What is it with the swamp this year?
I don't mean the "swamp" literally. I mean the swamp cooler — or evaporative cooler for you folks who don't use 'em.
This damned contraption has probably functioned maybe 1/3 of the time this year. And, when it has, it's been so damned humid that it doesn't matter that it's functioning.
The poor guy who is fixing the stupid thing is probably soooo sick of getting my phone calls. He fixed it yesterday. It lasted — maybe — 12 hours? Maybe. And here's the kicker: It's always something new wrong with it. I can't even get mad at the guy whos fixing it. He's doing a good job. The parts he fixes stay fixed. Something else breaks.
I should probably be counting my blessings instead of complaining. It could be worse. I could be living in Iraq. (Though living under the Bush administration — oh, wait — that's what they're doing in Iraq — no difference. Well, of course there's a difference: we're not having to deal with people raiding our homes or being held without representation because we "might" be a terrorist or killing our sons — errrr. . .mmmm. . .something's still not right here. . . Okay, okay, we're not living with gunfire. . .ah, jeez. I should probably give this up.)
Well, if you're one of Bush's cronies or butt-kissers, you're not having to deal with any of that. If yer an average joe or joe-ann, you've lost your son in the war, you've found out just how many rights you've lost when the police break down your door cuz your neighbor says you act funny and you sit in jail and rot (hooray for the patriot act!), or you're singled out at the airport or the courthouse cuz your skin is a bit darker than the guard's — but nobody's profiling — don't forget!, and gunfire is normal since the kids that haven't been killed over there are here without jobs or prospect of jobs and need something to do so they shoot at whatever — usually each other.
Sure wish those assholes could live out here instead of that bulletproof plexiglas xanadu they've built for themselves.
It'd do 'em some good to be constantly fixing a swamper.
But, I'm not bitter.
This damned contraption has probably functioned maybe 1/3 of the time this year. And, when it has, it's been so damned humid that it doesn't matter that it's functioning.
The poor guy who is fixing the stupid thing is probably soooo sick of getting my phone calls. He fixed it yesterday. It lasted — maybe — 12 hours? Maybe. And here's the kicker: It's always something new wrong with it. I can't even get mad at the guy whos fixing it. He's doing a good job. The parts he fixes stay fixed. Something else breaks.
I should probably be counting my blessings instead of complaining. It could be worse. I could be living in Iraq. (Though living under the Bush administration — oh, wait — that's what they're doing in Iraq — no difference. Well, of course there's a difference: we're not having to deal with people raiding our homes or being held without representation because we "might" be a terrorist or killing our sons — errrr. . .mmmm. . .something's still not right here. . . Okay, okay, we're not living with gunfire. . .ah, jeez. I should probably give this up.)
Well, if you're one of Bush's cronies or butt-kissers, you're not having to deal with any of that. If yer an average joe or joe-ann, you've lost your son in the war, you've found out just how many rights you've lost when the police break down your door cuz your neighbor says you act funny and you sit in jail and rot (hooray for the patriot act!), or you're singled out at the airport or the courthouse cuz your skin is a bit darker than the guard's — but nobody's profiling — don't forget!, and gunfire is normal since the kids that haven't been killed over there are here without jobs or prospect of jobs and need something to do so they shoot at whatever — usually each other.
Sure wish those assholes could live out here instead of that bulletproof plexiglas xanadu they've built for themselves.
It'd do 'em some good to be constantly fixing a swamper.
But, I'm not bitter.
posted by p-dub at
4:21 PM
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