I Just Want To Heat Up A Frozen Pizza, For Pete's Sake

Our oven broke a while back and after several weeks of being ovenless our property management company (who I normally refer to as our 'slumlords' but instead let's just call them ABC) finally replaced it...with one that doesn't work right either.

After a week of nagging, today they finally called and said they spoke with the appliance company they bought it from and it's still under their warranty so they will repair it. But the company doesn't do on site repairs so ABC will send someone over to pick it up and take it to them.

After I finished laughing hysterically and confirming that I had heard her correctly I said fine, whatever it takes. I was instructed to pay the moving company whatever fee they charge and then deduct the charges from our next rent check.

The movers show up, slightly confused as to exactly why they were here, so I showed them the oven and told them they are supposed to take it to the appliance repair place.

MR. MOVER: Uh, do you know how to disconnect it?

ME: (Incredulous) No I don't know how to disconnect it!

MR. MOVER: Well who hooked it up?

ME: The appliance store that ABC bought it from.

Mr. Mover and his assistant discussed the situation and felt like they could probably handle the task. He asked if I knew where the breaker box is. I pointed him in the right direction and told him that the breaker for the oven was marked on the box.

Once the power was off he pulled the oven out of the wall, examined the connection, and conferred with his assistant:

MR. MOVER: Oh I see...This shouldn't be too hard...Let's try this...Yeah, okay, I can do this. Excuse me, ma'am, do you have a piece of paper and a pen?

I handed him the paper and pen that he used to write down the instructions for how to reconnect the oven, I presume. I told him I wasn't feeling too good about this whole thing. He just smiled and said he'd never done this before.

He asked if ABC had left payment for him and I told him that we would take care of it and I would need a receipt. He said the charge is $50.

While Mr. Mover and his assistant loaded the oven into their truck I wrote out a check payable to the company name on the side of their truck. He came back inside and handed me the receipt. I handed him the check:

MR. MOVER: Oh we normally don't take checks.

Me: Excuse me?

MR. MOVER: Yeah, if you want to write me a check you have to make it out to (insert real name here) and add $7 cuz that's what the bank will charge me to cash it.

Me: Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME??!!!???

MR. MOVER: Uh, no ma'am. I'm sorry about that but you see I don't have a bank account and Chase will charge me $7 but if I go to Wells Fargo they want $8 and blah blah blah blah.

Me: (Eyes closed, nostrils flaring and firmly holding the palm of my hand up to his face to indicate that he should immediately stop speaking, breathing, and doing anything else that I might find even remotely annoying.)

I asked Jayson if he had $50 in cash on him and between the 2 of us we were able to pay Mr. Mover's fee in cash since he doesn't have a bank account which means he doesn't pay taxes so I'm pretty sure he's not licensed, bonded or insured and I just let him into my house and showed him how to unlatch the other side of our double front doors. Fabulous.

Later....

TAYLOR: Who were you yelling at earlier?

ME: I wasn't yelling. I was just speaking firmly to the guys who picked up the oven.

TAYLOR: They sounded scared. I think you scared them.

ME: At this point...I. Don't. Care.