WILD AND BORING STORY of a landlord and a BB:
Months ago my tenant in Number 59 called to complain of a cracked window. There was no surprise involved. When I rented the place to him and his wife a year ago, the BB gun hole already existed. (Curiously, the BB [mysteriously fired by an unknown hand] had broken through just one pane of the double-pane window.) Now, due to use or abuse [how's a landlord to know?] the outside pane was in critical condition.) They wanted it fixed!
"Okay, for sure," I told him, and called the glass company to make arrangements.
"It'll save you a boatload of money if you bring us the window yourself," I was told. "Bring it first for measurements. We will order the glass. Then we'll inform you when we've got the glass--it will take several weeks. After that, you can bring the window again and have it repaired."
So, a long time ago I removed the window and hauled it to the glass company. They measured it. Then, when I murmured about the oh-so-great odds, the sure-to-be chances, the inevitability that this window would fall to pieces when I struggled to re-install it, they taped it up neatly for me.
I called my tenants. "I'll remove your window again, and have it fixed," I told them,"when a day comes along that's warm and sunny. According to the long-range forecast, Tuesday looks good. How about Tuesday?"
But on Tuesday, Reader Dear, it seemed to me the weather was too cold.
"Friday should be good," I suggested. "There's no chance of rain, and they're saying it won't be as cold."
Friday it rained.
Monday morning it was somewhat overcast, sun in and out. The weather man was calling for a good chance of afternoon thundershowers. Nah, I thought. I won't go today.
But at noon my tenant called me. "What about the window?!" he asked.
"Well," I said, "They're calling for rain."
"Oh, it'll be okay," he insisted. "We're going out for a while, but I've already removed the window. It's here waiting for you!"
"Fine," I said. "I'll be right over."
As I loaded up the window and set out for the glass company, the clouds were gray. I drove fast.
Twenty minutes later I handed over the busted window and set out to do a little shopping. "Come back in half an hour," the glass repairman said.
The wind had picked up a little. The sky had darkened.
But thirty minutes later, when I entered the shop to pick up the now like-new window, it was not yet raining.
"Here's your BB!" said the guy in the shop, after I'd paid for the work and he'd loaded up the window. He handed me the miniscule culprit.
As I headed out, there were raindrops and Steppenwolf spurring me on.
I drove directly and speedily toward my destination, and it soon became obvious I was racing a storm! Well, I was born to be wild! I thought, and I pressed on the gas pedal. Keeping a nervous eye on the windshield wipers, and picturing torrents of rain coming through an open hole where 59's window belonged, I drove like a madman (Calm down, Reader Dear. I just drove like wild). I screeched into the parking lot, leaped from the car and collected the window. I lugged it as hurriedly as I could up the sidewalk toward apartment 59. Just as I reached for the knob, the clouds burst!
It rained and rained, Reader Dear.
But who cared??
I got to drive home and cross "#59 BB WINDOW REPAIR!!" off my list at last.