I’m saving the good news for last. But first, let’s start with my bad day.
On Thursday, Jake and I looked one last house for the week. For whatever reason, the market in Mason City is really hot. We’re learning that people often sell directly to their friends or family and that unique homes go quickly, if they’re even listed to begin with.
I left for Fargo, ND early enough to avoid getting tangled in the Twin Cities rush hour, or so I had hoped. The traffic was already congested well before 4:30 p.m. and I found the whole stretch between Iowa and North Dakota dotted with road construction. Summer in the Midwest is road construction season, although I don’t remember it being so bad last year.
Once I reached Fargo, I stopped to get toothpaste, beer, and food from Red Pepper. An Everything Grinder and bottle of Red Stripe beer seemed heavenly after driving for six hours and eating nothing but beef jerky and Twizzlers
I finally walk into our apartment around 8:30 p.m. and find that our trash can birthed gads of fruit flies.
I have a bug phobia and the sight of the fruit flies drives me into a panic. Instead of eating my dinner, I frantically clean until I’m dripping with sweat. Then, I start a load of laundry.
It’s 11 p.m. and I notice the washer sounds unusually quiet. The machine stalled with my all of my favorite clothes in it and basically all of my underwear. I can’t get the washer to restart, so I fish out articles of clothing from the soapy water and wring them out, one by one.
A half hour later, the washing machine starts to work again and so I try to sleep, swatting swarms of imaginary fruit flies. I wake at the crack of dawn to purchase flypaper from Home Depot, which I’m happy to learn opens at 6 a.m.
It’s bad timing when the apartment manager asks to show our apartment. The two college girls ooh and ahh over our high ceilings and balcony, never asking about the twirls of flypaper that hang from the kitchen like mobiles. Is it possible that the girls think they’re Pinterest art projects?
Trouble On The Road
The visitors leave and I hit the road, stopping at the gas station to fill up my tank. When I start my engine, a woman parks dangerously close to the right side of my car and bangs her door into mine. She nonchalantly walks away even though I am clearly sitting in my car. It’s nine years old, and, although she leaves a scratch, I am frustrated. It makes the most sense to just leave it alone and I drive away, but not before documenting her license plates. Not that it accomplishes anything, but it makes me feel better.
A half hour into my drive on I-94 towards the Twin Cities, a large metal plate falls off a truck and I run over it with a bang. The speed limit is 70 mph and there just isn’t enough time or room to swerve. Everything sounds fine, but I pull over in Fergus Falls to examine my tires.
My car looks fine, so I put my key in the ignition and find that my wheel is locked and the key won’t turn. Even though this has happened before, I’ve always gotten it to work after some jiggling. This time, it doesn’t. The man who manages the gas station also tries to start my car and gives up. My key is twisted and in danger of breaking, so I call AAA.
I sit on the curb with big crocodile tears running down my cheeks, as I wait for the tow truck. I realize that help is on the way, but I’m tired and frustrated. Many people walk by and nobody asks if I’m OK.
A nice gentleman arrives a half an hour later and gets the car to start. I thank him and drive straight to St. Paul.
Far from the worst day ever, but frustrating, nonetheless.
And Now For The Good News
The good news is that we found out that we did get the house. It’s our first one and needs a lot of aesthetic work, but we’re counting down the days until we can call it home and stop living in a hotel.
I also learned that the dealership makes new car keys for $5 with a vehicle ID number.
Here’s to a week that’s smoother than my last 48 hours.