...And I Thought I Had Problems With Mr. Murphy

But that was before I received a couple of emails from my friend, Skip. Here's how a Bradford pear tree on his property looked after the storm blew through our area last Thursday--bad news, to say the least. What Skip didn't know, however, was that things just were going to go downhill from this point.

My friend wasted no time contacting his neighbor, who agreed to help Skip cut up the mess. They then placed it all in four neat piles by the road, thinking the city would pick up everything on the next regular trash day, which was yesterday. To Skip's chagrin, though, all four piles still were by the road after the trucks went through his area.

So Skip called the city and was told that the mess all had to be in 4-foot piles. He and the neighbor complied with the instructions (as seen here), then Skip called the city again, only to be told that the piles would all be picked up on a one-per-week basis.

Skip, in his own words, "blew a gasket" at that point and reminded the city he didn't have to play by those rules during the last storm. And to add further insult, the city told him he could rent an open-top truck, but they wouldn't rent it to him until he talked to the supervisor, since he had called the city manager's office. Skip subsequently called another friend who drives a tool truck and asked if he could help him. As luck would have it, though, that friend called Skip as he was en route and reported that his truck just had broken down.

Now don't get too comfortable, 'cause there's more to Skip's situation. He had started Tuesday morning with an 8:30 doctor's appointment. When he arrived, a sign on the door said: Closing Soon.

"That's great," thought Skip. "I have a doc I like, and now he's leaving."

Skip tried the door, but it was locked, so he called and asked if they were open. The response he got was that they would open at 9:30. He also learned that his doctor had been gone since Easter. The really-down-on-his-luck Skip turned around, went home, and started trying to find another general practitioner who had an open appointment this year. His wife, Leslie, got involved and finally located a GP with an open date in September.

"Must be something in the air" is how Skip ended that first email.

Today, then, I received another note from him. He began by telling me he had gone fishing this morning at West neck. "I was fishing a little past the bridge," he said, "when about 8 o'clock I looked to the south and saw rain coming, despite the weatherman's earlier prediction there wouldn't be any today." Ten minutes later, it started raining again, so he headed for the bridge and the cover it would provide.

Enter Mr. Murphy yet again. To wit, Skip glanced down at his tachometer as he fired the big motor to move to the bridge. It was reading about 7,000 rpm. "No way," he thought, before shutting it down and thinking about this new problem a little bit. He again started it up, this time watching the tach shoot up to 4,000 rpm.

Skip subsequently loaded the boat and called Wayne, his outboard mechanic, who showed up to take a look at things. Wayne said he figures the problem is a bad voltage regulator, or the tach perhaps is gone. The plan is that Skip will try and find replacement parts tomorrow, and Wayne will install them tomorrow evening.

"The week from Hell continues" is how Skip ended this latest email, adding, though, "You gotta keep smiling."

As I said in my earlier story about Murphy's Law, "When it gets hold of you, it doesn't want to let go." I believe that with all my heart, and I'm willing to bet you that Skip feels the same way.

Guess what? I just received another short email from Skip. Seems the SIMS card in his phone just died. Leslie loaned him the card from her phone, "and now mine works again," said Skip.

One simply has to wonder, "When will it ever end?"