My toilet wasn't filling well, so I bought a new fill valve. Then I pulled the old one out and put the new one in. It all went smoothly. I didn't break anything or hurt myself. That's it. Sorry, there's no entertaining story when everything goes right.

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I've been so down about the recent behavior of what currently passes as "government" in the country I was born into that I got the idea to cheer myself up by doing something good for my fellow man that I had never done before: I would donate blood.

Why hadn't I done it before now? Inconvenience, mostly. And some anxiety about the whole process. And, of course, in my town it's run by the American Red Cross, an organization I've had a bit of contempt for ever since 2001 when they had a hard time appropriately handling the flood of donations intended for Twin Towers victims. (And then Hurricane Katrina. And then Sandy. And so on.) But their being the only game in town, my choice was either to sign up to give blood there or feel bad about thinking about and then not giving blood. One of those options is clearly better than the other.

So I signed up online Sunday for the Monday evening blood drive, but when I showed up, they had no idea I was coming. Someone had penciled-in my name on their printed itinerary sheet, but the computer didn't recognize me or my driver's license. Eventually they had to type into their software everything that I had typed into their website the night before. You have to applaud that sort of organizational efficiency.

Then I had to wait. For an hour and a half. To be fair to them, I overheard someone say they were short of phlebotomists (only three), so I wasn't the only one who had to wait a bit; I was just the only one who had to wait so long. Donors scheduled for appointments an hour after mine went in before I did. The nice ladies at the front desk (who spent much of their time talking up the quesadillas they were offering to all donors), realizing I had been sitting in the waiting area so long asked if I would like them to inquire from the nurses within where I was in their waiting list. I asked if it would make any difference. When they said no, I said don't bother. I got through it by telling myself what a good, selfless thing I was doing. (Martyrdom has its privileges.)

When I did finally get in, the actual donation process itself took about three times as long as my paperwork had told me to expect. The phlebotomist had a hard time getting anything out of me. He said that maybe I wasn't hydrated enough (despite my drinking so much water in the past two days that I was peeing every two hours) and maybe the vein I had presented wasn't large enough (despite my having given him his choice). I don't mean to criticize the guy who was clearly having a long day; maybe it's just hard to get blood out of a stone.

Anyway, I did it. Blood donated. I hope it helps someone. (I half expect the Red Cross to find a reason to throw it out.) I'm not sure whether it made me feel any better, but at least I got a blog post out of it. I really don't know if I'll do it again. Even for quesadillas.

Also for what it's worth: there were three Walters scheduled for the day, all in the building at the same time. I go years without bumping into other Walters. I guess this whole time they've all been waiting in line to give blood.

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You might think that I'd select U2's hit "One" to be among my one word wonders, but that's not my favorite one-word titled U2 song. This is:

Lemon

(Full disclaimer: I'm not particularly a fan of U2. I blame that fact mostly on The Joshua Tree, which just could not be escaped in the late '80s. I'm wired in such a way that if something is really, really popular, I knee-jerk hate it. Sometimes I can eventually overcome that impulse, but with U2, especially after the string of uninterrupted market dominance running The Joshua Tree - Rattle and Hum - Achtung Baby - Zooropa - Pop, not so much. Even today, Bono still irritates me. I think the reason that "Lemon" is my personal favorite of their songs is mostly because of the word itself in the sense of "something that is unsatisfactory or defective." My jam is irony.)

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Lately, I've been thinking about writing another mystery novel. I haven't written one since pandemic 2020, largely because I couldn't get anyone to read that one.

I've spent a lot of time in my life pursuing hobbies without any expectation of an audience, but I'm not going to lie: it's been frustrating to discover how hard it is to get anyone, even "friends" to read anything I write. I mean, it's not like my books are bad, right? (If they are, who's going to tell me?)

It was one thing to write a book during the COVID-19 lockdown, but of all the things I could spend my time doing now, do I want to spend that time writing another story no one will read? Or would I get more satisfaction painting things that, at the very least, I could get a blog post out of?

Or will I waffle about what I want to do and end up doing nothing at all?

Hrm. I'll think I'll go play video games until I make up my mind.

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When I left the neighborhood this morning at 8 AM to take Dad for cataract surgery, there was a fleet of Georgia Power trucks restricting traffic at the entrance to my neighborhood. When I passed back by the neighborhood with Dad in the car 30 minutes later, they were still there. When we came back by 4 hours later, they were still there. I made a mental note to come home by way of the neighborhood's other entrance (which is technically an entrance to the adjacent development, but we share a connecting street on the back side).

But then, on the final leg of this trip, while thinking about where I was going to turn, I drove past the dental office about a mile up the street and got to thinking about how the young hygienist I recently saw at a different dentist's office talked so much that maybe hygienist schools teach students to always be agreeable to clients and prattle to distract them from the scraping and what a funny word "prattle" is and what its etymology might be and how rarely we use the word "prattle" except in the context of hygienists who talk too much and the They Might Be Giants song "Lucky Ball & Chain" except the word repeated in the chorus of that song is actually "rattling"... and then I turned into my regular neighborhood entrance where I usually do and saw the muddy tire tracks on the road and belatedly realized that I had intended to turn elsewhere.

