I stopped by the True Value hardware store to pick up a new pair of work gloves (I mislaid the old pair). While there, I picked up a collapsible chair—I have one, but since catherine (my significant other, deliberately spelled with a small “c”) will be down from Canada just before an outdoor three day Jazz Fest, we’ll need another. I headed for the cashier, and remembering that I only had a few dollars in my wallet (I have a bad habit of carrying around paychecks instead of visiting the bank), I pulled out the plastic.
“Debit or credit?” asked the clerk. I always use debit, since it just comes out of my checking account anyway, and I don’t want to add to my credit balance. “Debit,” I said, picking up the keypad on the counter. “Push the green button to accept the amount,” she instructed. “I can’t negotiate?” I quipped.
She laughed. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” The man in line behind me was also amused. “It’d be like priceline,” he said. [I didn’t know what that was, but a little research reveals he meant priceline.com, a primarily travel-based web site where visitors can, indeed, bid what they’re willing to pay. But I got the general idea.] “You should write about that,” he continued. “Places like ‘Reader’s Digest’ pay money for pieces like that.”
I should have dope slapped myself. I felt like Michael Keaton’s speech writer character Kevin in the movie “Speechless” when, after rival speech writer and love interest Julia (Geena Davis) stumps him with a simple question about specifics, he mumbles to himself, “I’m a writer; I should be prepared for stuff like this..”
“That’s an EXCELLENT idea,” I answered my fellow customer, “and I’m going to my car right now to write that down before I forget.” My husky mix, waiting comfortably in the air-conditioning but impatiently wondering when we were going to get to our morning run, had to settle down for a bit while I sketched how this might go:
KEYPAD: Accept the amount? Please press Yes or No.
ME (text messaging): I’m OK with 99¢ for the gloves, but $8.99 seems a bit much for a chair that’s essentially a little plastic “canvas” and hollow metal rods.
KEYPAD: Well, you picked the cheapest chair—we have a better model.
ME: Yes, I saw it, but $10 more for almost the same chair seems extreme. Can’t we work something out on the low end chair?
KEYPAD: We can deal with the high end chair, but our margin is just too low on the cheaper chairs—we rely on volume there.
ME: Still, I bet I could go to Oneida and find a similar chair for less.
KEYPAD: OK, let me check…
…PROCESSING…
…Yes, you’re right, they do have stock at $6.99
ME: So you’ll match their price?
KEYPAD: Not so fast. With today’s gas prices, you aren’t driving to a store 20 minutes away, shopping around, then 15 minutes back to the address we have on file for you, losing at least an hour of your time, just to save two bucks.
[The machine had a point. I thought for a minute.]
ME: OK, we’re going to be sitting in the sun for three days—what if I get a beach umbrella too? Can we talk package deal?
[The machine senses the opportunity for add-on sales.]
KEYPAD: That’s possible—but you’re going to need sunscreen too, aren’t you?
[Indeed, catherine is recovering from a sunburn already.]
ME: What’s the SPF?
KEYPAD: We’ve got some SPF 30 in stock.
ME: Done.
KEYPAD: ...PROCESSING…
[Displays both the regular total and the package deal total.]
Accept the amount? Please press Yes or No.
[I press Yes and enter my PIN.]
Writer
Showing posts with label hardware. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hardware. Show all posts
Friday, June 15, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Rabbits and Seals
I like rabbits. I really do. My sister had a white rabbit as a pet for years. People a few miles down the road keep rabbits to comb for Angora—something I’ve considered myself. When a careless driver hit but didn’t kill a wild rabbit, I stopped and even took it to the vet (it had to be euthanized—severed spinal cord).
My rabbit adventures, though, really started when a former irresponsible neighbor, after keeping rabbits for a bit, changed his mind and set them loose. [Where do people get these ideas about animals? Most animals in the wild never live to see age two—let alone abandoned pets. That puppy you let loose to enjoy its freedom? The one with the cute kerchief around its neck? It’s now dead.] Now that the rabbits were no longer his responsibility, at least one of them became mine—chewing its way through the skirting of my home, ruining my winterizing efforts. Eventually, the rabbit disappeared (probably dead), and when the weather warmed, I ripped out all the damaged skirting and replaced it with aluminum flashing, burying it a foot deep (to keep out mice, rats and voles as well). Whether by cause and effect or by chance, however, wild rabbits took up residence across the grounds, to stay.
