Category: This and That

Family · This and That

Marketplace: right time, wrong place

Amber WalchLeave a comment

Well, where do I begin on such an embarrassing anecdote?

From the beginning. Last summer, I was perusing the Marketplace for a bike for my daughter. Hers wasn’t cutting it anymore, and she looked like a bear on a tricycle, and that needed to change. Coming up, one bicycle, but I have standards. It needed to be able to change gears, be at least a 24″ tire, and be in good to great condition. Because I’m not doing this again, nor am I buying a brand new bike for you to ride sporadically, even though you tell me you will ride it ALL THE TIME.

I locked eyes-to-tires on a beaut. It met all my criteria and was pretty too. Now I have to pick it up. It isn’t far away, just into town a couple of miles. The plan, per discussion with the seller, is to pick up the bike and deposit the $15 in the mailbox. No muss, no fuss.

I asked my husband to come along to get it, and that wasn’t going to happen, so I asked my 16-year-old to come with me. She’s always up for an adventure, so we load up. We find the place easy enough, and I can see my new purchase parked right there underneath a tree just waiting for me. You cannot and should not purchase a bike without taking it for a spin. So I did. My daughter caught it on vid. The bike rode great, but the brakes were a little tight. Either way, good to go! We loaded it up, the money was put in the mailbox, and away we went.

See for yourself.

The next day, I get a message from the seller asking when I’m planning on picking up the bike. WAIT, WHAT?! I already picked up the bike! What is she talking about? But she couldn’t be wrong because she is the seller and obviously can see the bike is still at her own dang house. I might have just stolen someone’s bike. Ermergerd. I’m at work during this exchange, and my co-workers are finding this hilarious. Me? My stomach hit my butt, and I was racking my brain on how I was going to remedy this eff-up. Could I just go and deposit the stolen bike back under the tree? Were the police already called? Would my husband come with me this time? I can’t even believe this. I’m wrecked. There goes my pristine record. There goes my nursing degree and my livelihood. It’s all gonna be gone.

Okay, a little dramatic, but now you may understand how I felt in that moment. A grievous misconduct – nevermind, that’s for work-related issues. But something like that! I have never stolen something so large before and in broad daylight! (Disclaimer: as a teenager, I may have taken things that weren’t mine. Shame on me, I know.) What am I going to do!?

Let’s get to the meat of the story. I can’t remember who I told from my family, but they had a big mouth, and when I got home from work that day, my son ran out of the house and yelled, “You stole a bike, Mom?” Well, yes, yes, I did, but not intentionally, and now I have to make it right. It’s pouring rain, by the way, but I can’t wait to remedy this unfortunate mistake. I have to go now – raining cats and dogs or not- time’s a tickin’. My husband refuses to go with me- he doesn’t want to be caught up in the judicial system, but my daughter agrees to go. Honestly, she is just looking for the adrenaline high, I bet, but whatever. I guess I have a friend in all this.

The bike gets loaded (again), and we hit the wet road. The windshield wipers are on high, matching my heartbeat, and the rain is sluicing away like my future. What an idiot I am. What a gosh-darn idiot. And to be honest, how did this all happen? I confirmed the address, and I had a picture of the bike! One really needs to just literally put 2 and 2 together. Clearly, I did not confirm the address nor compare the picture of the bike to the real deal parked so lovingly in the front yard.

We arrive, and before returning the bike to its rightful owners, I feel I need to fess up. So up to the door I go. There is a sign on the door that reminds knockers that a camera is in use. Great, so they saw me steal the bike in the first place. I knock and wait, go back to the car, write a note to stick in the door, and wait; knock again and ring the doorbell, and nothing. So I heave the bike out of the car in the pouring rain, roll it to its rightful place beneath the tree, tuck the note in the screen door, and bust ass outta there. I deserve to be soaking wet right now; it’s my punishment.

The Note

I’m returning the bike I thought I was buying off of Marketplace yesterday!

I went to the wrong house! Sincerely sorry and embarrassed. Keep the $15 for any inconveniences.

