I still don’t have a brake controller.
I didn’t have one installed when the hitch was put on. That’s because I’m fussy about the PTV. I notice whenever the subject of brake controllers is discussed, like on a forum, the name Tekonsha is mentioned, and its always how great they are. So I decide that’s the kind I’m going to have. Not that I’m into designer labels . . .
Anyway. The guy at the hitch place keeps another brand in stock. When I tell him I want a Tekonsha, he looks a bit unsure and his hesitation is all it takes for me to say, “Never mind today. I’ve got to think some more on this.”
And then, somehow, time slips by.
My focus is on other stuff, the house sale, meeting with the attorney, fixing my nose, finding a home for Janie, and so on. All of a sudden I realize I need to get that brake controller installed as I may be leaving for the Casita factory in a week’s time!
So this morning I search.
All the while I’m telling myself I’m a dope to have waited this long. I need someone who knows the product and can install it quickly. Calling on the phone doesn’t work. Invariably I get someone who knows how to make an appointment and not much else. I hop into the PTV. I’m going to visit auto shops, darnit, until I find the right one.
As luck goes, it’s “bingo!” on the first stop.
At my mention of Tekonsha, the guy walks me over to the display of Tekonsha products! In a matter of minutes I have an appointment for Monday at 8:30. He’s interested in my plans, so we chat. I’m feeling happy, happy, happy!
Then a great big storm cloud rushes through the door and rains on my parade.
He’s tall, lanky, bearded, and mad. At ME! “Is that your van out front?” he interrupts with a scowl.
“Uh, yes. What’s wrong?”
“Do you have a disabled sticker?” he retorts, eyes bulging.
“Nooooo.” I follow him out.
He points to a sign on the glass front of the building, in front of the PTV. It says Handicapped Parking and it’s placed next to a poster about shock absorbers.
I start to apologize, but he cuts me off with something about me being inconsiderate. I keep pretty calm but this guy is getting a bit snotty. I tell him that I made a mistake, that this is the first time in all my years of driving that I’ve done this, that I didn’t see the sign at all, there isn’t anything painted on the space . . . .
“You know I could make a phone call right now and have you arrested!” This guy did not hear a word I said.
“Okay, okay, okay . . . . I’m moving my van right now.”
He mutters under his breath, hops (the operative word being hops) into his pick-up, and peels out of the parking lot.
I go back into the shop to say goodbye to Larry, the manager, whose conversation with me was interrupted. He tries to smooth things over with a comment about the guy not looking disabled and he didn’t need to talk to you that way, etc.
“It’s okay,” I reassured him. “There’s got to be a reason, some resentment or hurt or sadness, that gets him fired up like that.” I’m willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. I did not see that sign and I’m sincerely sorry I parked there. I am so happy today, I feel like nothing can get me feeling down!
Change of subject . . .
Janie was microchipped yesterday. When the plan was for her to stay here at the same house, there didn’t seem to be a need. And there probably isn’t a need now that she will be living elsewhere. It’s just a bit of insurance to make me feel more secure about leaving her. . . a going-away present, let’s say.
Of course, this morning she was more adorable than ever.
She has this habit of coming over to me when I’m sitting on the bed with my laptop, and putting her face about two inches from mine. She stares at close range with those brown eyes and keeps on staring indefinitely, tail wagging, until I put the laptop aside, hug her neck, and roll her around on the bed.
She leaves for her new home Monday afternoon.
Hoo-boy. Not looking forward to that.