Water Impairment

The other day I found a plastic bag containing a plastic bottle hanging from my garage door. There was a note in it that said, "Free water evaluation, fill this bottle up with tap water and hang on your front door if you would like a free water quality test!"

Okey dokey. I got nothing else to do with my time these days, and I am curious about my water, so I filled the bottle up, hung it on my front door, and promptly forgot about it.

We got a call a few days later saying a consultant would like to stop by with the test results. Consultant? Stop by? Couldn’t you just mail the results to me? No, apparently they couldn’t. Wouldn’t take much time. Promise.

So I set up an appointment for Monday night, and promptly forgot about that, too.

Monday was a big day for us. Our new TV arrived, and IT IS HUGE. As in, gargantuan. As in, the box is bigger than I am. The Funasaurus has been tracking it via UPS’ website religiously, and he called me from work Monday morning to say that it had been scanned for delivery! Joy! I waited, not daring to move, until the thing showed up. Once we (me and the UPS guy who thought it’d be just fine to leave a huge, new TV sitting on our front step, might as well have put a big red bow on it with a sign that said TAKE ME and maybe BREAK INTO THIS HOUSE, TOO, ‘CAUSE OBVIOUSLY THEY HAVE FUN TOYS AND ARE DUMB. But fortunately I caught the UPS guy as he was getting back into his truck) maneuvered it into the house, I sat there in awe. And called The Funasaurus who promptly put all his lawyerly things on hold and got out of there just as fast as he could to come home and stroke the new TV. There may have been a little drool.

So. I got The Funasaurus home a little early. And we spent lots of time trying to read instructions and just spurt out little gasps of joy and bliss from time to time. We had Big Plans for our Big T.V. Namely: a movie. Plus, The Funasaurus went out and got us Subway sandwiches to complete the evening of pure indulgence, and as we sat down to eat the warm, pepperoni-and-mayo-filled goodness, the doorbell rang.

A guy with a briefcase and frosted hair entered our house, before we had really invited him in. Hello?

Here for your water consultation.

Consultation? Just tell me if it’s filled with bad stuff, and good day to you, because we have other things to focus on! (Like, say, the TV that is currently dominating the room, causing a lustful look to settle into The Funasaurus’ eye.)

This’ll be really quick! He promised, grinning. And then he took off his coat and shoes, got out a couple of drinking glasses and a plate from our cupboards, and opened his briefcase to begin setting up shop on our kitchen counter. We began to doubt the “really quick” part. The Funasaurus looked longingly at our TV, which sat there, powerless, taunting him, next to our quickly chilling sandwiches.

First the guy tested our tap water for chlorine. (Can’t be done beforehand, the results wear off.) Then he tested the water from our filter on the fridge for chlorine. Then he did 462 other tests, showing us along the way, as the water changed colors, began to curdle like eggnog you find in the back of the fridge in March, and all but danced for him.

TWO HOURS and two cold and dried-out uneaten sandwiches later, he sat us down to begin the process of signing up for thousands of dollars of water treatment. The Funasaurus looked ready to draw blood, disbarment be damned, and I finally said, “heh heh, peep?” “But see, I just lost my job and NO WAY are we signing up for anything tonight.”

“But I just showed you how this will save you so much money?” said the salesman, sincerely perplexed.

“Yes, but. We are not going to make any changes to our financial routine while I am currently unemployed.”

“Ah. I understand completely. No worries. This is about water education. No pressure at all. May I just use your phone really quick to call and see where my next appointment will be?” At which time he picks up our phone, calls a number, and the conversation goes something like this, “Hello, I’m at Princess and Funasaurus’ house. …No, it’s not a good time for them right now. … Yes, they did see how this would save them a lot of money. … Yes. It would save them $X,XXX.XX, actually. … Yes, they know that if they buy it tonight they get all sorts of free goodies. … Really? … Oh REALLY? Oh. Wow. That is just fantastic! …All of that, FREE? … Wow. I can’t believe we can offer that, what a great deal! I will tell them!” And hangs up, turning to look at us like he just won a Caribbean cruise for four.

“Guess what!” he exclaims.

“Uhm.” We mutter.

“My boss is going to let me give you an amazing deal, for just a slight increase in the interest payments, we can start you off with monthly payments of $18.99! Plus, we'll give you a case of free soap! Let’s sit down and sign you up!”

At this point The Funasaurus is melting into a little puddle of fury, mixed with big screen angst.

“No, no, we’re not making any commitments this evening.”

“Really? But it’s such a great deal. I wouldn’t normally push this, but…”

At this point, death rays are coming from The Funasaurus’ eyeballs, though the salesman remains impervious.

“NO!”

So the guy starts in on a little story about his wife and some lawsuit they’re waging against her former employer, and we begin to edge towards the door for him. Until he realizes he forgot to ask where his next appointment was, and needs to use our phone, again. We do not hide the annoyance this time, and his phone call is short and sweet.

Three hours after his arrival, the water salesman finally leaves, and The Funasaurus will be damned if we don’t get a fucking movie watched, this evening. So the TV is finally set up, in all of it’s 46 inches of glory, (small shiver in appreciation) and we put on The Matrix wherein Morpheus’ head becomes larger than a sofa cushion in a close-up, and we finally get to bed after midnight, dreaming of Keanu Reeves kicking some frosted-haired-water-salesman-ass.