Sunday, March 13, 2011

Unemployment and Being Airborn

My landlady is renovating the apartment complex in which I live. On Wednesday before last, everyone in my building received nice little notifications that contractors would begin Monday, March 6, on renovations.

The walkways that link all of the apartments on the 2nd and 3rd floors would be redone, the note said, and added that all those residents on the 2nd and 3rd floors would be required to vacate our apartments for 24 hours at the end of renovations. Residents would be given a $100 rent credit to make up for the cost of finding someplace else to stay.

Okay. No problemo.

And then, Monday, I awoke with a migraine. I've been having them more often, of late, because of the stress of unemployment, so the migraine was no surprise. The fact that there was no weather change accompanying the migraine was a surprise.

What caused the migraine?

Jackhammers. Loud ones. Starting at 9 a.m.

They ran all day, and so I spent the majority of the day in bed with a pillow clamped firmly over my ears.

The jackhammering finally stopped on Tuesday. Wednesday, I noticed that the walkways outside some of the apartments on the 2nd floor were completely missing. Haha! I thought. That would suck if someone needed to leave or come home!

Karma, baby. Karma.

Friday, I had physical therapy at 9:30, and left to return to my little home at 11:00 a.m.

If I could fly, I could have gotten up to my apartment without a problem. But I can't fly. And there was no walkway outside my apartment.


A very nice construction worker saw my look of consternation and asked if I needed to get into my apartment. When I said that, yes, in fact, I did need to get into my apartment, he cheerfully brought a piece of 4'x8' plywood for me to walk across (the structure that supports the walkway was in place, just not the actual walkway itself).


Except... um... that piece of plywood stopped about 1'6" away from my door.

Have I ever mentioned that I'm afraid of heights? Because, I am. Terrified. Of heights.

The construction worker stood on one end to weigh it down, and another construction worker stood at the other, and I turned deathly pale and walked to the edge of the plywood to reach across to my door.

I have no doubt they thought I was an enormous wuss. It's okay. I am a wuss.

I'm not ashamed (lie).

As I was closing the door to my apartment and saying a little silent prayer that my apartment wouldn't catch on fire and leave me trapped with no method of egress, the construction worker asked me when I was going to need to get out.

"I'll be here all day," I replied.
Oof. No way was I going through that whole tightrope/plywood walking act again.


In other news, someone sent me a message on the Texas Workforce Commission's website. They want me to come work for them in Houston.

For $12,000 less than I made before the recession.

But on the upside, I'd be a bureaucrat (working for their building code enforcement department), and it would be fun to be able to say, "What do I do for a living? I manufacture red tape. Hmmm? Yes, I'm a bureaucrat."

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