The Talkin’ Power Ass. Blues Part IV: Revenge of the Ass.! (A Horribly and Perplexingly True Tale)

One year ago, the Tombigbee Electric Power Ass. managed to lose my account with them for two months, arguing with me that I didn’t exist when I attempted to pay them the money I owed them, and continued to supply me with power throughout the whole affair. With this anniversary knowledge at my side I should have been worried as I went in to pay my bill this month, especially considering that I had once again neglected to bring my actual bill with me when I went to pay it.  As it was, though, I didn’t even think about it.

I went up to the nice lady behind the Power Ass. counter—located in the scenic, circa 1963 décor-strewn lobby of the equally impressive teal-painted-angular-metal-encrusted Tombigbee Electric Power Ass. building—and explained that I needed to pay my bill, though I had not brought the actual bill with me.  She asked my name and I gave it to her, followed by the cursory spelling of my last name.  I readied my pen to write out the check as the nice lady called up my bill on her computer.  She stared at the screen for a few moments longer than I was expecting, causing my heart to pause with her.  Then she smiled and began writing a receipt.

“That’ll be $36.69,” she said.

Ah, good.  My account still seems to be there, I thought.

“Your account still seems to be here,” the woman added with a mischievous grin.

My hand stopped writing the check.

“Uh, do whuuut?” I asked.

“Your account.  It’s still here,” she replied.

Oh, I thought.  She must be the Power Ass. Counter Lady who waited on me this time last year.  What a coincidence!

“I thought I recognized your name from the letter,” she added.

“Letter?  What letter?” I said.  For though I had threatened to mail the Power Ass. a copy of my original Power Ass. story in the return envelope they recently sent me, I did not actually get around to doing so.

“The story on the internet about you losing your account.  I recognized your name from it.”

I felt the blood rush from my face.  “You… read that?”

“Oh sure.  Mr. Hawkins found it and printed it for the office staff. “

In that moment, I proceeded to move through several stages of fear, amazement and honor all at the same time.  There didn’t seem to be a proper way for me to respond to this woman’s statement.  I felt like a little kid who’d been cornered by his parents for drawing on the walls with crayons: scared of punishment yet rather proud of the work itself.  For, while the first two Power Ass. stories were fairly kind to the Power Ass. employees, the third one called them a bunch of morons for getting the date wrong twice on a form they sent me.  Sure, that name-calling was more humorous intent than any actual belief on my part that they are morons, but interpretation is an inexact science—especially for morons.  (Only kidding!  Bygones.)  And I still didn’t know exactly which story the nice lady had read.  She had mentioned a letter, though, so maybe she had read the moron story.  But then again she had also made the remark that my account was still there, so she had probably read the first story as well.  Who knew?

Instead of attempting any kind of formal response, I laughed nervously and quickly finished writing out my check.  As I was about to leave the nice woman said, “Remember, I’m the one who told you your account’s still here, so don’t go writing any stories about me.”

I smiled what I’m sure was a perplexed smile and made a break for the car.  I quickly drove home, fired up the computer and penned this missive.  And if the nice lady is reading this right now…  Bygones.

Copyright © 1999 Eric Fritzius

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