The Gina Spot

I hate sweeping, but I also hate dirty floors.  A few weeks ago, I broke down and bought a Roomba.  I’d previously received a cheaper model of robotic vacuum as a gift several years earlier, but it didn’t have cool features, like the ability to schedule cleanings or the programming to return itself to its charger.

So of course I got the one that has the remote control just because it has a remote control . . . not because I NEED a vacuum with a remote, or that I will ever use that feature.  I’m gadgety, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.  Roombas aren’t cheap (especially those with remote controls), but with one of the fabulous Bed Bath and Beyond coupons, I was able to get a generous 20% discount.

Roomba has an online registration where it asks consumer to name their vacuum cleaners.  Not sure why, but I had no choice but to go with it.  My lack of creativity at the time caused me to name it Zumba.

I programmed Zumba to dance its little way around the first floor each night at 7:30 (if I’m being honest, I thought I was programming it to run at 7:30 am.  Clearly there was a user error).

I have been entertained by Zumba since the moment it took its first sweep.  I haven’t been this amused since having cats.

The first time, I was amazed at how long it ran, and how much dust it picked up.  I moved it upstairs for a few days, and couldn’t find it after the second sweep.  My assumption was that there was so much dust and junk on the floor that Zumba rolled out the door in protest.  I finally found it wedged under the dresser.

I’ve since found Zumba stuck in various places, and it has a penchant for closing itself in the powder room.  It rolls in, and then closes the door behind itself.

We got in late last night, and I parked in the garage while the BF parked in front of the house.  When I approached the back door, I was wondering why he hadn’t unlocked the door because he had a head start.  I walked in and found him staring at the floor, perplexed.  There were white tufts all over the floor outside of the powder room and the door was closed.

The BF was a little freaked out, and didn’t know what happened.  I knew immediately.  This had Zumba written all over it.

When I opened the door, I saw what Zumba had been up to . . .

So, my forensic skills told me that the toilet paper, which once occupied the stand in the top right corner of the picture, somehow got sucked up by Zumba (which had already locked itself in the powder room) and was pulverized.  I had my work cut out for me, and it took about an hour to clean up the mess and unclog the toilet paper from Zumba’s rollers.

At this point, I’m wondering whether the time I’m spending rescuing Zumba couldn’t be better reallocated if I just decided to get off of my lazy ass and sweep.

Nah . . .

When we left off back in July, I was toiling over my father’s pending move to his new beautiful condo that happens to be across the street from moi.  I was preparing for the worst, believing that I would be the person who would have to organize and pack him, and that at the end of the day, it would have been much less strenuous (and far more cathartic) to load the basement of his old residence with C4 and blow it up.

I have to report that with all of my worrying and stress, my father is all moved in now.  And to be honest, the process wasn’t anything like my expectations.

It was WORSE!

His first moving day was scheduled for August 15th.  I have to admit that I stuck my head in the sand up until the week before the actual move date.  And then I got panicky.  I sent the movers over to my dad’s house for an estimate, and somehow, despite the fact that I’d previously informed the movers that they would be packing AND moving, somehow the packing piece was omitted from the estimate.    BUT my father assured me that he had been organizing and “getting things together.”

Serendipitously, the BF had a gig not far from my father’s old house on the eve of the move.  I was due to attend the gig, but we had a little spat when I dropped him off, so I decided to hijack his van and instead visit my dad’s house and see how the packing was coming along.

It wasn’t.

In fact it looked as though he wasn’t moving in the next 24 years, let alone the next 24 hours.  He was out when I dropped by, so I drove the BF’s van to Home Depot and loaded up on boxes and tape.  I returned to my father’s house and moved through it like a white tornado (or black tornado, as it were), packing everything I could in the most sensible way possible and trying to create some semblance of order in preparation for the movers.

My father returned home in the midst of my packing project, just in time to receive a few harsh words from me, given that I hate nothing more than packing and moving.  I told him that if he’d been honest with me, we could have systematically gotten this done over the last month or so.  Then I felt bad, because there’s really only so much that I can expect of an 80+ year old man who is clearly overwhelmed by his belongings (even if most of them should have been taken directly to the alley).

