I hear the Post Office is considering abolishing Saturday deliveries to save money. I've always been with Seinfeld on the issue of Post Office pricing - if you think it's bad that they're putting up the price of stamps, then just you try and find someone else to take a letter from Guam to Maine for only 44c.
I was all for getting rid of the Saturday mail last week though, for that is when the bombshell 'it is our understanding he may be filing a lawsuit against you' letter was received. How the hell are you supposed to deal with that on a Saturday when the people who sent it are not answering their phones? I spent the entire weekend flying between hysteria and depression. Is it possible to be hysterically depressed? Why yes it is, thanks State Farm.
First thing Monday morning LK called State Farm. After a no doubt leisurely lunch, they called us back. Apparently they've never spoken to our tenant. That was a 'form letter' they sent which to them read 'he has not contacted us, thus we have closed the claim, but due to the nature of his injuries we think that he may perhaps contact you in the future and at that point we will reopen the claim'. He has not expressed any intent to file a lawsuit. Yet. Perhaps they could have worded things a tad differently?
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
So I have been coaxed off the window ledge for now. I don't expect this issue to just go away. After all, he did contact us to get our liability insurer's name. State Farm have been out to photograph the place and have expressed surprise that anyone would file a claim, but hey, if there's money involved I'm sure anything is possible. I just wish that we could have spoken to someone the minute we got the letter, saving me 48 hours of panic. Of course, it would be nice to be like LK and have the capacity to go 'oh well, can't worry about this now, there's nothing to be done til Monday so I will just go about my business and think about other things'. How do you do that? I did everything in my power to keep calm; I went for a long run, I had a glass of whisky in a hot bath, I tried not to repeat 'it is our understanding...lawsuit against you'. Not possible. How are men capable of this kind of selective lobotomy? I wish I knew.
Anyway, so's to avoid the Monday morning funk that I've probably put you in by reading the above, I bring you two funny stories:
Firstly, my co-worker had a first date on Saturday. Santa Barbara can get a little chilly on a summer evening, so halfway through their romantic meal at an outdoor restaurant she pulled on her slinky black shrug and carried on laughing, drinking and generally having a wonderful time. It was only after they were leaving that her date pointed out the lacy black thong clinging statically to her cardigan that had been pulled fresh from the dryer. He had been facing her for the meal and so had not previously noticed - but the entire restaurant surrounding her......
Secondly, LK is a genius when it comes to fixing problems with the apartments. He is incredibly handy and has saved us thousands with plumbing, plastering, you name it. We had a note from one of our tenants saying their hall shower was running slowly. LK comes back one hour later having snaked, flushed and fixed the problem.
LK: "So Apt C's all fixed, I took out years of hair and calcified gunk and now it's flowing like a dream"
Me: "Apt C?"
LK: re-reading note. "Apt B. FUCK!"
Oh how we laughed. And by we I mean me.