well, now my ass is chapped

it’s too bad that boobs
somehow make me invalid
you hillbilly prick

I am not amused. Maybe the dumbass just picked the wrong couple of days to mess with me. Or maybe this is something that would bother me even it wasn’t 95 degrees sprinkled with humidity and hormones. Whatever.

So we bought a new house a few months ago, and as it settles and we settle, things get noticed. These are things that fall under our warranty; things we want fixed. For example, the air conditioner dampener was installed backwards so our system keeps seizing up and we have to go without cool air for a day until the dude can come half-ass fix it because he doesn’t have what he needs to replace the dampener. This is something I would like fixed. Pronto. And there are other things… a back door that sticks so that the wee one can’t open it to get in and thus screams like an axe murderer is after him until someone can open the door.


My husband and I sat together the other night and used up valuable, precious alone time to fill out our warranty request. We emailed it off and waited for someone to call to schedule the fixes. Simple enough.

So the guy calls at like 2 in the afternoon and asks to speak to my husband. I reply that my husband isn’t at home, he’s at work, but I’d be happy to talk about scheduling a time.

"Oh, no, ma’am, I have to talk to your husband to schedule a time."


"I need to find out the best time to come do a walk-through to see if your requests are warrantable."

"Well, I’m the one who’s here all day, so you’re going to need to schedule that visit with me."

"Well, ma’am I really need to schedule it with your husband."

[this is when I start getting testy. Because, really, WTF?]

"Oh, OK, do you do walk-throughs before 7am or after 7pm? Because that’s when he’s here typically."

"It’s going to have to be sometime Thursday, in the afternoon, before 5."

(again, WTF, asshole? If you ALREADY KNOW what time you have to come, why are you giving me shit?)

"Well, sir. You’re going to have to make that appointment with me. I’m the one who’s here. I’m the one who can pencil you in between meals and naptimes."

***long pause***

"How does 1:30 on Thursday sound?"


[end of phone call]

And then, THEN, the guy shows up yesterday, rings the doorbell, shakes my hand and says skeptically, "So you’re the one I’ll be dealing with today?"

Oh my fucking god. Because I am a woman, a *gasp* mom who stays home, I am incapable of discussing a broken air conditioner and a sticky back door? It took everything in me to stop myself from apologizing for my boobs and lack of external genitalia. I wish I had, though, just to see the mortified expression on the guy’s face.

The kicker to this whole story, though? My husband came home for lunch a few minutes after the asshole got here, so he ended up being the point of contact ANYWAY. And now the asshole is calling my husband to schedule maintenance visits and my husband has to call me to verify the times and I have to say, "no, that’s a shitty time" and my husband has to call the guy back and on and on and on. Because a vagina makes it impossible for me to talk to this guy on the phone and schedule a visit from the fucking painters.

It’s lucky I’m so lazy or else I’d kick this chauvinist dumbass right in his chauvinist scrotum.

Why do simple things have to be so difficult?

One thought on “well, now my ass is chapped

  1. That would make me pissy enough that I would keep calling his supervisors until I got high enough up the chain to find a woman supervisor and explain to her the sex discrimination of her underling. That’s if I hadn’t found a sympathetic male boss first.
    I don’t put up with that crap.
    Next time he comes over, you better make sure you’re barefoot and in the kitchen. Maybe stuff a pillow under your shirt for the full effect.


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