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So I Married a Milksop
Why must Roomie be so useless in even a minor crisis? After a nasty thunderstorm, we came home and turned on the wall-mounted AC unit. Twenty minutes later, the unit began to make laborious thumping sounds, as though workmen were dumping bags of cement mix into the bed of a pickup truck. Roomie went outside to investigate. While he was outside, the AC abruptly turned off, and I looked up from my laptop, expecting to find that there had been a power outage, but everything was still on. The AC's fan then came on and began to blow air, but the compressor remained silent. Oh, dear.
"It's not working properly," I said when Roomie came back inside. He stared at it in bovine incomprehension for a long moment before turning it off and unplugging it.
And then, predictably, he went into poorly-suppressed, baby-rhino panic mode, lumbering to and fro throughout the house, muttering obscenities and running his fingers through his hair. Of course. Of course. That's all he ever does when faced with a challenge. I suggested we go to Walmart and buy a replacement, or at least get a few box fans so we wouldn't welter when we tried to sleep tonight.
"But I don't know how to mount one of these things, and besides, it's technically not our unit," he whined.
I pointed out that the red-necked angel across the street knows how to mount one, and that he would probably be happy to help in return for a case of beer.
"But he's not home."
No, but he was earlier, and his porch fan is on, which means he'll return shortly.
More whining and excuse-making. Fine. Then we should at least get a box fan to drive back the worst of the heat.
"But where would we put it?"
In the living room. We'll use the plug that used to house the AC unit.
More fucking excuses.
To be on the safe side and stem the rage-inducing tide of his simpering, I suggested that we test the socket with a small, expendable appliance to see if it works. After all, if the socket was borked, then there was no point in replacing the wall unit tonight. Roomie unplugged our cordless phone and plugs the base into the socket in question. The base functioned perfectly. So the AC unit was, indeed, the culprit.
"What do you think we should do?" he asked.
I reiterated for the third or fourth time that we should go to the Walmart and get a box fan or two until we can get to the Home Depot to price a replacement unit.
Did he follow this suggestion? No, he did not. Instead, he exercised his brilliant judgment(the same unimpeachable judgment that led him to suggest we walk from our Vegas hotel to the Thomas and Mack Center in the desert heat, no less)and called...my mother. My busybody, control-freak mother who is currently in Florida and thus will be no help whatsoever, but who will doubtless prove a massive hindrance.
GODFUCKINGDAMMIT, YOU SPINELESS JIZZBAG! Have you learned nothing from the last time you made this decision? You know, when your confessed spoiled laziness got us evicted from our apartment and you whined and hyperventilated and begged me to let you call my mother because packing our belongings and calling a cleaning service was beyond you. You begged me to abase myself before the woman whom I least want to owe anything, and I did because I couldn't stand to see you so wretched and pathetic and impotent. It took me over a year to throw off her domineering yoke and reassert myself by going to NY and Vegas, and now, you've dragged me right back into her sphere of influence BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO INDECISIVE AND HELPLESS TO TAKE ME TO BUY A NEW WALL UNIT.
Fuck life today.
"It's not working properly," I said when Roomie came back inside. He stared at it in bovine incomprehension for a long moment before turning it off and unplugging it.
And then, predictably, he went into poorly-suppressed, baby-rhino panic mode, lumbering to and fro throughout the house, muttering obscenities and running his fingers through his hair. Of course. Of course. That's all he ever does when faced with a challenge. I suggested we go to Walmart and buy a replacement, or at least get a few box fans so we wouldn't welter when we tried to sleep tonight.
"But I don't know how to mount one of these things, and besides, it's technically not our unit," he whined.
I pointed out that the red-necked angel across the street knows how to mount one, and that he would probably be happy to help in return for a case of beer.
"But he's not home."
No, but he was earlier, and his porch fan is on, which means he'll return shortly.
More whining and excuse-making. Fine. Then we should at least get a box fan to drive back the worst of the heat.
"But where would we put it?"
In the living room. We'll use the plug that used to house the AC unit.
More fucking excuses.
To be on the safe side and stem the rage-inducing tide of his simpering, I suggested that we test the socket with a small, expendable appliance to see if it works. After all, if the socket was borked, then there was no point in replacing the wall unit tonight. Roomie unplugged our cordless phone and plugs the base into the socket in question. The base functioned perfectly. So the AC unit was, indeed, the culprit.
"What do you think we should do?" he asked.
I reiterated for the third or fourth time that we should go to the Walmart and get a box fan or two until we can get to the Home Depot to price a replacement unit.
Did he follow this suggestion? No, he did not. Instead, he exercised his brilliant judgment(the same unimpeachable judgment that led him to suggest we walk from our Vegas hotel to the Thomas and Mack Center in the desert heat, no less)and called...my mother. My busybody, control-freak mother who is currently in Florida and thus will be no help whatsoever, but who will doubtless prove a massive hindrance.
GODFUCKINGDAMMIT, YOU SPINELESS JIZZBAG! Have you learned nothing from the last time you made this decision? You know, when your confessed spoiled laziness got us evicted from our apartment and you whined and hyperventilated and begged me to let you call my mother because packing our belongings and calling a cleaning service was beyond you. You begged me to abase myself before the woman whom I least want to owe anything, and I did because I couldn't stand to see you so wretched and pathetic and impotent. It took me over a year to throw off her domineering yoke and reassert myself by going to NY and Vegas, and now, you've dragged me right back into her sphere of influence BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO INDECISIVE AND HELPLESS TO TAKE ME TO BUY A NEW WALL UNIT.
Fuck life today.