My roommates and I had a small problem with the carbon monoxide detector in our house last night. Ann was in the midst of fixing Todd's birthday dinner (lasagna and homemade strawberry cheesecake; living with a couple is actually working for once in my life) when the first round of shrill chirping started up. In minutes, it crescendoed to a no-holds-barred, earsplitting cacophony. Tana (Ann's saint bernard) went nuts. This continued every ten minutes for an hour and a half. Instead of thinking "wow, the detector must be going off for a reason," we opened up the windows and I pulled the 9 volt out of the damn thing.
Fast forward to 11:30 p.m., when Ann and Todd returned from the late show of "Be Kind, Rewind." Ann climbed into the basement for whatever reason and about passed out. Gas smell. STRONG gas smell. I called the emergency number for NorthWestern Energy. They told us to wait outside for the tech guy, so we dangled our legs off the bed of Todd's pickup. I played mandolin until the cold and my E-strings teamed up to slice open the tip of my index finger. The tech pulled up half an hour later and walked into the house, armed with beeping boxes and geiger counters all labeled "Randy." I followed him all over the house while he stuck rods and cables in flus and vents. He looked increasingly more pissed with every test, every readout. Finally he told me we didn't have a leak, didn't have a problem at all. I stood in the middle of the kitchen, head hung low, and he lectured me on how we needed to keep fresh batteries in the CO detector and relocate it so the exhaust from the oven and steam from the shower wouldn't monkey with the sensor. Talk about feeling like a total ass.
In other news, I had a job offer last week. A flat-out job offer. Regional and county reporting for an independent daily in Montana; not such a bad gig. But the position is open now, meaning I'd have to take it right after graduation at the latest. Not kosher. Especially since I've ironed out my plans for my trip to Europe this May/June. Fly into Edinburgh, Scotland, to visit/drink with/sleep on the couches of old friends from my study abroad for a few days. Then a ferry to Ireland with Trevor (fellow idiot American from said study abroad) and five days of rental car camping. Hopefully more of the same near-fatal shenanigans of our past adventures. Next, Luxembourg and Vienna (fellow Bismarck High School speech nerd Amanda is currently working in Austria). Two weeks of pure, unadulterated awesomeness with people I haven't seen in far too long. Translation: tempted by the prospect of a salary position in my field straight out of college, and appreciative of the interest, but more tempted by the prospect of a summer without any journalistic endeavors at all. Am I totally whacked?
Finally placed my call to the Sylvan Learning Center for an interview today. My freelance story is due April 1, and I have little to no material for it. Something tells me my priorities are slightly misplaced. On the upside, played Sorry! for nearly two hours last night. Classic boardgames will never die.
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