Who Likes Frozen Eggs?
My refrigerator is once again an icebox.
To eat cereal last night, I had to scrape bits of icy milk into the bowl and let it melt until it became a sort of cold milk paste. Yum! I then chiseled some leftover tater tot hotdish from the pan and tried in vain to squeeze some overly gelatinous ketchup crystals from the bottle.
This is not the first time this has happened. So I called my landlord and left a lengthy message indicating that I had done on-line research and diagnosed the problem as a faulty thermostat. And that I would appreciate it if he would deal with this problem as soon as possible. I even managed what I thought to be an admirably haughty tone of voice.
Then I heard nothing.
By noon today, I had worked myself into a nice bit of righteous indignation. How dare he ignore me! My frozen milk must be dealt with! I had even prepared a lengthy diatribe indicating the depths of my frustration.
Then my landlord called.
From the hospital.
Having just had a heart attack.
And he called to apologize for not getting back to me sooner.
Now I feel terrible. The dude called appliance repair people from the hospital. FROM THE HOSPITAL. And I can’t even be angry about the fact that they won’t get to me until next week because of the whole heart attack/apologizing thing.
And I really hate it when a full head of righteous indignation fizzles out without being released. Just a warning. Best not to wrong me in the next few days – I have a lengthy diatribe all ready to go.
To eat cereal last night, I had to scrape bits of icy milk into the bowl and let it melt until it became a sort of cold milk paste. Yum! I then chiseled some leftover tater tot hotdish from the pan and tried in vain to squeeze some overly gelatinous ketchup crystals from the bottle.
This is not the first time this has happened. So I called my landlord and left a lengthy message indicating that I had done on-line research and diagnosed the problem as a faulty thermostat. And that I would appreciate it if he would deal with this problem as soon as possible. I even managed what I thought to be an admirably haughty tone of voice.
Then I heard nothing.
By noon today, I had worked myself into a nice bit of righteous indignation. How dare he ignore me! My frozen milk must be dealt with! I had even prepared a lengthy diatribe indicating the depths of my frustration.
Then my landlord called.
From the hospital.
Having just had a heart attack.
And he called to apologize for not getting back to me sooner.
Now I feel terrible. The dude called appliance repair people from the hospital. FROM THE HOSPITAL. And I can’t even be angry about the fact that they won’t get to me until next week because of the whole heart attack/apologizing thing.
And I really hate it when a full head of righteous indignation fizzles out without being released. Just a warning. Best not to wrong me in the next few days – I have a lengthy diatribe all ready to go.
posted by OleNelson at 3:05 PM
5 Comments:
That is very sad (about the landlord). And very funny (about you).
#1 - perhaps a get well card will erase the bad feelings.
#2 - You had a tater-tot hotdish in your fridge!!! It's like the midwestern food feast never ends at your house.
Ha! It's almost exactly like the time I....uh...no, nope, I've never had a head of steam dissolve quite that spectacularly.
mmmm. Hotdish.
p.s. do not go to hotdish.com looking for hotdish recipes. J. po and I made that mistake once, at work no less.
Hm. I also came here to comment on the fact that you had tater tot hotdish in your fridge - or in fact any "hotdish" - but I see that I have been beaten to it by quicker-witted, more faithful readers than I.
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