Amber

Back in the car, we drive literally 2 blocks, and there it is. The correct bike – parked neatly in the driveway where even someone with 0/0 vision could see it. The owner was making this easy for me. Thank the heavens. It matches the pictures, and the address is correct. I load a bike for the third time and nearly drive away without paying. Good god, this has been a disaster from the start. My daughter cannot even believe what an idiot I am, and frankly, neither can I.

Finally, it is over, and the good news of the debacle is that my daughter loves her bike! I paid double for it, but it was worth it (right?).

Or so I thought. The next day, my co-worker damn near runs to me with a shit-eating grin on her face to show me a post. I read it. OMG. It’s public! This isn’t looking good. I hadn’t heard from the cops nor seen an APB out for me, so perhaps Facebook was as far as the victim was going to take it. One can only hope, ammiright? I had already scanned fb posts and hadn’t seen any reports or requests about a stolen bike, so this was a little unnerving. Turns out, one sister works with the thief, and the other sister works with the victim. Small world.

But life sometimes throws a curveball that brings delight. This is one of those times. The post included a lot of laughing emojis (good sign) but spelled out the bike heist they never saw coming before, during, or after. How did the sister even know about the stolen bike, you may ask? Solid question. Someone had a big mouth and was gossiping with family members, clearly, so she recognized the story being told. Classic.

The victim found the bike heist hilarious, thank the Lord, and not one soul had noticed that said bike was missing. That answers why there was no police report. She wrote on Facebook that it was the funniest shit ever, and even wanted to find me to give me the money back. No, thank you. Meeting in person would be more than mortifying, and there is only so much small talk before it gets weird(er).

The perp and the victim did chat on Messenger, and had a good laugh about it. Apparently, I picked the best person to steal from (and return to). I still can’t believe I just sauntered right up, took the bike, rode it, rated it, and left the money.

Idiot.

This and That

In case you weren’t aware…

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

I’ve been MIA on my blog. Call it a case of not-having-much-to-say or not-finding-the-time, but I’m back now. So you can stop worrying and cancel the APB regarding my whereabouts.

My family and I spent 2 weeks out of town, road-tripping east and then south for a week in Florida. Can’t wait to tell you all about it. Stay tuned.

This and That

In case you weren’t aware.

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

Unsubscribing from emails is a lengthy, complex process. Well, it seems that way anyway. What takes so long for those companies to take me off their list? You can’t tell me that once I click that magical “unsubscribe” button, those unwanted subscription emails cannot be immediately halted? Scoff. Give me a break (and my inbox one as well).

Instead, I have to continue with a chaotic inbox for another month or longer, while, what?, the IT department sorts out the printed requests, alphabetizes them, scours them for bizarre personal email names, and then when they have had their laugh, they’ll approve my unsubscribing request? Note: my email name is very generic, nothing like candybarmama@xmail.com or anything of the ilk.

What’s worse? I did this! 1% off? Sign me up! Goat handbook? Sign me up! Roller Derby Association? Sign me up!

Those topics and discounts seemed grand at the time, but now?! I’m drowning in unwanted emails. Unsubscribe me, dammit! (cough) Please. I’m whisper-begging.

Meatloaf struck again
Family · This and That

Meatloaf struck again

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

A while back I posted about an upcoming trip to Superior Wisconsin; a birthday jaunt where my twin sister and I were going to celebrate another year alive and well. The apogee (such a fun word meaning climax, peak, or the highest point – add it to your vocab and enjoy) would be reliving our 8th-grade versions of rollerskating at a legit rink (not my particle-board barn floor) called World of Wheels. Well, we did it.

We planned our birthday trip around Friday night adult skating. We figured that was the safest time for us to lace up 5-pound skates and wobble around the rink; no kids to run over or into. We were right.

What we, umm I, was wrong about was building up my confidence.

The DJ/semi-professional skater had a sign-up sheet for song requests. Meatloaf signed up and within the hour his vampire video and song were played. I skated and sang while my sister, who was on a break, watched, laughed, and inwardly (and outwardly) cringed at my antics.

