The Ultimate Chauffeur

Himself and I watched the new Knight Rider I loved the show the first time around. No, not for The Hasselhoff, but for the car. I loved KITT. Loved his snooty voice and his sometimes smart ( ! ) comments.

The new KITT is a Mustang Shelby. The very first car I bought myself was a Mustang. I loved that car.

During the movie pilot, NBC was running a contest. Answer questions about the movie on a website and you'd be entered to win one of 5 cars.

"There, why don't you enter the contest. You might win the Mustang, and then you could be cool again," said Himself while reaching into the popcorn bag.

My first instinct was to upend the popcorn bag on Himself's head. Be cool again. As if I lost my coolness. I decided to take the high road and ignored the remark.

"Entering the contest! That's a great idea!"

"What?"

"I could enter Dad! Not only would he end up with a cool car, but he wouldn't have to drive! KITT would drive them wherever and whenever they wanted to go. It would be so great. Can you just see it?"

"KITT, we'd like to go to Mahket Basket today."

"Very good, sir. Will the Mrs. be joining us?"

"Unfortunately."

I figured I had about as much chance of winning KITT as I do of convincing Ma to shop Peapod, but I can dream. Now, where did I put the matches so I can light a candle?

I'm Not Able to Take Your Call

Wednesday it poured. I alternated between speaking in tongues and humming ditties as I manned the shop vac. It wasn’t a flood of water. Just enough of a continuous puddle under the washer to make a pain in the ( ! ) of itself. The rain was coming down heavy. The ground was frozen with a recent snowfall with ice that turned to rain. The water had no place to go and the interior drain is either clogged or just couldn’t take the amount of water.

This was not a Little Princess job. I wanted to be Chip Morton, the XO on the Seaview. I wanted to give orders. “Chief, close off frame 34 and get a detail down there with pumps and clean up the mess!” I wanted to hear a snappy “Aye, aye, sir, I’ll get right on it.” No one but me around she said as she raised her wrist to her forehead.

As I was about to empty the vac, the phone rang. It was Prissy.

“What am I going to do?” she said her voice rising in panic.

Help me, Lord, I don’t want to play 20 questions now.

“Do you have water in your basement?” That’s one.

“Yes, the water is seeping under the cellar door. Oh what should I do?”

I thought of several answers. Drop back fifteen and punt. Bend over and kiss your ( ! ) goodbye. Sing Nearer My God to Thee… Sell the damn house and move in with your daughter…

“Should I turn off the furnace?” she said interrupting my clever musings.

“Your furnace is on blocks, right?” Two

“Yes.”

“Is the water up to the blocks?” Three

“Yes.”

“Has the water reached the blocks?” Four

“No, the water is just seeping under the cellar door.”

“Then for Gawdsakes don’t turn the furnace off.”

“Oh, what should I do.”

I almost started to sing the ditty from an old McDonald's commercial. Grab a bucket and mop...

“Do you have a shop vac?” Five

“Yes, but my son took it.”

Figures. At this point, I didn’t want to be helpful. I wanted to be the kid and to call some adult to come and take care of my problem. I no longer wanted to be the designated adult.

“Call your daughter and have your son in law come down to help you out. Look my moat is overflowing and I have to go.”

“Oh, ok.”

Friday morning, I had dropped the Young One off at school. Showered, and was having a cup of tea and playing on the computer killing time until it was time to leave to pick the Eldest up from her college. She wanted to come home for the long, holiday weekend.

The phone rang. It was Prissy.

“Is your refrigerator running?”

At first I thought she was joking. Like the prank telephone calls we played as kids. Is your refrigerator running? You better run after it. I heard a note of panic in her voice.

“My refrigerator is running.”

“Yeah, they do that.”

“It doesn’t shut off. What should I do?”

Buy a new one?

“What if it stops?”

“At least it’s a good time of year if it does. You can put all your food on the porch.” I said helpfully.

Evidently my suggestion wasn’t good enough. She wanted me to go over, but I had to leave to pick up The Eldest.

While taking a break before I had to cook supper, the phone rang. Prissy, again.

“Is your refrigerator running?”

“Yes, it does that from time to time.”

“Does it shut off.”

“Yes, after it goes through it’s cycle.”

“Mine doesn’t. What should I do?”

I was so tempted to say “Pretend I’m dead.”

Firefly

I think I may have come up with a permanent solution to keep Ma from calling Jamaica. Firefly! Oh, it's not my original thought. I believe awhile ago when Ma first began calling Jamaica, BVMom had suggested getting the Weebles this kid's mobile phone service. The idea must have gotten buried and resurfaced last night as an original thought.

