It got better. I did take my shower and do my God time. I got some nice cuddles from the cats.
Our ride was late.
He said he had another pickup before we went to the warehouse. Fine. I've got no problem with that. He wasn't wearing cologne and his air freshener was pretty mild, so it didn't aggravate my headache.
We drove about 20 miles out of the way, the "wrong" way for our destination, to go pick this lady up. The driver couldn't find the apartment building. I don't know how it works where you live, but in Houston, most apartments are broken up into small buildings of 8-10 units, two stories, several to several dozen buildings in the complex. That way, if one has a problem, it's not a total loss to the company.
The driver couldn't find "Building C". He called dispatch and asked them to do a callout and ask for directions to "Building C" from the leasing office.
"She doesn't know how to get to her building from the leasing office" they replied.
"Why is she even riding alone?" I asked "If she can't give directions to her apartment?" She wasn't blind, as it turned out.
The driver found the apartment anyway, and when he pulled up she launched into a litany of complaints. She was tired of standing. Her hip hurt. She was disabled, you know. [Ron] had to move over, she couldn't get in on "that side". [I] had to get out and pull my seat completely forward.
At this point I told her "Ma'am, if you have all these problems riding in a cab, you should really tell them you can only ride in the big van."
"Everyone does what I tell them." she snapped. She got in slowly.
Thank God she wasn't wearing perfume, and she didn't say anything either.
We went about 40 miles to get to the Sam's Club. We actually got there 3 minutes early, thanks to the driver. Ron teased the driver about not getting out until his drop off time, and they both laughed. The driver got Ron's wheelchair, and we went inside.
I had about 40 minutes. I got the drinks and 3 cases of assorted chips. We had a little wait to get our ride to go to work.
He was an - he wasn't older, but he's a long time driver. He is very nice. We loaded the wheelchair and our stuff.
We left to go to work. It was a straight trip.
When we got to work, the parking lot was full of people. Great. There was a line of cars trying to get into the parking lot. A male postal worker stood at the head of the line, flirting with the pretty, slim, young girl in the first car. When he saw us he said we weren't allowed into the parking lot due to the fire drill. Then he went back to flirting.
Great. I had the driver drop us in Visitor Parking and put everything on the bench, sat Ron next to the bench, and walked into the building.
Great. They were getting ready to wax our entire area. Waxing the floor involves using special solvents to strip the floor, then special wax to - well, wax it. It takes a while, renders the vending area unusable to me and the customers, and stinks. I have gone to a full blown migraine from smelling this stuff.
Great. I got a cart and ran out to Ron. By now they were done with the fire drill. I put our stuff on the cart and Ron followed me, "walking", as he pushed the wheelchair. He did pretty well. He sat down again when he got into the building.
I told Ron what was going on and he got pretty annoyed. They had our entire area roped off in preparation, and I could tell they had already used the stripper.
The custodians were shocked to see us "You never come in on Sunday". "Our driver got sick yesterday and we had to bring in the stock."
Ron decided to stock. I told him he only had 10 minutes before they started to wax.
He got pretty flustered and verbally abusive. I finally told him I was walking away. I went outside and sat down in the smoking area (ashy!) for a couple of minutes.
When I went in, Ron was calling my name. He told me to put all the carts away, and we would call a cab. We did just that.
Happily someone we like was in the area and came quickly. Not so great, the cab fare wasn't cheap, but it was better than sitting there smelling that horrible wax, my headache morphing into a migraine, bored to death.
I did tease one of the other custodians.
"Heather! Are you leaving already?"
"Yeah, they told us to leave, waxing was more important, we'd just be in the way."
I grinned. "No, they didn't, but we're in the way. We can stock tomorrow."
"The boss" is due to come tomorrow, so it's probably better for him to "catch" us stocking anyway. He likes to catch us working.
Although, it always seems to be one of those things, where I work my tail off for 3 hours, sit down to drink half a can of diet soda, and he walks in.
I fled with Ron as I saw them applying the floor wax. I could smell it from quite a ways away. I feel sorry for the poor custodians, but they seem used to it.
"Something that smells that bad ought to at least get you high" I told them once.
My head was still bothering me as we got home, and I had taken some Excedrin earlier. That generally means I won't sleep well. Sure enough, I didn't.
You can imagine my reaction when #6 inflated the bouncy house (apparently have unlimited access to them - this one was a different color), and the kids began screaming and yelling right outside my bedroom wall: Great. I lay there for a while, listening to the older boy taunting the younger one, who lost his temper and began screaming incoherently - sounded like some fun family bonding. They finally stopped after a while but the blower motor for the bouncy house was still running, loudly. I realized I would never sleep.
#2's owner called Ron, asking about heavy trash day. I don't know if you have "heavy trash" day, but certain days in Houston you can put out old furniture, mattresses, large items in general, our trash company says up to 5. I have put out an old mattress on one occasion, and a bedframe on another. #2 has been putting out a lot of stuff lately, I mentioned how they had put some of it in front of my house and I wasn't happy about that.
So, the lady told Ron, #2 is gone. When she rented, she thought it was to a single mother with a toddler and a teenager. She didn't know about the baby daddy, who I still believe was the hoarder. He probably has such a bad record they couldn't have put him on the application. Ron told the landlady, every Wednesday.
Our garbage company does heavy trash with every standard weekly pickup. They do good work, I am happy with them. It sounds like they will be getting a workout on Wednesday, and for a while yet.
"Should I have told her about [the drawers filled with] rat poop?" Ron asked me later. "I can call her?"
"No," I told him "She'll just shoot the messenger. Let the cleaners tell her about it." I'm sure they will find it.
I feel pretty sorry for the next tenant, to be honest. That house should probably be demolished after all it's been through, the last several years. I just hope they are quiet, and stay out of my yard. If there is a problem, though, the landlady has assured us we can contact her, but the next family is a nice married couple with 2 kids.
I wish I knew they were both girls, who spent all their time inside fixing Barbie's hair. If boys, nice little bookworms. We'll see. At least they aren't right on my bedroom wall like #6.
I'm still not hungry but I need to eat. I also need to do up my pills for the next week. I think I'll do up my meds and watch some TV, then see if my appetite is back. I'll need to get up around 4 AM tomorrow so I will have to go to bed in a couple of hours.
Hopefully, #6 will "let" me.