Tuesday, November 19, 2013

These Arms Are Shotguns TBA, AT&T!

Pipe dope. PTFE tape. That's what I'm messing with.

I'm applying these materials to a propane trunk line, and I am trying to avoid any leaks. I am using great care and focus; heeding advice gleaned from several hours of study.

I'm in the basement. The lights are switched on by a motion detector. Motion detecting lights are great when you are passing through with an armload of groceries. But - what if you're trying to examine your work closely when the lights turn off? It makes you wish your arms were shotguns. You want to lay a thick blanket of blast down on everything in the room.

I'm wrapping tape delicately, and diligently counting my turns and layers. I'm smearing pipe dope carefully for a good even coat on the pipe's threads. My phone rings. Mother... fuckers. AT&T isn't trying to sell me something - they're just bragging about a service that I wouldn't pay for anyway.

"Reply 'stop' to end mktg messages," they offered as an aside.

I text "stop," reflecting that the word choice does little to capture my current sentiment. I'm slightly more cheesed, because I feel like they tricked me into doing something, instead of just waiting for them to all find hell on their own.

More than four minutes later, I get a message confirming that I will not get any more messages. I look to my arms and lament. My needs are delayed again by slow medical science.

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