It seemed a normal enough evening. Garry went to bed before me — he likes to watch old movies in bed — and I finished up posting pieces and then followed him in. Before getting into bed, I changed the setting to make it easier for him to watch the movie and for me to listen to my audiobook … and make one last check of the posts that go up around midnight.
Then, I sunk quickly into sleep.
All was going well until I woke up around five in the morning and wanted to raise the bed a little higher. It’s allergy weather and sometimes if my head is up more, I breathe better.
I found the remote (it’s a wireless bed), and pressed “Head-Up.”
Nothing happened. I also noticed that the light wasn’t on, so I figured it needed new batteries. It was early and I just wanted to go back to sleep, but I dutifully got up, found four new rechargeable AAA batteries and plugged them into the remote.
I pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
Having tried the first thing that came to mind, I had to move on to the second thing, which is to reboot the bed by unplugging it, giving it half a minute, and replugging it. This, sadly, required that I get Garry out of bed because I’m short and my arms are short and getting my arm behind the bed to get to the plug, pull it out, then replace it is not as easy as it used to be. Eventually, after getting Garry up, moving the mattress out of the way, finding my little Maglite, I rebooted the bed.
Garry had to push the plug into the wall for me. It was the angle. And being short.
Then, I grabbed the remote and pushed the button.
Nothing happened.
I went and found another set of batteries.
Nothing happened.
The remote control was dead. After a mere 19 years, it croaked.
Our bed came with a lifetime guarantee. The only problem with a lifetime guarantee is they last exactly as long as that company is in business.
Sadly, the “Adjusta” brand was no more. It had become part of some other company years before. I knew one day something would happen and I was pretty sure it was going to be the remote that went because the engine on the bed will probably outlast us.
We pushed the mattress back into a sleeping position. Garry went and gave the dogs a nibble so they would stop barking and he went back to sleep.
I, on the other hand, turned on my light, opened the Mac, and went to Remote.com, where I have always replaced all the remotes which Tinker (may she roam the fields beyond the bridge in joy) used to eat as snacks. One day, she ate all the remotes in the living room and that was a nearly $400 hit. But this was just a single remote, so I figured — $50? Maybe a little more?
Remotes.com didn’t have any. They had a picture of one, but if you clicked on it, you got an advertisement for the company now making the bed we already own.
Just one extra little something to brighten my night which was turning into turning to morning by then.
As Fandango said, “You can find anything on Amazon,” so I went to Amazon, typed in “Adjusta-Magic” and hit ENTER. And there it was. Our remote.
It turns out it is no longer made by the same company that made our bed, but since the company that made our bed made (still makes) beds for three other companies (one of which absorbed ours), they now made a “universal” remote that would work on ALL their beds.
The new one wouldn’t say “Adjusta-Magic” on it and there would be no light. It would instead have three buttons that would automatically adjust the bed for reading, and two sleeping positions. I was grateful our bed was not in some strange sitting up arrangement. At least we could sleep in it while we wait for the remote.
It cost $120 for the remote. There was no alternative. It’s the end of the month when we never have any money, so I used the credit card with the lowest balance and figured I’d done due diligence. NOW I would get some sleep.
I drifted off.
The phone rang. One extra thing? It kept ringing, so it wasn’t one of the fake calls that get cut off. I had to answer it. It was just nine.
It was the mason who wanted to know if our heating unit had its own vent or went through the chimney. I said I didn’t know (actually, I did know, but I was only semi-conscious), said I would ask my son … and before I dug into my pillows, I asked him: “Do I have your phone number?”
He told me to get it off the phone, probably assuming it was a cell, which it isn’t. It does save numbers, but not the way a cellphone does. It’s more complicated. A lot more complicated.
And the only number I could find wasn’t a real number. It was one of the fake numbers that we never answer. Because I had picked up the call, it had not recorded it. I didn’t have the number. When I thought about it, a few extra items dropped into my brain.
I not only didn’t have his phone number, but I also didn’t have anything on paper from him. We’d verbally agreed on a price (no, I didn’t pay him) and he’d verbally agreed to do the job … but he had done it all from his van. I didn’t have his telephone number, company, or personal name.
Oh good. Perfect. An extra special day was shaping up.
I assumed if the guy didn’t hear from me, he’d call back, but he didn’t. So I called the next guy on my list who said sure, he’d come and take a look. I explained that it was a small job, but I would like to do it before it became a much bigger job. His other mason lives right down the block, so it should be easy to come to look at the chimney.
This time, I got his name and phone number. For someone who deals a lot with details, I can forget even the basics of making an arrangement. Anyway, this time, I did ask for the damned phone number. All the other guy — whoever he was — had to do was give me the number and there would not have been any problem.
Except for the non-working bed and my lack of sleep, that is.
It was after 10 by then. The dogs were barking and I wasn’t getting any more sleep. At least the sky was blue. Today and tomorrow are the only two days this week that aren’t supposed to rain.
I wanted to go take pictures … but I’m waiting on Owen to come over and fix the leaking faucet in the kitchen since the leak is getting worse and I already bought the faucet. But Owen only has one weekday during which he can do anything — and he had to get to UMass for his own medical results and he had to do some grocery shopping and I can’t go anywhere until he lets me know if he’s coming or not.
Anything extra? At least the coffee was ready since I turned it on when I got up to give biscuits to barking dogs.
The remote isn’t showing up until early in May — but that’s not so far off, right? And who need photographs anyway. I can always shoot more birds. With the camera, that is, although these days, we have accumulated a huge number of Cowbirds and nothing else seems to get to the food bin except the bigger woodpeckers from whom even the Cowbirds back way.
Somehow, I have this feeling the day ain’t over yet. Not sure why, but there’s a bit extra on its way. A little something more. Exactly what, I’m not sure. But I can feel it in the air.
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I have other email accounts, but I like this one. I’ve had it for over 20 years. I know that if you have an AOL email account millennials think it’s funny and it means you’re old. And do you know what I say to that? Fuck you, you little bastards. I was using email before you were even a gleam in your father’s eye. (And get off my lawn!)
