j021028 (imported)
October 28, 2002
Many thanks to readers Allison, Dorothy, Susan, Donna, Chris, Suzie, and Lori ($1, $2, $2, $2, $2, $20, $20) for their contributions to the Animal Shelter fund. Lori and Donna asked me to double their contributions, giving a total for today of $71, and a grand total of $177 collected for the pets.
You guys kick ass.
Reader Dorothy, ask and you shall receive:
I am Satankitty.
"Why are you circling me, Daddy?
It makes me uncomfortable."
Congratulations are in order for reader Lori (not the one who won the "Keep Honking, I’m Reloading" sticker, a completely different one), who was randomly selected from all entries to receive the "What Would Scooby Do?" sticker.
It all started simply enough, with a flippant, off-the-cuff remark in one of my entries. "…if anyone lives within a reasonable distance of Huntsville, Alabama," I wrote, ever so blithely, "we’re getting rid of two antique dressers and the original big bubba gym. If you’re semi-local and interested in any of these, feel free to e-mail me with questions."
I never expected to get a response from a real live reader. Tuesday, during one of my email checks, I found the following waiting for me:
"It’s [reader KT]. My pager. Anyway, what are you asking for that gym? We’re in atlanta area, but he’s really interested in getting some good equipment, and I want a leg press."
The ‘he’ in the email was KT’s husband, CT. He was so interested in the big bubba gym that he wanted to come get it as soon as possible. After many flurried emails, we decided that KT and CT would drive from the suburbs of Atlanta to the suburbs of Huntsville to puchase said big bubba gym, and that they’d do it on Friday.
Which gave me plenty of time - three whole days - to be spastic about it.
Robyn had already met one of her readers in person, you see, but I never had, unless you count the distant cousin who’d found the web site I used to run when I was fat. That was nothing; this site is entirely different. This is where I talk about important stuff, like farting and cursing spuds and cats, not that weight-related stuff, and now I was about to meet my first reader in person.
And I wasn’t going to just meet this reader, I was going to meet this reader in my home. My sanctum sanctorum. My safe place.
Robyn and I spoke several times between Tuesday and Friday about meeting reader KT and her husband, and how strange it would be. What if they were psychos who wanted to torture us and kill us? What if they were just weird and acted all freaky while they were here? What if they tried to kidnap Tubby and Miz Poo to sacrifice them to the gods of all that is fat?
Why no, I don’t think we need to get a life.
I made some awesome directions, some perfect directions, to get them from Atlanta to our front door, and I emailed the directions to KT. I also emailed her my cell phone number so she could call in case there was any trouble, or if they had problems finding the house. They were going to be here Friday afternoon at about 4:00 to get the gym.
At about 3:45 on Friday, my cell phone rang. It was KT, who had just passed through Guntersville, a small town about 40 miles from Huntsville. They’d stopped at a gas station, not having a cell phone, to call me. I found this out because I had to call her back on our land line because my cell phone sucks when it comes to actually being used.
I digress.
KT was concerned because they were going to be late, and she wanted to apologize and also get a feel for how much longer they had to go. I told her, reiterating the section of my perfect directions that was pertinent to the conversation, and we hung up.
About twenty minutes later, I decided to check MapQuest to make sure Guntersville really was only about 40 miles away. According to MapQuest, it’s 38 miles from Guntersville to Huntsville.
I spent a moment patting myself on the back.
Then I read the point-to-point directions MapQuest provided, and discovered my directions were wrong. I told them they’d be coming into Huntsville on Memorial Parkway, but they were really coming in on Governor’s drive. Specifically, they were coming in on US Highway 431, which becomes Governor’s Drive. Memorial Parkway is an alternate, and is actually US Highway 231.
I lost my shit.
They had no cell phone, remember? I’d sent two hapless souls on a road trip across the South with bad directions. The blind had trusted the dumb, and now they were going to end up in the ditch for it. And then, then I remembered that KT had sent me the first email from her text pager.
Quickly, I fired off the following email to the pager:
From: Self
To: x@y.com (kt)
Subject: I GOOFED ON THE DIRECTIONS!
Date sent: Fri, 25 Oct 2002 16:12:17 -0500If this comes across your pager, just reply something to me and I’ll send the corrected directions. If you can’t reply via this, can you call me? SORRY!
Fred
I sat back and began obsessively checking my email for a response, keeping an ear out for the phone. Nothing. All was quiet on the western front.
After about twenty minutes of being giddy with panic, pacing the room, and working on a repetitive motion injury from clicking my email icon, I sent a second email, thinking perhaps they just hadn’t found a place to pull off and call:
From: Self
To: x@y.com (kt)
Subject: Trying to send modified directions.
Date sent: Fri, 25 Oct 2002 16:32:16 -0500KT, I’m not sure it you’re seeing this or not, but here are the new directions - they’re not TOO different. US 431 is NOT Memorial Parkway coming into Huntsville as I thought. US 431 is actually Governor’s Drive. Just stay on it until you get to I-565 west (it dead ends into it) and take that. Directions from that point forward are the same.
Again, sorry!
Fred
The phone stayed silent. I got no email. My neurosis deepened.
Just before 5:00, there was a soft knock on the front door. I walked to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. Robyn was at my side. Reader KT and her husband CT stood before me, smiling expectantly.
"I’M SORRY!" I bellowed, before they could say hello, "THEY WERE BAD!"
KT and CT blinked at me, confused.
