I'm hanging up on you. . .

May 26, 2011


Children are wonderful.

They bring joy and happiness into your life.

Provide you with purpose; a reason to live.

And will look after you in your twilight years, making sure you are treated as well as you treated them.

But only if you have more than one because you never know what will happen and it isn't good to pin all your hopes on just one.






Yesterday was what we call a "Meredyth Day" around here.

It started out simply enough.

I arrived at her apartment at 9.00 am to sort out the lost keys debacle.

She needed the letting-in-the-building fob replaced, her apartment key replaced and her mail key was MIA as well.

Wallets and keys, wallets and keys. . . .

After lightening my bank account by $70.00 Mer was, yet again, in possession of her keys.

Which meant she could check her mail.

And there was mail!

Most flyers, or circulars, as Stephen's parents call them.

Her census letter.

And a census reminder.

Informing her that not filling out the census is against the law.

When Mer read this, she panicked.

Will they really arrest me for not completing the census?  And how come it's online? I don't have internet? Oh my god what's going to happen to me????!!!!!!

Nothing Mer.

Nothing is going to happen because I won't let it.

Perhaps this is part of the overall problem.

Me.

I need to incorporate more of a sink or swim mentality.

But I didn't right away.

So in addition to replacing her keys, I contacted Bell Aliant and requested that they install internet in her apartment and put it on my bill.

My mother's phone at the nursing home is on my account, so I knew this was something that could be done.

I'm not paying for Mer's internet.

She is.

Because I will take the money out of her account every month.

Just like I do with her cell phone bill.

She angled for a bundle that included internet, cable and phone service.

The look on my face was enough to tell her the likelihood of that happening.

This morning, then, sometime between 8.00-5.00 someone will go to Mer's apartment and set up her internet.

Somehow, someway I just know I'm going to regret this.






The thing about Mer is that she has this way of taking one thing and ballooning it into several.

I've fallen for this several times in the past, expected it, and was therefore ready when she attempted to slide in request number two.

Would I drive her downtown to the grocery store?

No.

I have to go to work Mer.

Part of the challenge of being an academic in the summer is that, to those on the outside, even those who have grown up with you and know exactly what you're work life is like, it appears as if you are "off."

Oh it must be nice to have the summer off, my neighbour said the other day.

It would be nice, I replied, but I don't have the summer off. I have a textbook I'm working on, a couple of articles I'm trying to write, a grant application that makes getting into the FBI look easy, and hopefully if the government ever decides to make up it's mind, a research assistant to supervise. Plus I want to revamp a couple of my courses, and introduce a new one which needs researching and organization.

And there is the sabbatical application that's due Tuesday and the papers and exams to mark for my Intersession classes.

Summer off?

Only in my dreams.

So no, Mer, I am not driving you downtown to the grocery store.

At least not right now.

BUT, I will drive you this afternoon.

I will take you as soon as I've picked Em up from school and in the hour space before she has to go to work.

For 5.00 pm.

It appeared, on the surface, that she understood the words that were coming from my mouth to her ears.

But you know those appearances. . . they can be deceiving little things.

Pick up Em at 3.30.

She calls Mer to let her know we're on our way.

No answer.

Hmmmm. . . . .

A few minutes later, we try again.

Still no answer.

Driving into her building's parking lot, I call and leave a message.

I'm here. Come on out.

No call back.

I call Keith, because he was with her earlier and he does tend to be the one person who knows where she is and what she's doing.

He doesn't answer.

Which, as an aside, caused me to pause and ponder the usefulness of cell phones if people don't answer the damn things when you need them to.

I call Mer. Again.

Mer, it's me. I am outside you're apartment building. I will wait here for 5 minutes and if you aren't here in 5 minutes I'm leaving because Em isn't going to be late for work. I told you when I would be here, and I have to say I don't understand why you aren't here, and why you aren't answering your phone.

And we sat for 5 minutes, waiting, hoping every time someone came out of the building, it was Mer.

Em suggested we go in and buzz her apartment.

That won't do any good. Her buzzer is hooked up to her cell phone and if she isn't answering calls, she isn't answering the buzzer, I replied.

After 5 minutes, I left, muttering under my breath about natural consequences and how I knew this was going to bite me in the ass.






No time to go downtown, however, there was time to deal with the underwear issue that has been plaguing me for two weeks.

Only because the store from which I was purchasing said underwear was uptown and close to the theater.

And as soon as I put the car in park, and turned off the ignition, sure enough my phone rang.

I knew who it was.

And I knew what was coming,

Sure enough, a tearful, breathless Mer was on the other end of the line.

She'd fallen asleep.

Okay. I understand. I understand the need to nap very, very well.

Could I come back.

And here is where the ugliness started.

No, Mer. I can't. There isn't enough time to go all the way back to your apartment, pick you up, go downtown, get your groceries, and then go back uptown to get Em to work for 5.00 pm.

She hung up on me.

And then called back.

Ranting and yelling at me that I knew this was her only day to do this because she is working doubles and the internet guy is coming sometime between 8-5 so she can't leave and I do have time I just don't want to.

And then she hung up on me again.

At which point I shut my phone off, put it in the glove compartment, got out of the car, locked it, and went into the store to get my mother's underwear.

Which, at this point, seemed a hell of a lot less traumatic than dealing with Mer.







It was.

At least for now.

I selected three pairs.

But not without some trepidation.

Hoping against hope that I won't have to return these ones.

I even laid the smallest size against the next size up in an effort to make an informed decision about which size would be the most appropriate.

Underwear should, in no way, cause so much trauma.

Really.


Title Lyric: Hanging Up by Myra