This morning I woke up early to the quiet of my computers and air conditioner being off. It�s always weird when you�re startled by quiet instead of noise. My first thought was that I had blown a fuse since I have 4 power strips full of electronics plugged into one outlet, one of those items being an air conditioners that�s working it�s ass off in this sweltering summer heat.
I went down to the basement and played with the fuses for over an hour. They looked okay, so I tried swapping them around�eventually just getting new ones even though the old ones didn�t look blown (genius idea huh?). Nothing helped and the only thing gained was an understanding of what fuse goes to what. So I tried unplugging the power strip chain from the outlet, and the outlet spit sparks all up into my face. That blew the fuse.
I put on my giant, yellow rubber gloves that I bought specifically for dealing with touchy electrical problems, but every time I got near the outlet sparks flew; totally shady. I�ve swapped everything over to an extension cord from another room now; hopefully my landlord will come by tomorrow and fix it up.
�
Meredith and I banked at National City when we lived in Kalamazoo. It�s a huge bank in Michigan, available in any city, and super convenient with ATM access everywhere. We thought that we�d be okay with keeping our accounts here in Chicago, but it turns out that the nearest branch is miles away downtown on Franklin Street. We haven�t swapped to new banks yet though, so today we needed to go down there to cash some checks.
I drove my truck, and found a parking spot directly across from the bank at a meter. Inside it was a weird setup with only one teller whose setup made it seem like you could only do complicated or �important� things with him. We did our normal check cashing with him, but it was weird; you sit in a chair while working with him. While there we ran into someone who recently moved from Kalamazoo and recognized Meredith from a Stunt Weasel show at The Space. National City seems to be a Kzoo connection.
Anyway, that�s the boring part. The strangeness started when we left and noticed a security guard and plain cloths police officer standing around my truck and jotting things down in a notepad. Apparently I wasn�t in a real parking spot, even though there was a meter, and I was blocking the driveway from some sort of Jewish organization. The cop started asking me all sorts of questions about what I was doing there, and bringing up the fact that Israeli and Palestinian tensions are really high right now. Apparently they were suspicious that my truck was a car bomb or something. It is shady I guess: totally rusted through, gas cans and unmarked bottles of fluid in the back, out of state plates that have the word �army� in them.
Then I lied to the cop. Why I did this I�m not really sure, but once I started I had to follow through with it. He asked me if I lived in Chicago and I said no. True, I�ve only lived here for two weeks, but it�s still a lie. I did it because I didn�t want him to ticket me for not having switched my plates, which is a pretty irrational reason to complicate the situation. He let us go, but I have a nervous, bad feeling about lying. I don�t know how it could, but I hope it doesn�t come back on me. I�m always nervous around the police for some reason, even though I don�t do anything illegal on a regular basis and have a clean past.
�
I got a thank you note from my sister and brother in law today for some birthday presents that I sent them last week. Check out the return address label�yikes!
Comments