The trouble with being short, and I am shrinking like crazy, is that I can’t reach anything above the second shelf of my cupboards without a stool or ladder, leaving only the kitchen counter as an option to stand on to facilitate reaching those high-up items. My kids object to my precariously balancing on the counters, so I don’t, but that means I can’t reach my wine glasses or pots and pans, both of which are in overhead racks. It also means I can’t change lightbulbs or smoke detectors. What to do?
I could wait for my son to come down from Alaska, too long, too far. My grandson offered and can reach most of what I need, but I can’t figure out his school schedule to pick him up and he doesn’t drive, so I might have to wait two more years until he gets his license. My daughter and son-in-law zoom all week, so they’re out, too.
It then occurred to me to hire a handyman, someone who would come by once a month to do all those dinky jobs that I used to be able to do when I was tall. So, I checked the telephone’s yellow pages, which might be called Yelp or something, to see who I could find. Several listings were available, which pleased me, and the adjectives in the ads read, “prompt,” “reliable,” and “speedy,” which sounded good, so I began dialing. “Prompt” company put me on hold for 10 minutes before I was cut off. I called back, only to be placed on hold again, but this time I was subject to hip-hop music and a voice that repeated every few seconds, “Your call is important to us, please hold.” Maybe it was or maybe not, but I slammed the phone down after 10 more minutes. “Reliable” said their phone was no longer in service. “Speedy” answered with a real person and said they could maybe fit me into their schedule around the first of December or maybe the first snowfall, and they would call before they showed up. But it occurred to me pretty quickly that I might need my wine glasses before that.
I used to be picky about hiring someone to help me. I wanted an experienced, capable person, someone who listened to what I needed, was honest and reasonably priced. Those all felt pretty reasonable. But, since I have shrunk, I threw all those requirements out the window and am at the point of offering Wag or my first-born son to get someone to change my lightbulbs and fetch my wine glasses.
Frustrated as I am, I’m not quite to the point of hiring the occasional random stranger guy who knocks on my door and says, “Need help, Lady? I do anything, what d’ya need?” I can’t tell if he’s prompt, reliable, or speedy, but I think I’m going to pass on his offer. I would rather bet that my counter tops can hold me.
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