At about the fifteenth or sixteenth time around, I had made the adjustments like a pro. My legs were slightly bent to make for better skating and my left foot took the lead on turns while my right foot completed slight wiggles to assist. My confidence was soaring, my hair was flowing breezily behind me, and my eyes weren’t trained on my skates. I was feeling so alive! So 8th-grader-like!

If our DJ had actual records, this next moment would have been a giant screech of music coming to a halt. Much like my body did. Hard impact.

No one can say for sure if my skates were faulty or if my wheels collided or if I was pushed. Well, we can actually eliminate being pushed, can’t we. That seems far-fetched at a skating rink.

What we know for certain is the sound my body made when it hit the floor, the position my body was in for a good twenty seconds before I “popped” up, and the amount of laughter that ensued after I went down. Besides my sister, one person asked if I was okay. As soon as Alicia said, “yes, she’s fine”, he burst into laughter. And it was funny; I was laughing, partly because falling is always funny, but more because I was so embarrassed. My god, roll me off the floor into a corner, please!

Instead, I drug myself up and off the rink, found a bench away from prying eyes, and nursed my wounds.

Bruise on my left knee, bruise and a giant skin burn on my right knee, and let’s not forget, a bruised ego. One giant bruise, COMING THROUGH PEOPLE!

We sat for a good ten minutes, laughing and reliving the “Fall heard and seen by all” and then resumed skating like nothing had happened. I mean, come on, Meatloaf would have gotten back on the horse in the name of love.

I don’t have any pictures of my wounds, but I do have one that encompasses how awesome this place was. The only video I shot was after my crash to the floor, and it was of Alicia, unscathed and upright. Not worth adding to the post – she would vote “nay” on that addition.

Once you get my past my face – take your time -you’ll see the great art in the background.

It definitely was a memorable event for our yearly trip. No guarantees we will carve out time for this on our next birthday party, but who knows? I’ve got skates here and time to practice my skills.

I still have one question though. What the hell wouldn’t Meatloaf do for love?

This and That

In case you weren’t aware…

Featured Amber Walch1 Comment

A turtle’s spine is straight up the center of its shell. Therefore, their shell is literally their backbone.

So when you drive over them, you’re pulling up to the oldest highrise in America, with its glittering, flickering letters spelling out A S S H O L E, the air thick with distaste, and the cloying smell of douchebag.

Don’t be a jerk, if you want to break a back, yo mama’s, step on the sidewalk cracks like everyone else.

This and That

In case you weren’t aware…

Featured Amber Walch2 Comments

Yelling “Let ‘er rip, tater chip” to your youngest son during a baseball game, while he is up to bat, is, once again, frowned upon.

Apparently, one should stick to “You got this!” and “Keep your eye on the ball!”, and “Good eye!”.

Frankly, baseball can be a pretty boring sport to watch, so sprucing it up with other choice phrases seems appropriate, but alas, I was wrong.

P.S. I’m the assistant coach, third base coach, statistician (bookkeeper), and dug-out mom. Personally, I feel with those credentials and my pay (nothing), I should be able to throw in (pun intended) a dash of delight here and there. No?

In case you weren’t aware…
This and That

In case you weren’t aware…

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

You know when the gnats and bugs are eating you alive, or at least torturing you with their incessant kamikaze attacks, flying into your nose and mouth, when you are trying to live some semblance of life outdoors? There is a lovely, cheap, homemade solution.

No longer does one need to keep their arm stretched in the air (like you just don’t care!) to attract the gnats, nor do they need to slap and swat, cover their face with clothing, or rattle off expletives like they are a sailor in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

No sirree Bob! Grab yourself a spray bottle, add in some vanilla (used for baking) along with water (it’s called diluting), and spray away.

Keep that bottle handy, spray everything you have, and begin your outdoor adventure.

Side note: I do not know if this remedy will keep away June bugs, but if it is July or August, or any other month but June, they won’t be out anyway.

And now you know.

A water hose
Family · This and That

A water hose

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

Yesterday I spruced up a wicker rocker. It had been painted black a summer or two ago, been sat in and rocked a million times, was stored in the barn during winter, and now looked disheveled and half dead.

It needed a fresh paint job, but first, it needed a bath to get off the dirt, cat puke, and cobwebs.