To a point, I didn’t really mind. Hey, if they eat the grass—terrific! Once in a while one would get hit in the road—sad, and I’d have to do something with the carcass. My old shepherd mix caught one—I have no idea how, since she was almost 16, tired and very ill. Perhaps she fell on it. Dunno. I let her have it—bunny was half gone as it was, and I was going nuts trying to get my poor old dog to eat protein anyway.
Rabbits were evident from time to time. One year I planted 50 black cherry seedlings around the borders of the property (black cherry is native here, and the wood is valuable). By spring, every one was gone. Rabbits were the main suspects, of course, but without any hard evidence, no court would ever convict them.
I didn’t notice them much. My husky mix puppy caught one while on her lead, but since she’s essentially lightening with fur, no big surprise. We walk around the property sometimes, she on her 26’ retractable leash, and yes, she often explodes into a run after game, ripping my arm from its socket, but here in the country, that could be almost anything; she loves to chase birds, and we have lots of them.
She especially loved “helping” to plant my fruit trees. She didn’t understand what all this was about, but she quickly learned that first, playing with those strange sticks was verboten, and second, whatever we were doing, it involved a lot of walking and digging. Gotta love that! With gusto, she “helped” dig holes for the trees, and when I walked back to my shed to get each tree, she carefully guarded each hole (I don’t know what we’re doing, or why, but this is OUR hole, so just back off!). Four varieties of apple, two kinds of pear, a few cherry trees—a week of hard work and a summer of watering yielded my own orchard. Despite a few problems—beetles, for example—the orchard was healthy and progressing well.
Then, over the winter, the rabbits reduced it to dead twigs. Hundreds of dollars worth destroyed.
My electrician, a friend, over to replace a leaky meter, noted during conversation that his fruit trees had suffered a similar fate. An acquaintance of his at the Ag/Tech college suggested protecting the trees with black PVC tubing cut at an angle. Seemed worth trying. As soon as the school year closed, I bought an assortment of apple, pear, peach and plum trees. I mentioned my circumstances to the clerk. “Rabbits,” she said, shaking her head.
I headed for the hardware store for PVC tubing. I explained what I wanted, and long since accustomed to my quirky ways, the staff listened patiently. For what I wanted, they explained, I could use waterline. Comes in inch and a quarter. Fine. They’ll sell it by the foot—just need to cut it first. OK.
I sat in the car. And waited. And waited. I drank my coffee. I was glad I had bought the paper. I read it. Finally, the yard guy arrives with a large roll of tubing. “We had trouble cutting it,” he explains. I can see that—one end is squashed flat for a few inches.
“How am I going to cut it, then?” I asked.
“Oh, no problem—we just didn’t have a good saw. You’ll be fine.” Unconvinced, I stuffed the roll in my car and headed home. I backed down the driveway and leaned back, relaxing for a moment. A rabbit peaked out of the evergreen trees, then hopped about with impunity.
A friend suggested I cut the tubing in a spiral to wrap around the tree. I soon learned I’d be lucky to cut it at all, let alone get it around the trees. I soon settled for just cutting a slit, but just as soon realized (1) that would be difficult with a circular saw and (2) I was already lucky to still have my hand as the saw kicked back. So, I just cut the stuff in half, and took 3-4 halves and taped them around the trunk. That was going to take quite a bit a tape for several trees. Back to the store. The rabbits could easily reach past the first branches, so I also grabbed some 4’ chicken wire to circle the trees—along with black plastic sheeting to control the grass inside the fenced circle. And so, after a lot of trial and error, after a day’s labor, I had planted—a tree.
I managed a few more before dark, each in its own little concentration camp, acutely aware that for all the effort I was investing in cottontail prevention, the critters had ipso facto the entire year (or two or three) to breach security.
For reasons I can’t quite explain, I’m reminded of the end of the first chapter of Joyce’s “Ulysses”:
"A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. a sleek brown head, a seal’s far out on the water, round.
Usurper."
