Madness

Well, I did it. I dipped my toe into the Black Friday pool of mayhem and madness. I had no intentions of doing so until I noticed a significant 3-digit savings on a futon I had been eyeing for our camping style basement. I still would not have succumbed to such folly if the store offering the special wasn’t just five blocks from my house and the opening time was my usual grocery shopping time of 6:00 am. Doable. I thought. What I discovered is that there are hidden rules involved with this type of commando shopping that are unbeknownst to me.

I got up at my usual time in the morning and had my usual cup of coffee. At the appointed time of 6:03, I left my house and arrived at the store.

6:04: The parking lot didn’t look too full so I felt I could leave the safety of my vehicle and enter the premises. I did so with the bravado of someone who might actually know what they are doing under these circumstances. Upon entering the store, however, it was evident that I was swimming with sharks and these sharks were swimming in packs. Staccato like code speak was being shouted out as carts whizzed by me with destinations clearly understood by the cart drivers. Eyes were glazed over from Black Friday shopping that started before the turkey was even out of the oven on Thursday. Speed walking was the norm. Carts were jostling by with driven ferocity.

6:06: I quickly ducked into the baby formula aisle when I realized I was in danger of being trampled by a cart on my tail. I found myself hyperventilating by the cans of Similac, hoping I could still make it a few more feet to the futon display. What I discovered was that the futon display had nothing to do with the speeding carts dogging me down the aisle. It was the pop stacked behind the futons that was causing all the ruckus. Apparently, pop was the hot item at this store and folks were busy stacking them on the futons as they rearranged their carts so they could stuff more of the sugar laced elixir into their carts.

6:07: I bravely stepped out of the formula aisle and made a few more steps toward the futons. Now I was surrounded by pop laden carts and wheezing shoppers trying to wield their goods to the checkout. I realized that purchasing a futon was going to involve manager intervention as it is not something that one just picks up and tucks neatly into a cart.

6:08: I abandoned the futon plan because, quite frankly, the shoppers around me were getting scary. But, I was still determined to make this a “shopping experience”, so I went for the discounted rolls of toilet paper (clearly, not as hot an item as the pop). I moved toward the checkout counters and saw that all the carts were now lined up to kingdom come, waiting to be checked out.

6:09: Put the Charmin down and head for the car.

6:10: Home again and drinking another cup of coffee or two.

While I was certainly not successful in my first attempt at Black Friday shopping, I did learn that it’s all about the timing. I went back later to check on the futon and found a much different scene. Although there were still folks wrestling cases of pop into their semi-trailers, most of them were moving on to their next port of call. I walked in and found a manager who was more than willing to give me a deal on the futon of my choice.

And I got my rolls of toilet paper.

Mission accomplished.

 

 

 

 

 

Fix-It

 

Between the two of us, my husband and I have a few skills that have helped us trot along in life. Give my husband a set of blueprints and he can build a house, a deck or just about anything made of wood. Give me a room full of twelve-year-olds and I can get them through a lesson on mitosis without loss of limb or life. We are both able to have semi-intelligent conversations about local and world events. We enjoy classic movies and an occasional musical or two. We like to read and are happy to share our opinions with anyone who asks (or doesn’t).

When it comes to all things mechanical, however, we are most assuredly the nitwit twins. My husband, of course, is a little more likely to take a crack at fixing whatever is broken. In defense of him, he is definitely more adept at hands on projects. As stated earlier, if there is wood involved, no problem. Moving metal parts are another story. I’ve watched him hover over an uncooperative engine with that “You’re not going to outsmart me” look in his eyes, only to be beaten by the sputtering and spattering of the world of combustion.

Recently, our furnace went out. Of course, it was Saturday morning when we noticed the drop in temperature. Of course, that means choosing between a very expensive service call or dressing up like Nanook of the North. Of course, we chose “fixing it” ourselves.

Over the years, we have developed a two pronged attack strategy for repairing things that are out of our league. Step one is to “Leave it set.” I knew this directive was coming my way so I went to the thermostat and turned off the furnace. By this time the house was quite frosty so I knew the loss of further heat was going to be minimal. After about a half hour, we turned the furnace back on, crossed our fingers, slurped another hot cup of coffee and waited for the magic to happen. The furnace made a groaning sound as it kicked in, but, alas, no warm air was projected from the registers.

Time for step two: Give it a good whack. I must confess that this step made me a bit nervous. Something about thumping away on an object that produces fire and heat seems risky to me. But desperate times call for desperate actions. I heard a few wallops on the furnace and lo and behold heat started flowing through the room. That’s the good news. The bad news is that as soon as the furnace reached the set room temperature, it shut off and did not start up again. So, you guessed it, we spent the weekend heating the house up to tropical proportions, letting it cool down, whacking the furnace and starting the cycle over again. It was a wear-your-layers kind of weekend.  And, yes, the furnace has been diagnosed as terminal so ka-ching, ka-ching, makes me want to keep whacking the beast.

All this makes me wonder if our fix-it strategy would work for me. I have many days when I’m quite out of sorts. So, if you see me sitting on my couch, thumping myself in the head, you’ll know I’m just striving for a re-set.