I woke up this morning, and everything was broken.
By everything, I mean my cable TV and my toilet.
So, yeah, everything.
First, I made a giant pot of coffee. Obviously.
Then, I tackled the cable situation. They ended up being able to just reset the box for me which “should solve the problem.” I have to do this just about once a week, which has gotten exceedingly annoying, but I’ve decided that it’s better than trying to set up an appointment with an actual person which would be scheduled “sometime between now and June between the hours of 6am and 9pm. Please be at home and available that whole time.” Plus, when they send the reset signal, it makes a sound like a laser gun which is pretty cool.
Around this time I also decided to make a label with my name on it for my mailbox. I have lived in this apartment for 2 years now, and just about every day I think, “I should put my name on my mailbox.” It involves a pen, paper, some tape, and approximately 3 minutes of my time, yet somehow I have put this off for 2 years. Today was the day I finally did it. Of course I used yellow foam paper and green sharpie, but oh well, a name is a name.
The toilet situation was a little more complicated. I am not a handy person. I am good at reading. I am moderately athletic. I can bake a good cake with my eyes closed (okay, maybe not closed the whole time), and although I do know the difference between a Phillips head and a flat head screwdriver (it’s fairly obvious when one of them is called a “flat” head), I have no idea how to do anything “handy” around the house. I am also not a homeowner. One of the big reasons I still rent is because I don’t want to have to be responsible for fixing things, so normally I’d just call the landlord. But, I knew that would involve actually making the call, probably leaving a voice mail, making sure to turn my ringer on so I heard when he called back, and then actually scheduling a time for the handy man to come. That just seemed like a hassle. It’s a toilet; it can’t be too complicated. And, for once, it really wasn’t.
I sat down in front of my computer, pulled up my trusty search engine, and started googling various combinations of the following:
“How to make the toilet float thingy go lower”
“The toilet tank doesn’t fill up after flushing, what do I do?”
“Picture of toilet parts”
“toilet broken. help.”
I got some conflicting results, but figuring out how to lower the floaty thing actually wasn’t that hard. I lowered it, I flushed the toilet, it started to fill back up again, I felt like a genius.
I was bouncing off the walls; I was so excited that I had fixed it*. Stella (my dog) was also super excited, and she expressed this excitement by running in circles around the house and stealing old birthday cake out of the trash. We decided to celebrate my accomplishment (and burn off some of her energy) with a long walk. This proved to be an excellent idea as it gave me the chance to overhear this gem of a conversation between two young hipsters:
Hipster 1: “You know what leggings are, right?”
Hipster 2: shakes head no
Hipster 1: “You know, like jeggings only not.”[doesn’t wait for a response]
Hipster 1: like they’re pants, but they are stretchy. Like stretchy pants.
Hipster 2: Blank stare
Hipster 1: so yeah, those are leggings.
Hipster 2: shakes head yes, keeps walking, they get too far away for me to hear anything else.
That, my friends, is what I call a productive morning.
*Because I believe in honesty, I feel like I should probably disclose that about 2 hours after I “fixed” my toilet it started not working again, and I had to give up and call the handy man. I still got to have my moment of glory though, so I’m happy.