Writer
My rabbit adventures, though, really started when a former irresponsible neighbor, after keeping rabbits for a bit, changed his mind and set them loose. [Where do people get these ideas about animals? Most animals in the wild never live to see age two—let alone abandoned pets. That puppy you let loose to enjoy its freedom? The one with the cute kerchief around its neck? It’s now dead.] Now that the rabbits were no longer his responsibility, at least one of them became mine—chewing its way through the skirting of my home, ruining my winterizing efforts. Eventually, the rabbit disappeared (probably dead), and when the weather warmed, I ripped out all the damaged skirting and replaced it with aluminum flashing, burying it a foot deep (to keep out mice, rats and voles as well). Whether by cause and effect or by chance, however, wild rabbits took up residence across the grounds, to stay.
To a point, I didn’t really mind. Hey, if they eat the grass—terrific! Once in a while one would get hit in the road—sad, and I’d have to do something with the carcass. My old shepherd mix caught one—I have no idea how, since she was almost 16, tired and very ill. Perhaps she fell on it. Dunno. I let her have it—bunny was half gone as it was, and I was going nuts trying to get my poor old dog to eat protein anyway.
Rabbits were evident from time to time. One year I planted 50 black cherry seedlings around the borders of the property (black cherry is native here, and the wood is valuable). By spring, every one was gone. Rabbits were the main suspects, of course, but without any hard evidence, no court would ever convict them.
I didn’t notice them much. My husky mix puppy caught one while on her lead, but since she’s essentially lightening with fur, no big surprise. We walk around the property sometimes, she on her 26’ retractable leash, and yes, she often explodes into a run after game, ripping my arm from its socket, but here in the country, that could be almost anything; she loves to chase birds, and we have lots of them.
She especially loved “helping” to plant my fruit trees. She didn’t understand what all this was about, but she quickly learned that first, playing with those strange sticks was verboten, and second, whatever we were doing, it involved a lot of walking and digging. Gotta love that! With gusto, she “helped” dig holes for the trees, and when I walked back to my shed to get each tree, she carefully guarded each hole (I don’t know what we’re doing, or why, but this is OUR hole, so just back off!). Four varieties of apple, two kinds of pear, a few cherry trees—a week of hard work and a summer of watering yielded my own orchard. Despite a few problems—beetles, for example—the orchard was healthy and progressing well.
Then, over the winter, the rabbits reduced it to dead twigs. Hundreds of dollars worth destroyed.
My electrician, a friend, over to replace a leaky meter, noted during conversation that his fruit trees had suffered a similar fate. An acquaintance of his at the Ag/Tech college suggested protecting the trees with black PVC tubing cut at an angle. Seemed worth trying. As soon as the school year closed, I bought an assortment of apple, pear, peach and plum trees. I mentioned my circumstances to the clerk. “Rabbits,” she said, shaking her head.
I headed for the hardware store for PVC tubing. I explained what I wanted, and long since accustomed to my quirky ways, the staff listened patiently. For what I wanted, they explained, I could use waterline. Comes in inch and a quarter. Fine. They’ll sell it by the foot—just need to cut it first. OK.
I sat in the car. And waited. And waited. I drank my coffee. I was glad I had bought the paper. I read it. Finally, the yard guy arrives with a large roll of tubing. “We had trouble cutting it,” he explains. I can see that—one end is squashed flat for a few inches.
“How am I going to cut it, then?” I asked.
“Oh, no problem—we just didn’t have a good saw. You’ll be fine.” Unconvinced, I stuffed the roll in my car and headed home. I backed down the driveway and leaned back, relaxing for a moment. A rabbit peaked out of the evergreen trees, then hopped about with impunity.
A friend suggested I cut the tubing in a spiral to wrap around the tree. I soon learned I’d be lucky to cut it at all, let alone get it around the trees. I soon settled for just cutting a slit, but just as soon realized (1) that would be difficult with a circular saw and (2) I was already lucky to still have my hand as the saw kicked back. So, I just cut the stuff in half, and took 3-4 halves and taped them around the trunk. That was going to take quite a bit a tape for several trees. Back to the store. The rabbits could easily reach past the first branches, so I also grabbed some 4’ chicken wire to circle the trees—along with black plastic sheeting to control the grass inside the fenced circle. And so, after a lot of trial and error, after a day’s labor, I had planted—a tree.
I managed a few more before dark, each in its own little concentration camp, acutely aware that for all the effort I was investing in cottontail prevention, the critters had ipso facto the entire year (or two or three) to breach security.
For reasons I can’t quite explain, I’m reminded of the end of the first chapter of Joyce’s “Ulysses”:
"A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. a sleek brown head, a seal’s far out on the water, round.
Usurper."
Writer
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