The bug man forgot to ring first
Regina called the office to tell me she backed out of the garage and smacked the front bumper of the termite inspector’s truck.
The damage wasn’t much, not nearly what I once caused. That incident cost us a garage door.
“I’d like to kill him,” she said. “How was I to know he parked his truck next to the garage door?” she asked, rhetorically. “Why wouldn’t he park it at the end of the drive out of the way? And get this. He put an orange construction cone beside his left rear tire. What the expletive deleted do you think that was about?”
She loves her recently acquired red Ford Escape because it’s “cute” and “Bama red.”
“I hollered him up and told him his vehicle wasn’t hurt, but mine was. Then I told him to get his (expletive deleted) truck out of my way, so I could go to work.”
She’s prone to hyperbole, but the termite guy didn’t know it. She’s still wondering how he left the premises before she could fasten her seat belt.
“It’s OK,” I said, expecting to see the bumper sagging when she reached the office.
First, she had to get gasoline. The pump wouldn’t take her credit card. She went inside to prepay.
When she returned, she discovered that a previous purchaser had left the hose on. A $3.45 cent gasoline shower later she got the hose under control and off. She stalked inside to report. Then home she went to shower and change clothes.
Stay with me because the story is not over.
She set off the security alarm because she was so upset she kept putting in last year’s code. She called the toll-free number to report herself and keep the police away. She must have misdialed because she called me to say the security company had changed its number.
Stop the police, I told her.
She tried only to be told if the security company called, the police would respond.
That’s when she talked to the only person with good sense after ramming the pest man’s bumper.
The woman said something Southern like, “Bless your heart,” followed by the magic words, “Give me your address again.”