No, You Don’t Exist
Posted By jayna on June 23, 2008
I just spent the last 20 minutes chasing flies around my kitchen with a dish towel.
Why, you ask?
Why, because this podunk Geahh-gia town we live in doesn’t seem to think our address exists.
Seriously. That’s why I have a colony of flies in my kitchen.
It all started when we signed the lease for Fabulous New Townhome. The next day, I went and filled out the paperwork for our mail to be forwarded from Nearly Condemned Old House to Fabulous New Townhome. I put down that the new address was 58 Cool Tree Lane* and went on my merry way. Till I had to call the electric company. Who had no record of a 58 Cool Tree Lane, even though the rental company gave us a handy dandy little sheet with our new address and all of our utility companies on it. After multiple transfers and lots of time on hold, it was established that there was a 50 Cool Tree Lane, and perhaps that was the same place. The lot numbers were the same, so it sort of made sense.
Same deal with the cable company. In the end, the technician was just given very specific directions on how to get there, and somehow he figured out what the address was in their system.
But then, there’s the city. The podunk Geahhhh-gia city that handles not only our water and sewer, but our garbage removal. They seem to be having the hardest time figuring out where we live. Day One had the paperwork filled out with 58 Cool Tree Lane. Day Two had the realization that actually, there is no such thing as 58 Cool Tree Lane. Day Three had me literally standing out at the street sign, realizing that along it had been 58 Cool Tree Drive.
Lane. Drive. Same thing, right.
Nope. Especially not when there is a 58 Cool Lane, and a 58 Cool Tree Drive. Made much less cool when we are getting each other’s mail. And made even more less cool (did I really just write that?) when the realization is made that both are within the same two-street townhome development. (Really, could the planners get any less creative?)
Day Four with the city brought claims that actually, there isn’t even a 58 Cool Tree Drive. Even though I can stand in my driveway and read the Cool Tree Drive street sign, and see the #58 on my house, neither really exists. The 911 records for the city don’t even have it on there.
(“911 Emergency, what is your address?” “Well, see now, that’s a good question. Let’s just go with the house out in Cool Tree Subdivision that’s on fire. That should narrow it down better than trying for an address.”)
So, the city still hasn’t figured out where we live. Which stinks, literally, because it means we have no garbage pick-up. Better yet, we don’t even have a garbage can, because they have to deliver it. And obviously, they can’t deliver it somewhere that doesn’t even exist.
No garbage can means a giant stack of the past two weeks garbage in the corner of our garage. Rotting. It’s 95 degrees outside. The garage heats up just a tad during the day. That shit stinks. It also breeds flies. Which are attracted to the rare opening of the house door, when one tosses more garbage on the pile. Which is why I just spent 20 minutes chasing a colony of flies around our kitchen.
Really, I’m the cleanest person you will meet. I like vacuum lines and the smell of bleach and shiny linoleum. I just can’t catch a freaking break with these freaking bugs.
*obviously not our real address, clearly I don’t even know it anyways.
Our subdivision has a hazelwood court and hazelwood drive plus a cherry lane and cherry drive (and they intersect each other). Thank god we don't live on any of those streets.
When I was last in Georgia, I was staying at a hotel that was on the corner of Peachtree Lane and Peachtree Drive. To get there, you had to take the Peachtree Expressway to Peachtree Road. Along the route, you passed Peachtree Avenue. I wish I were making that all up, because then I wouldn't have gotten lost every.single.time I ventured into public.
There is some good news, though, in your debacle. If you weren't the crunchy sort, your trash would be full of dirty diapers. And THAT shit would most certainly stink even more than your current shit.
I have to laugh because this happened to me when we moved to Indiana. In fact, we've lived here since February and it is STILL happening.
Also, we moved here from the deep south…don't even get me started on what we dealt will down in Ahlabahma.
I hate dealing with people. Heaven forbid, when they assign a 911 number, that they don't just register it with everyone.
Good luck finding yourself.
OMG. This is really funny. I hope that all is found before you drown in garbage and need to call 911 to rescue you. And the worst thing is you don't have cable to keep your mind off your troubles.
This sounds like the kind of crap that happens to my family!
I think we are cursed.