…and then tradgedy struck

A couple of weeks ago the most terrible thing happened. I wasn’t going to mention this horror in my life, but now that some time has passed, I feel I can man up and tell the world without totally freaking out. What happened was… I’m going to start crying. What happened was that… I can’t believe I’m doing this. What happened was that I won some money in a lottery. OMG the horror!!

Some of you folks might think winning a bit of cash would be a good thing. You would be wrong. Extra money is the worst possible thing ever. You never want to get extra money. I would rather get stung by hornets, bitten by a zombie, burned by a dragon, and kissed by my Aunt Rea all on the same day than to win any substantial amount of cash. You’re probably thinking I’m nuts. Then again, you’ve likely thought that for a while now, so we can move on without too much discussion.

The reason you may not know winning extra cash, or in fact gaining additional money of any kind is so terrible is undoubtedly because you have not heard Mr. Ohh’s third law of economics.

“Economic need will always exceed monetary supply by 20% no matter if supply is a steady flow of a sudden influx”

Mr. Ohh! Economist

 Hey look at that! I’m an economist. My mother would be so proud. I wonder if having a law named after me will get me the Nobel Prize this year? Just don’t give me the two-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar part, thank you very much. In truth this is my only law of economics, but it sounds so much cooler to say it’s my third law. Everybody assumes there’s two more even when there isn’t. If you go too much higher than three though, folks start asking questions. Yup, three is the perfect number, and it gets the job done. Meanwhile, I better be done rambling and get back to my story.

What my law basically says is that no matter how much cash you got you’re gonna need more. If you get some extra, you’ll soon have some disaster to compensate for it, and you won’t actually be any further ahead. A good example of this is my sister. She’s got a great job making twice as much as my entire household income. Her husband makes more than her. Both families have three unruly children. (Yes, I had to say that) But also, both families seem to be living paycheck to paycheck. Although she might just be saying this to keep me from sponging off her. If that’s true, then my law doesn’t work so good. We’ll just assume she’s not. I don’t need more complications.

1+1=3 New Math for old homeowners

Anyway, I won some cash, and I knew the bomb was going to drop. Was it going to be an expensive car repair? Would it be a serious medical issue? Would I screw up something so totally that it would cost a bundle to fix my mistake? My wife made me put that last one in. She knows me so well. Little did I know, the thing that would break the bank was already happening. You see someone had replaced the wax seal on the upstairs toilet, and somehow cracked the water feed pipe when they did it. I’m not saying who, mind you but someone. They might have even been trying to teach their son some home repair techniques in a true male bonding moment. Therefore, I don’t feel it’s really right to blame that person for a simple honest mistake when they were trying to do such a wonderful thing. Do you?

Either way, that tiny crack dripped into the wood flooring beneath the bathroom tiles. Over the following months the floor was soaked and rotted. Of course, we knew nothing of this because we didn’t have the money to deal with it as yet. Funny how that works. This past week, I had the cash, and some friends were over, so the rotted floor gave way. The toilet shifted, and a chunk of the ceiling landed in the bean salad, which was no great loss as no one was eating it anyway. However, through the hole you could see the toilet hanging partially into the dining room. While a toilet hanging from the roof of your dining room is a very stimulating conversation piece, and some might even call it Art. It wasn’t what I was going for at this particular party. So much for my extra cash.

Insurance?

My first call the next morning was to my insurance company, Ben, Dover and Yelp. My agent was very concerned. She asked if anyone was hurt by the falling commode? I informed her it didn’t actually hit the floor. She asked about the exploded pipes. I said the pipes weren’t broken; they had just been leaking slightly for a long time. She asked about the totally destroyed bathroom. I let her know it was just a soaked floor and a small hole. She asked, how I was going to pay for the repairs. I said, “What?”

Here’s insurance lesson 101; If it ain’t a catastrophic failure, it ain’t covered. End of lesson. It would have been if somebody would’ve been killed. If I’d have known that, Bob would’ve been underneath the thing all night. But no, my sister is still married to Bob, and I have to pay to fix the bathroom. Nothing is working out at all!

Weblogic

So now I have to find a contractor. How does one do this? Well let me tell you. There is a website. Isn’t it always a website, for heaven’s sake? I’m surprised we modern humans can bleed without consulting a website first. Can’t you see it?

Kid: I fell down?

Mom: Are you sure?

Kid: Well, I’m no longer on my feet, and there’s red liquid running down my arm.

Mom: Well, okay, but I’ll consult a website.

Anyway, this website supposedly is to help you schedule contractors. I looked, and got three phone numbers. I swear, before I logged off, my phone rang with one of them wanting to send a guy over to give me an estimate. While I was talking, I got a text telling me another guy was on the way, and would be at my house in twelve minutes. Not ten or fifteen mind you, Twelve! He must’ve gotten the information from some freaking website. The guy came in, and looked in the bathroom, as well as at the ceiling of the dining room. He said, “Hmm That’s an odd place for a toilet.” I asked him to leave. The second guy measured everything, looked around, took pictures, then flipped a coin and told me he could fix it for fifty grand. “WHAT!” I asked. It went to thirty-five. By the time I threw him out it was twenty.

Alls well,but it doesn’t end well

So now I have three estimates, but guess what? No one can actually fix it for six months. The odd thing is the toilet still works, and is totally usable if you don’t mind ‘going’ a foot below the ceiling of the dining room. It doesn’t pay to be shy around my house.