I've been fully back to work at the school this week -- all of the end of the year deadlines are popping up like the dandelions on my lawn, and once again I'm feeling the stress of just knowing there's something else I've missed.
Went home for lunch (someone has to eat all that leftover Passover food), picked up the mail and saw a letter from American Express, the kind of letter that is usually bad news.
A couple of months ago, we found a mysterious charge on my husband's card: $410 from Mount Sinai Hospital -- in New York City. As we live in Los Angeles and haven't been anywhere near the East Coast, we called to dispute the charge. We had already received the letter stating that a temporary credit had been issued and that they were going to "investigate."
But afterwards, we started thinking of possible reasons for it: while getting thge house ready for the new floors, Gareth had cut himself on the rusty carpet nails and developed a blood infection -- lots of tests had been done at the time, suppose some of them were sent to Mt. Sinai? He also just had a life insurance physical, what if the New York hospital was involved in that?
I opened the letter:
"We issued the temporary credit(s) so you would not be responsible for the disputed amount during the investigation and your use of the card would not be affected by this specific inquiry.
We contacted the merchant on your behalf and in order to be fair, gave them the opportunity to present additional information from their point of view.
We used the information you provided us, along with the information we obtained from the merchant, to try and resolve this matter to your satisfaction. Our goal was to resolve this issue fairly.
We have determined that the credit you requested is appropriate. Therefore, the previously issued temporary credit will become permanent."
WOO-HOO! We won one. No word on how that charge ended up on our account. But no complaints.
I went back to work and found an "urgent" fax from the school district, asking for a report I am only vaguely familiar with, that apparently I was supposed to give them back in October. <sigh> (Can someone tell me why these faxes only seem to come in on my days off or when I've taken a lunch break?)
Tuesdays are short days at the school, ending at 1:35 -- so I only had about 15 minutes before the bell rang (meaning Megan was ready to go home). I was hoping I could find what I needed to do to generate the report before that -- but as I went looking through my VOLUMES of notebooks containing memos and instructions, my cellphone rang.
I have friends who complain that their husbands don't tell them much about their work, their feelings, etc. I don't have that problem with my husband, who (bless him) calls me several times a day -- usually when he's alone in his car and bored. My problem is that he doesn't care what I might be doing at the time he calls -- he expects me to drop it and give him my full attention, even if he keeps me on the line for 20 minutes. We'd had a big fight about this on Monday; so when I picked up the phone yesterday I abandoned hope of figuring out what I needed to do with that report. (It wouldn't have been done in 10 minutes yesterday anyway.)
Gareth had just left a meeting in Irvine and was driving back up here and wanted to tell me all about it. Midway through the conversation, I heard this:
"SHIT! (long pause) Hold on. Hold on."
OK, something happened to him on the freeway. Did he finally get into an accident from talking on the phone? (If so, I had the lecture ready.) But then a horrible thought crossed my mind, about the latest rash of shootings on L.A. freeways (how convenient that they are occurring at the beginning of a ratings sweeps period, eh? I bet the directors of our local news stations salivate every time they hear another one happened.) And he was on the 55, where two people had been shot on separate occasions within the last month.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
He was, <whew!> but a couple of pretty good sized rocks had come off a truck in front of him and cracked his windshield. Not just a little pockmark, but a good sized crack. He read me the license plates on the truck/trailer and I took them down for him.
Our insurance company was happy we had license numbers for the truck, but they didn't have anything in the way of good news, as that kind of incident is deemed "road hazard." We will have to pay to replace the windhield. How much do you wanna bet it'll come to around $410?