Firefly is a small, mobile phone designed for kids. There are only five buttons on the phone: Answer, Hang up, call Mom, call Dad, and the phone directory. The phone will store 20 telephone numbers and only those 20 can be called. There are no number pads to dial. Calls are paid for in pay as you go plans.

What a great solution! We get the Weebles a Firefly, and program only those numbers that they would need to call. Doctors, me, the Brother (just to share the joy), Peapod Online Food Shopping Service (we can dream). The house phones would be removed, though the wiring would be left intact. Since Dad bundled the phone with FIOS, there's a 2 year contract for the phone, and I'm not sure what penalties are involved with breaking the contract early.

Anyway, back to the solution. It's simply perfect. There'd be no worry that either of them would be able to reprogram the phone for unauthorized telephone numbers. Hell, Dad can't even program the clock on the electronic thermostat. They would be able to make contact with the outside world, if there was an emergency.

The downside would be Dad wouldn't be able to call all over the country for a flat phone rate. He has thoroughly enjoyed that feature, calling our State senators at their Washington, DC offices instead of their local state offices. The remaining time on the phone/Internet bundle would have to be paid off. That's a bit of a waste. On the other hand, I've been paying the Internet portion of the bill every month, even though Dad rarely turns the computer on because "they don't give him his email."

Then there's possibility of them misplacing the small phone. They wouldn't be able to call me to find out if I remember where they put it down, or if I took it with me. Hmmm, I'm not really seeing a downside here.

Dad's birthday is coming up. I'm thinking Firefly would make a perfect gift.

Day-O

Dad's phone bill arrived. Yup, near the 15th of the month, his phone bill hits my mailbox. Open it up and do a double take at the total due. That can't be right. I must have forgotten to pay his bill last month. Look at past due charges. Goose egg. I paid the bill last month so WTF? Long distance. Long distance $37.92 WTF? Don't tell me. She didn't. She did. Another call to Jamaica. Ma hasn't called Jamaica since October. Deep sigh, forlorn look. Guess this must be another one of those, "What the hell, he's paying for it!"

So all together now, "Hey Mr. Tallyman, tally me banana. Daylight come and me wanna go home."

Hold That Line!

I should have realized what was happening. If I had looked at the Wereweeble calendar it would have been instantly apparent. It was not until this morning, Monday morning. Monday morning quarterback. The approach of the New Moon. The full moon we can’t see.

Ma called yesterday morning while Dad was off to church.

“Are you coming through today?”

“No, why?” I did know the reason.

“Well, I thought you’d leave your husband to his football game. I need to get to the store, we have no food.”

Ten cans each of French cut green beans, Regular cut green beans, and corn, not the creamed kind from the last expedition. I think the beets are all gone.

“I told Dad I was coming on Tuesday. I would take him to vote, and then we could go to Market Basket.”

“He didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“That’s not my fault.”

“I know, but we are out of everything.”

“I thought the checks didn’t come in until Monday.”

“The bank lets us have them on Saturday if the third is on a Sunday.”

The fans in the stands were chanting, Hold that line! Hold that line!

“Well, the game doesn’t begin until tonight. Today, would not be the day to go shopping with the place being jammed with people buying last minute stuff for their Super Bowl Parties. Besides, I won’t take you to Market Basket on a weekend. The place is ridiculous during the week. No way will I go on a Saturday or Sunday.”

Sunday night. The Young One and I were watching “Ghost Hunt”, an anime cartoon a bit like the “X-Files”. We were engrossed in the weirdness when the phone rang. At a quarter to nine, I didn’t even have to look at the caller ID to know who was calling.

“How’s things going?”

A deep sigh. “The same.”

Dad’s conversation meandered around the usual topics. Being marginalized, the cost of fuel oil, paying bills, paying Auntie Rose and on and on. "

"She wants to go shopping.”

There was a subtle pause indicating Ma wanted to shopping on Monday.

“I told you I was coming on Tuesday.”

A flag was dropped. Dad was waiting to see if the Ref was going to call a penalty and move the team back to the Check Out Line of Monday.

The fans were screaming Hold that Line! Hold that Line!

“I’ll take you voting on Tuesday, and then we’ll go bless the meat. I’m not going tomorrow when every old person and their social security check will be out in force shopping.”

The line held.

In analyzing the game, I realized I was double teamed. First Ma tried and failed. She figured I wouldn’t refuse Dad so she had him call.

OPD is a game of control. The game is won by having a strong defense. Hold that Line!