If I had to make a list of the biggest differences Corsicana has brought to our lives, it would look something like this:
1. No Target. Boo.
2. No Olive Garden. Hiss.
3. Discovered Brookshire's, complete with smiling bag boys that chat you up, call you "ma'am" and load your stuff in the car.
4. No traffic. Hurray!
5. Our town's claim to fame: Fruitcake factory. I'm not lying...
6. A.M. radio
Yeah, about the A.M. radio...
Every day our local station hosts a show called Talk Time. The name says it all. People can call in and just talk, make announcements, etc. It's like an audio swap meet, a garage sale of the airwaves. It is the bane of my existence.
There is a man who frequently calls in to sell or give away things. And every time he gives directions to his house like this:
"It's on the corner of Elmwood and 24th. White house, red door."
Problem. Elmwood jogs a bit when it crosses 24th. Without an actual address, people stop at the first white house with the red door they see on the corner of Elmwood and 24th.
For about a year now, the parade of bargain hunters and junk swappers has made its way across my yard. Once I figured out what was happening, I began answering the door with a cheerful, "Hi there! The Talk Time Man does not live here. But you might be able to do business with my neighbors across the street. Buh-bye now."
We are saving up to paint our house, so hopefully this problem will resolve itself soon. In the meantime, I am still amazed that this guy has never thought to qualify his description of his house. Something like, "NOT the one with the picket fence." After today, that might change.
Matt was sorting through some things in the study this afternoon, and all of the sudden our dogs went nuts in the backyard. As he was getting up to investigate, he heard an odd sound coming from the fireplace--conversation and lots of banging. He went out in the front yard, and that's when he saw the guys up on our roof.
"Excuse me, guys. Can I help you?"
"Well, no. We've got it. Thanks, though."
"Mind if I ask what you're doing?"
"We're installing the new chimney cover you ordered."
"I'm sorry to tell you this, but I didn't order a new chimney cover."
"You mean you're not Mr. So-and-So (a.k.a The Talk Time Man)?"
"But this is a white house with a red door on the corner of Elmwood and 24th."
"Yes...but so is that (pointing)."
Unbelievable! Doesn't this man know his street address? Does the electric company send his bill to "The White House With The Red Door..."
It turns out, the work crew had come to "the white house" yesterday, but nobody was home (I was at bible study). So they got on the roof and measured our chimney, returning today with a new custom cover that doesn't even begin to fit the chimney at the OTHER white house.
In case you haven't noticed, this man is making me insane. I've seen him before at very close range. It was right after we moved into this house. We had hired someone to cut down a dead tree outside the kitchen window. The Talk Time Man drove over, parked in the middle of a very busy street, and helped himself to the wood. He made several trips, each time loading up the trunk of his Volkswagen, puffing away on a giant cigar. It was almost Christmas, and he was sporting one of those cheap Santa hats.
But we're all about looking on the bright side here. First of all, we now have a privacy fence that extends past the kitchen window, shielding me from all mooching, tobacco using Santas. And we now have a custom chimney cover. Since they had already made it, the company offered it to us for half price. Matt says we needed a new one.
So God bless you, Talk Time Man. Please find another hobby.
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