She’s Ukranian

For reasons known only to the Secret Society of City Bylaw Inspectors, we had a triumvirate of kitchen appliances that had to be sold, right now, rock-bottom prices, fire sale (you know, without all that bothersome smoke and flame business). 

My Kijiji mojo is astounding.  It’s never taken more than a day for me to unload any matter of flotsam (the jetsam sometimes will take up to three days).  So I posted my ad, with artistic photos and enticing lingo and BAM, fourteen minutes later ML entered my life.

“I have to look at these, where are you, when can I see them”. Obviously there was an appliance catastrophe happening in her life….so I called and gave her directions so she could ‘come over right away’.  ‘Right away’ ended up being four hours later.

When the doorbell rang I opened it to a whirling mass of confusion and suspicion.  A gatling gun of obtruse and weird questions was fired my way – at the end she handed me a wad of cash, payment in full, and left with a non-committal promise that her husband would pick up the appliances ‘later’.

Skip forward three weeks, we’re contemplating the karmic repercussions of re-selling the appliances as there’s been no word from our cryptic friend.  SR’s brother is in town for a tour of the new locale and we’ve just settled into the backyard after a day of wandering around in the sweltering heat.  The ringing phone inside the house is being ignored – the machine can get it.  Then it starts ringing again, the universal sign that someone is in a blind panic to convey the news that Aunt Phylis’s dog was killed by bees or there was a lottery score and there’s no-one around right now to hug!  SR bolts for the door, but misses the call…just as my cell starts to ring.  I fumble to get it out of my bag, too late – it’s gone to voicemail.  (There’s a theme…if you want to communicate with us, send email.  This ‘phone’ business sends us into a Three Stooges routine.)  When we start checking messages, the panic is released.  It’s ML, she has to speak with me right now.  They have to pick up the appliances RIGHT NOW.  Where are we?  Why aren’t we answering?  The end is nigh!

My return call was met with frost and interrogation.  Did you just get home?  Were you home when the phone was ringing?  Have you stripped the appliances down in some kind of seedy Kenmore chop-shop?  They need to pick the appliances up RIGHT NOW. 

Aha!  I’m not going to be taken by that line again.  ‘When, exactly, is ‘right now’?’  ‘Ummm, in about two hours?’.  

So we wait, marvelling at the fact that this woman has two speeds – RIGHT NOW and whenever.   Considering her reaction to being forced to wait four minutes for a return phone call, I imagine her world would have spun off its axis if we’d left town for the weekend.  I was gobsmacked at how inconsiderate and rude she was.

When she pulled up two hours later to collect the precious, SR and BIL went out to help her load the trailer and were met with an onslaught of questions, ” Were these in a flood?  Are you sure they work?  Is this your house?  Did anyone meet a horrible demise in or around these appliances? “.  BIL walks back in ten minutes later with a declaration that is meant to explain everything, “She’s not a bitch….she’s Ukranian.”

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