I came home from work. And here were Nico, and her friends Chris & Deb in my living room. Chris & Deb used to own "Dragonfly" which was an adorable little art shop downtown. But business sucked, and lo. No more Dragonfly. Which makes me sad. Alas, they are awesome people.
Deb & Nico were looking at weird Tumblr sites and Chris was in my recliner with his head tilted back. Apparently the only way he could breathe. The sick happens to us all.
We all get to chatting and at some point, The Oven (mine is not so clean)
comes up. I have lived here for 3 years. And I have never been able to use that damned thing. Steph could tell stories of the sad time we tried to cook a turkey. Oh god, the humanity.
Anyrate, Chris gets up, and starts to smack it around. Asks some questions. And he goes, as serious as one can:
Chris: "What ya should do here is.. well, if you go down East Street and make a left onto South Street, at some point you'll see a sign that says Peace and Plenty. Go in there, and ask the guy with the cat about help with the oven."
That's the most sound advice I've gotten on it. See, people won't come to the house to check it out because it's a commercial oven in a residential house. Doesn't matter that we're all coded and have renters insurance and they have business insurance, they are just assholes about it.
I thank him. And consider it. Then I send Danni the following exchange.
Me: We have a weird errand to run tomorrow.
Danni: ....elaborate please.
Me: We're gonna see the man with a cat about the stove.
Danni: ...you want I should call in some muscle? I know a guy.
I tell Andrew. He goes into the reserves and shoves $400 into my hands and says "WHATEVER IS NECESSARY." Oh, lolz. It's never worked, have I mentioned that? Gas shuts off. Some regulator somewhere is rusted open, so I am told.
The following day is Danni-Synn Tuesday, so we lunch and go on this errand. We chat with Brian, the proprietor of the clearly used washer/dryer/oven/fridge store and he is pleasant. He has birds. Unfortunately, the guy with the cat (Paul) is out on an errand. So we feed and come back.
And there is Paul. And his cat, who is named Boots. He's a black and white creature of extreme affection towards Danni.
Paul has clearly had some head trauma in his life. He is missing part of his head. Danni thinks it's just his skull, but I'm not so sure it stops there. There's a large softball sized crater in his head that his very thin hair barely covers. He seems well enough. He chats to us about the oven. He scratches a few days worth of beard stubble and is not quite sure he can do anything with this oven of mine, but he'll certainly give it a looksie on Thursday.
That. My friends. Aside from a chef dude who fell off the face of the earth, is the closest I have had ANYONE say they could help me. The chef (named Alan) was like "Oh, this thingie is rusted open! Should be a snap to fix!" and we offered him cash rewards to do so, and then he moved to Baltimore and I haven't seen him since.
If Paul the Oven Dude with the Cat can't help. I don't know. My next step is a plumber. Kate the Wicked recommended it (along with a couple other peoples) and it make sense since they have to know how to deal with gas lines.
But, this story needed to be put down. Cause. Yeah.
Tomorrow, I assume I will wake up and hear from Paul. Who will be waiting at my house. To smack around my oven.
Cross some things, kiddies.
Further, if this pans out, I'm getting Chris & Deb a goddamned gift certificate to friggin Home Depot (they do contractor work too).