82

Eighty-two.

That's the number of days from that start of the gas crisis to the day the gas company finally comes and takes their crap out of my basement.

I know, I know -- I should be jumping up and down because I have heat and hot water.  I am amongst the lucky after being amongst the mistreated.  This whole thing, though -- no warnings when they're coming; no clear answers when things would be fixed; no follow through -- has been slightly maddening

I receive the phone call on my way home from work today: "Where are you?  Can you get home?  The gas company is here."  (My landlord.) Actually, I need to run to the bank, the gas station, and the grocery store.  I guess that won't be happening right now.  Besides, I have all the contact information for my landlord on the door to my house.  I don't own the place.  This is sooooo not my problem.

I rush home, just the same.

The landlord and the gas company are letting themselves inside my townhouse when I arrive home.  Apparently they are there for the extra brand-new hot water heater they forgot.  My landlord and I tell them all the same thing: "You'll get your hot water heater when you clean up the shit you left in the basement, including the old furnace."

This is a brilliant strategy.  Except... except that I had company last weekend and finally (after eighty days) moved basement crap out of my living level and put some of it back into the basement and the landing to the basement.  This means that I have to move that stuff back into my kitchen.  I also need to move furniture in the den so they can get through with the equipment.

Pain in my ass.

I've been living like a damn gypsy for eighty-two damn days.  Finally I might get my life back.  After watching seven of them (seven -- really, seven) haul the stuff out of my basement, I see one guy go into the cellar with a sheet of plastic.  My landlord and I hear clanging and a bit of sharp retorts.  Sounds like they've broken something.

Turns out the plastic is to ... surprise ... collect the crap they've left everywhere, and the noise is them picking it all up.  Seven people, four dollies, a sheet of plastic later, my basement is almost clear again.  It's like they were never there.  It's like the past eighty-two days never happened.

Well, except for the stove.  The gas company still has not approved the stove I've been cooking with for the last two weeks.  I suppose that means they'll be back.  I'll leave that contact information on my door just in case.