Saturday, January 28, 2017
In which Primo calls me from a campaign event at the Rich Suburb Farmers Market and starts with, "Something awful happened" and I go straight to he hit someone with the car
Only it's not that at all.
He was not hit. He did not hit someone else. He did not get a $1,000 ticket. Nobody is hurt. No thing is hurt.
He spilled his coffee on his
1. contribution envelopes, the ones he had altered by hand to reflect new contribution disclosure rules
2. door literature
3. paperwork for the credit union
4. some Hershey's Kisses
which, I will admit, is a hassle, but nobody is dead. As long as nobody is dead or going to jail or it's not going to cost us hundreds or thousands of dollars to solve the problem (and even then, the problems that can be solved with money only are the best kind to have - I would rather need a new roof than be diagnosed with cancer, for instance), we are fine.
But Primo is all stressed because he is in the middle of the campaign and Ted is looming and you know, stuff.
And he had taken his old car - a 50 year old Corvair - that he drives only in dry, clear weather because it's not safe otherwise. The Corvair does not have a place to put coffee, so he had put his coffee go-cup in the bag with all his campaign materials.
He has done this many, many times and nothing bad has ever happened, but this time, the cup leaked and all the coffee spilled onto campaign papers.
As he was in the old car that is almost never driven and that I never drive, he had no emergency supplies in the trunk. I keep rags and blankets and water and paper towels in the regular car, but have never stocked the Corvair because it has never occurred to me.
He called from the farmers market, panicked because everything was soaked.
I had been minding my own business in the kitchen, enjoying my coffee and the quiet.
But I put together a bag of rags and paper towels and water and drove out to the Rich Suburb Farmers Market and find him and we clean off the pins that say "Vote for Primo" and the pens and separate the usable door literature and the cards from what has to be thrown away and lay all the credit union papers on a towel in the back seat and in the middle, we fight because that is how we deal with stress. Primo gets all "Wooooo!" and then he snaps at me, which ticks me off because I am not the one who caused the problem so I get pissy back which makes him pissy and so it goes.
"I have to take time to grieve and panic and process this!" he says.
"Can't you be solving the problem at the same time?" I ask.
"I don't know!"
Which is why my beloved, who can repair a car and a furnace and a computer and pretty much anything would make a lousy EMT, but that's OK because he is not interested in being any kind of first responder.
I? I would be an excellent first responder except for the blood part. I am great in a crisis because I get all cold and logical and start telling people what to do, which is always so, so obvious, but I tend to pass out at the sight of blood, at least I pass out when I see my own blood, so I think that perhaps, EMT is also not an option for me.
But we got it all cleaned up and then he was all apologetic because he knows how he gets when Something Bad Happens By Surprise and I know how he is, too, and I will use this as leverage to ask him to go to the Vietnamese store to get persimmons for me, so it's all good.