A post in which I go get the Rhondee*

It was a quiet day at work.  I need to finish up cleaning my desk, but I just can't seem to get around to it... which is sad because I am greatly pleased with the areas I have done.

The only thing of note that happened was that I was hoisted by my own petard.  I have been kind of fretting, and trying not to, about not revceiving any kind of acknowledgement from Cole for his graduation check.  I went to a lot of trouble for him:

- I took a vacation day from work
- I got up at work time to get ready to go - and wore work clothes
- I drove Dad and Eve to Columbia
- I coordinated meeting and talked Lisa down off a ledge
- I drove us all through the traffic mess to get there
- I sat through the boring graduation (it was a proud moment, but it was hours long, and not exactly scintillating if you know what I mean) 
- I went to the after graduation party where I knew no one, and waited for an hour for him to even get there
- I ate chicken wings in a barbeque place where my feet stuck to the floor
- I left him a check for $100
- I drove the long way home, with Dick and Eve, refereeing all the way

That made for a long freakin' day folks.  That check was a check I could write, but it wasn't exactly a pain-free check to write, OK?  The only way I knew that he got the check at all was that it cleared my account.  I have kind of stewed over this, off and on, for two and a half weeks now.  I debated asking Lisa about it, but he's 18 freakin' years old now, and she has enough on her plate.  He's an adult, and he should have been raised better than this.  He should know how to act without his mother telling him.  Now I know that you aren't required to send thank you notes to immediate family (and they apparently are a thing of the past), but a text?  A message?  An email?  Something?  Is that too much to ask?

Well the futzy old man won out today.  I pasted a link to a website that instructs on how to write thank you notes on his FaceBook page.  I felt a little like a douche doing it, and I shouldn't have called him out in public, but hello.   This was the response I received:

 "I HAVE thank you notes. They will be sent shortly. Keep your pants on."

Really?  Really?  That is the response?  I told him that was pretty rude, and if that was the way he felt about it not to bother.  He apologized, but my feelings are hurt.  I guess this is at least partly my own fault.  You're never supposed to point out someone else's bad behavior, you do not expect to be thanked.  It should be a genuine expression, or should not be made.  I'll admit that doing it on his FaceBook page was wrong.  But wow.  Really?  I'm having a hard time with that response.  It will be a while before I go out of my way for Mr. Cole again.
***

I went to pick Rhonda up after work.  She's going for me tomorrow to get my tires fixed before we go to Savannah, despite the fact that it doesn't look as if we'll be taking my car.  But we had already set it up to be done, and it needed doing anyway.  I hate to spend the money, but sometimes you just have to do what needs to be done. 

When I got to the house she was waiting.  She had just sent me a text.  The are having problems with the air conditioning, and the repair guy was supposed to come today between 1pm and 5pm.  He still hadn't come.  It was 6pm.  She was settled in to wait, but I pointed out that he probably wasn't coming after 5pm.  So we left for supper.

Dinner tonight was at Tropical Chicken.  I hadn't eaten there, but Rhonda had, and wanted to go back.  I had looked at the menu online, and although they didn't have a lot of veggie stuff, they at least had an option.  We had veggie wraps, drinks, and one order of plantains.  That came to $17, which I thought was a bit steep to eat out of a cardboard boat, but the food was tasty - a cut above the general veggie offerings.  The problem was that the restaurant wasn't very clean.  I hadn't really paid attention before we ordered, but when I went to the men's room it was really nasty.  I mean crud oozing out from between the grout of the tiles on the walls, toilet flies, and a general look of being unkempt.  When I went back out into the restaurant, I noticed more.  The floors were none too clean, and the fronts of the garbage cans needed a good scrubbing.  When I pulled out my chair there was food in it.  Not being particularly squeamish, I moved the food and we ate anyway.  I reasoned that the cardboard boat didn't have to be washed.  As I say, it was tasty, but we probably won't go back.

Rhonda got squicked out and couldn't eat her dinner, so I took her up the hill to Blueberry Frog for frozen yogurt.  She would rather eat ice cream than food anyway.  I am pretty leery of all froyo after eating that swill at Yogurt Molehill, but this was good, tasted like real food, and the woman who worked there was very nice.

So after dessert we moseyed on home.  I had chores to do.  I folded laundry, washed clothes, and whipped up a batch of curried egg salad since I've been craving it.  Rhonda stayed right with me and chatted all the way.  We looked up the tire place online (Dad had them put on, so I haven't been there), and I got her tucked in.

Then I got a message from a buddy who was in town tonight only, so I left her in front of the telly and scampered over for a quick visit.  Afterwards, I was completely wiped, came home, and collapsed.  It was a good day, but a really long one.  Whew!