Potentially long story shortened, the movers arrived and moved everything that I was able to pack that day.  But that wasn’t the end of it.  I had to return several more times to conclude the packing and dumping of the rest of the stuff in preparation for the NEXT moving day (which fell on my birthday).  I also had to facilitate the work of the painters, who were scheduled to come in right after Labor Day to spiff up the place for the next sucker, I mean owner.  :-)

The trouble now is that he needs more furniture, as he decided to get rid of his living room furniture.  And the furniture that he wants?  MINE!  So, guess who gets to go shopping for new furniture so that my father will have a place to relax?

I swear, a daughter’s work is never done.

When I was little, I was taught to look both ways before crossing the street, and take safety into my own hands.  I’m not sure if people are teaching their kids the same thing these days, because they seem to have no concern if they’re in the middle of street and a car is coming straight at them.

In fact, I think pedestrians in general need a little bit of tutelage in Chicago.

The biggest mistake we could have made was putting crosswalks all over the city.  They confuse people, and have made dumb people think that if there are white lines on the street in any formation, they constitute a crosswalk and cars must yield.

There is a big difference between a crosswalk — where traffic must stop to accommodate pedestrians — and a crossing area — where one walks when no traffic is present, or when traffic is halted by a stoplight, because vehicles are not required to stop for pedestrians when the light is green.  There is a LEGAL difference, people.  Figure it out!

I do my part to avoid killing people, but really?  If I’m driving the speed limit (generally 35+.  Okay . . .or more) and a stupid person decides (against all logic) to cross the street right in front of my car because there is a single white line drawn perpendicular to the passageway, I can only predict the perilous outcome of that situation.

Pedestrians take for granted that cars will actually stop.  In some cases, this is a BIG mistake.  If a speeding car is coming directly toward the crosswalk it would be best to make sure that the driver actually SEES the crosswalk, before you can go sashaying your stupid ass out in the middle of the street.

I love the pedestrians who glare at the driver with much attitude, to indicate that they have the right of way and will occasionally scream in the direction of the car.  Usually something about a lawsuit.  Apparently so that their heirs can benefit from their idiotic relative that refused to move out of the way of a speeding vehicle.

Here’s the thing.  Yes, pedestrians have the right of way.  Of course they do.  However, common sense and the right of way are a better combination.  There are hierarchies on the road, like it or not.  And the hierarchies are based on the ability to harm.  The onus is on you to get out of harms way, because you can’t speak to the attentiveness of the person operating those vehicles, and you, the unprotected pedestrian have the most to lose.

The road food chain is as follows:

1.  Trucks.  Sure, trucks should use their mirrors at all times because they’re generally behemoth road hazards that can’t possibly have a handle on their surroundings, but when I’m driving near them, I make sure to stay out of their blind spots — and stay away from them in general.  Whether or not they should be looking out for me, it’s the smart thing to do.  If I don’t think a truck driver can see me, I make sure that I’m out of striking range.  Because I will be crushed like a tiny bug!

2.  Utility vehicles.  If you don’t know better than to stay away from people who rent U-Hauls and generally aren’t trained to drive them?  You’re in your own way.

3.  SUVs.  They’re bigger than me.  Case closed.

4.  Cars.  They weigh more than two tons.  On foot or on two wheels, I’m no match for one of them.  I guess the recourse is that you could sue one of them, but I’d much rather be able to walk and breathe.  I’m actually more wary of the Zip Cars or Go Cars, because their operators aren’t regular drivers, and in some cases have been some of the worst drivers I’ve ever seen in my life.  I avoid them like the plague.  Also?  If you see a Zip Car in Chinatown?  Go nowhere near that vehicle.

5.  Motorcycles.  The driver is unprotected, but they have weight and speed.  When out of control, they can access areas that cars can’t.  I’m always looking out for them.

6.  Bicycles.  Bike riders are some of the biggest road menaces, and so many bikers are downright hostile about their rights to bike — yet few of them follow the rules of the road.  I think that many of them have determined that emulating bike messengers is the way to go.  Not so much.  This city has spent millions of dollars creating bike lanes, and in some cases giving them their own stop lights.  Yet, there are they, some of them . . . floating around in drivers’ blind spots like little gnats . . . running lights . . . dodging in and out of traffic.   I’ve also seen bizarro accidents where bikers hit pedestrians.  Those accidents never end well.  Just be mindful.

7.  Anything else on wheels.  This includes scooters, skateboarders, rollerbladers, etc.  One bump in the road, and these people could hit anything in their path.  At a pretty good speed.  And most of them have no insurance, so a lawsuit is futile.

8.  And finally . . . the pedestrian.

See how that works?  Be careful out there.  You are the only person you can trust with your personal safety.