Yesterday was a frustrating day.
Since my everyday car is not drive-able after Saturday's wreck, my plan was to drive the old Wrangler to work. Before The Husband left for work, he said, "The Wrangler's tags are expired." I could hardly believe it, for I had driven the Wrangler earlier in the summer while my everyday car was in the shop after the tree limb rear-ended me; if the tags had been expired then, I would have renewed them. But I checked the license plate before I left for work and, sure enough, the latest tag was September '21. I drove the Wrangler to work, anyway, intending to go straight to the Clerk's office to renew the tags, figuring that I could sweet-talk my way out of a ticket in the unlikely event a law-enforcement official stopped me.
At the Clerk's office, the clerk at the drive-thru window said that the tags had already been renewed. (Hah! I knew it!) Figuring that I'd bought the tags but forgot to put them on, I pulled out of the line and parked, and rummaged through the junk in the glove compartment. No tags. No renewal slip. Curious.
While I was rummaging through the glove compartment, my cell phone rang. It was an HVAC repairmen whom I'd called last Friday after discovering that the heat was not working in our office. He was already in our parking lot and needed to be let inside the office. "I'll be there in 5 minutes," I said. I bought went back to the drive-thru window and bought a $3 replacement tag, then went to let in HVAC guy in the office. Since The Boss was holding court, I called to let them know I'd be late.
It didn't take the HVAC guy long to discover the problem - a burned-out thingy inside the unit on the roof. He'd have to go look for a replacement part, he said, but he wouldn't need back in the building.
I headed for the courthouse. When I got there, before I could even take my coat off, The Boss said, "I need you to follow me to the oil-change place." We dropped off her car and went back to the courthouse.
While she went back to the courtroom, I sat down to answer e-mails. One e-mail was from Amazon. They'd tried to deliver a case of formula for the Little Rotten Baby, but said it was "undeliverable." WTF? UPS has been leaving the formula on the porch ever since the LRB has been in the world. Come to find out, it was not UPS, but USPS that had been the delivery agent. Dear God. Considering the state of the US mail delivery service since DeJoy's 2020 shenanigans, there was no telling where the formula was.
But I didn't have time to follow up on it right then, for I had a doctor's appointment (yearly physical) after lunch and had other stuff to do.
Yesterday's court docket was a short one, and before I left for my doctor's appointment, I took The Boss back to the oil-change place to pick up her car.
While I was at the doctor's office, the LRB's mother called to ask about the formula. Her stash was low. I said I'd work on it. I sat in the doc's parking lot and tried to locate the package electronically with my #(@! out-of-date cell phone. Finally, I drove to the local post office. They didn't have the package, they said. I'd have to go online and . . . . Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Between the auto-insurance company, AAA, and the USPS, I've about had enough of this online sh*t.
From the post office, I went to the LRB's house, both to deliver some jackets her sisters had left at my house over the weekend and to see if the formula had arrived during the afternoon. It had not.
I started for home. When I passed the drug store, I remembered that The Husband had been fighting with the store and the insurance company about some of his prescriptions. I called him to see if he'd won the battle. He had. I turned around and went back to the drug store, waited in line for about 30 minutes, got the prescriptions, headed home.
It was almost dinnertime. Thankfully, there were left-over chicken enchiladas in the refrigerator, so I didn't have to cook. I took my laptop out to the porch to work on the formula problem, but before I could get anywhere, the LRB's mom called to say the formula had arrived. Whew. One thing off my list.
Today's chore is to work on the car-wreck problem. The adjustor has not called. Looks like I'm going to have to nudge somebody.
Saturday when The Husband inspected the damage to my car, he noticed that the front passenger tire had a big slit in it from a gouge from the truck dude's front bumper. Looks like I was lucky to make it home after the wreck without a second flat tire. If that had happened, as mad as I was that Roadside Assistance had not come to the wreck, I'd probably be in jail by now.
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