly to do it when I could have been getting it for free! Hell doesn't even charge! You just have to go there and be miserable for eternity! Well right now I am MISERABLE!"
With that, the profane rap music was turned off and there was silence in the bathroom. There was also a brief silence on the phone when finally, the man from Istanbul said softly, "Would you like me to give you your cancellation number?" I said, "Please."
Lady Dwivah, give me back some good old days. I need to hit the nearest spa.
