Whatever will I complain about now? (Donít worry; Iím on it.)
Now that the mud that has been befouling my driveway entrance has been scraped into a smelly pile and placed on the landlordís lot, I wonít have that to complain about. Now that a layer of rock so smooth itís almost like pavement has been laid down over where the mud used to be, I donít have to grumble about wading though anything, not even puddles on rainy days. And now that the letter carrier has started delivering to my mailbox again, I donít have that worry eating at me any more.
So what will I complain about, now that all my worldly problems have been solved? Hmmm. Give me a minute.
While the landlord and his henchmen were out there with tractors and dump trucks and shovels and rakes this afternoon, I wandered up the drive to chat. It seemed like the right thing to do, making an appearance so that they knew I knew what they were doing. He made a point of letting me know that it had cost him $800 to rent the equipment and buy the material, but he also mentioned that he knew it was his responsibility, and if he hadnít been out of town he would have known about it sooner, and taken care of it earlier.
Well, of course I believe all that, not that it does me any good now. When he told me to call him any time I had a problem, I believed that, too, but only because I donít think he wants to hear from the Boss again. And I think he realizes that I havenít bugged him for much of anything in the five and a half years Iíve lived here, so Iím probably not going to start now. The fact that I donít ask him for little things made it easier to take care of the mud, which became a big thing.