The hose was handy, so I turned it on full blast and situated the chair a good 15 feet from the porch. The hose is one of those space saver kinds that shrinks when it is empty and expands when the water is on, which still doesn’t give you a strong blast and top speed, but we only needed to have some force to clean off the chair so it was going to have to do. I get busy and what do you know? Here comes a child. Apparently, a child cannot resist the sound of water coming out of a hose. She probably heard the squeak of the water spigot being turned on. “Can I do it?”

Ugh, there goes the job! The 10 minutes I’d take will now be at least 20 minutes, and someone will get wet. No doubt about that.

I let her, because A) she was helping! and if I turned her away, another offer from her would be slim to none, and 2) I knew she would have fun.

So I turn the hose over to her, she focuses on the chair, and is getting it relatively clean. Impressive. I see her focus the stream on the seat of the rocker and yell, “You’re taking the paint off!”. She stops and turns around and says, “There is cat puke there!”. “Oh,” I say. Thwarted. And then I felt like Wayne and Garth and said, with Garth’s twisted mouth, “Spray on”.

Once she was done cleaning the chair and it was sitting in the sunlight to dry, she morphed into a kid again. She checked to see how far the water could go if she had her thumb covering half the opening (pretty far!), she checked to see if the dog was waterproof (he is not), and she checked to see if she could see a rainbow in the mist (she could).

I finally had to huff and trudge to the spigot and end her fun. My god, how had I gotten so damn wet!? The water petered out and so did her smile. It was over. I had a clean chair, she had her fun and we all know that will NOT be the last time she gets her hands on the hose.

I’m a strong believer in water being really fun, especially from a hose, ONLY if you are the person holding that hose. The power you have! Don’t want to get wet? Let me see how close I can get the spray to you. There is a bike sitting close by? Let me wash the whole thing because I saw a speck on the seat. Don’t mind the giant splatter coming back at you or others!

She’s a kid, I get it! Eventually, I’ll learn to hand the hose over and get the hell out of dodge. And throw a towel out for her when she is done. And thank the good Lord we don’t have city water, AKA a giant bill. But when the well runs dry…nah, I won’t let it get that far, but in the meantime, spray on, little girl, spray on.

As soon as the chair was dry, I got out the spray cans and got to work painting the chair black (again) and finishing it with a clear coat. Every shake of the can, with that dang ball clicking and clacking in there, was an announcement to her, and I was hoping the tv volume was up too high for her to hear it. The hose is one thing, but spray paint? Ab-so-lute-ly not. I’m kind, not dumb.

I got through the task of spray painting the chair with no helpers, and while I’m writing this, I’m rocking in that chair, and each creak I hear is a reminder of the help she offered, the fun she had, and the relief I felt when I finished the project…solo.

She’s sleeping now, early-ish still, but when she wakes, she will notice there is a pile of dirt and wood forms ready for cement. She will get excited at the prospect of another project and will want to help. This time, I’m not in charge, but I’ll have to tell her to take it easy on the crew. This’ll be fun to watch.

This and That

Ex-communication

Featured Amber WalchLeave a comment

Recently my debit card was closed because of fraud. This has happened a time or two before, and, well, let my bank inform you of the matter.

I can’t even believe it, but the threat seems legit. “Above-average number of fraud cases”? What is average?! Then they tell me there are “many things” I can be doing to “safeguard” my card. They listed 4. I wonder which nuggets of wisdom they left out.

My favorite is the third bullet point. “Protect your PIN number”. Dammit, I gotta quit blurting out that 4 digit number! I mean, COME ON! In reality, I don’t even know the dang thing! I was so baffled by this letter that I threw it away. After I told my friend about the impending ex-communication if there was another fraud case, we laughed and talked about framing it. I got home today and dug in the nearly full garbage can and pulled it out. Hence, the discolored and wet areas. Gross.

I get that fraud is bad, but I’m not understanding how it’s my fault. Perhaps they need to up their fraud control!

So now I’m on the search for a new bank. I need to have a backup plan in case my money gets booted to the curb and my card gets cut up.