The good news is that the Georgia Power trucks had already left.

The bad news is that I probably shouldn't be allowed to drive a car.

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For the first time in about three decades, I saw a new dentist today.

To be clear, I have seen a dentist at least twice a year for decades; it was just always the same dentist. I started seeing him when I was going to Emory University in the 1990s, and whether I lived in Atlanta, Athens, or Newnan, I still drove to Decatur to pay cash to have Dr. Joe Looper tell me I had new cavities.

Unfortunately (for me, not Joe), he decided to retire this year. Good for him. Even though he's a Tennessee Volunteers alumnus, I hope he enjoys all the time he's going to have on his hands supporting the Vols. I'm personally disappointed, obviously, but my only regret is that he didn't give me a little more notice. He retired barely three weeks before my next scheduled appointment. With all due respect to whoever bought Joe's practice, if I have break in a new dentist, it might as well be someone I don't have to drive two hours to visit.

So today I went to the practice that my father and aunt use, and it was fine. The young hygienist (who graduated during the pandemic from a local high school [that didn't exist when I was in high school] and sort of fell into training for her mother's line of work because she couldn't attend any colleges in person but enjoys being a hygienist, especially the flossing) was friendly and gentle (even during the flossing). And the young dentist, who has a dental degree from a non-SEC school, used a newfangled dental camera to review my aging radiolucent composite fillings before encouraging me to be more attentive to my coffee-stained molars. No cavities were found, and all things considered, the price seemed reasonable enough with their in-network insurance plan.

I have another appointment scheduled for October, but I won't get too attached. After all, I'm only going to have to find a new dentist in about 2055.

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A true story:

WALTER:
Give me a hug.

WALTER'S MOM:
(takes a step back)
Why?

End scene.

Working title: Unconditional Love Is a Myth.

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Look, I know I have in the past said that there's nothing much more to a plumber's job than a willingness to enter uncomfortable small spaces and get dirty, but I'll at least admit that the secret to their job is knowing enough to enter any uncomfortably small space only once.

I, on the other hand, seem to be incapable of working on pipes without breaking something in addition to what I was trying to fix. For example, the last time I repaired the rotted drain pipes under the kitchen sink (in November 2018), I ended up needing to cut the still-serviceable sink tailpiece to get it to fit with the new pieces. But I cut it a little too short; it ended up just long enough to barely hold a washer with no room to spare. We got away with that for a while, but gravity won out eventually. So this week, when I spotted a leak for the second time in a month, I went to Home Depot, bought a replacement, brought it home, cut it to an appropriate length, went to screw it tight... and promptly broke the sink strainer basket.

Ok, technically I didn't break the strainer. I just torqued it hard enough to dislodge the old plumbers putty that was sealing it in place. Without the seal, it leaked much worse than the problem I was fixing. Too bad I didn't have any fresh plumber's putty. So another trip to Home Depot was in order.

The one smart thing I did was clean the old putty out out of the sink before getting in my car, and while doing that, I discovered that the nut holding the old strainer in place was also stripped and the whole strainer would need to be replaced. (How could that have happened? See November 2018 again.) Whew. I would have hated to have discovered that only after I came back with fresh plumber's putty. I draw the line at going to Home Depot three times in a day.

Of course, clearing out the old plumber's putty made my hands dirty, so I did what the pandemic conditioned me to do and promptly washed my hands... in the sink that was now missing both a tailpipe and a strainer basket. D'oh. No professional plumber would have made that mistake, either.

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I received in the mail an envelope with an unexplained check from my bank. I hadn't been expecting a check, so I called the number on the stub to find out why I had received it. The lady who answered the phone, who I'll call Uma, seemed new at her job. She was polite and friendly but completely unable to identify why I had received the check. I should have called the policy department, she said, not the banking department. She kindly proposed to transfer me to the policy department.

However, I had a secondary reason for calling the bank, specifically that I could not use the bank's app to transfer funds into or out of my savings account. I was certain that this was definitely an issue for the banking department, but Uma couldn't identify the source of this problem, either. She proposed transferring me to the IT department for an investigation. Deciding that the mystery check was the bigger issue, I asked Uma to transfer me to the policy department, which she did after encouraging me to have the policy department connect me to IT after I was done there.

Pause for hold music.

The lady answering the phone in the policy department introduced herself — I'll call her Susan — and asked what she could do for me. But when I started to tell her, she warned me that my voice was much too hostile and I needed to calm down immediately. Now, I know I can be both loud and aggressive, but in this case I wasn't trying to be either; I was just curious about a mystery check. I tried to explain that I wasn't mad and if I sounded loud, maybe it was because I had been on a speaker phone during the hold music and now my mouth was too close to the speaker. Susan didn't sound satisfied with my explanation, but she also didn't waste any time tracking down the information that my check was a refund for overpayment of an insurance policy, which, she said, if I had read the letter that accompanied the check, I would have known. Except I didn't get a letter with my check, just a check. Susan blamed this on the banking department.

Mystery solved, I passed along Una's instructions that I should next be transferred to IT. "We don't have a plain IT department," Susan explained. Turns out the company has many different departments that deal with many different techologies, and Susan needed to know which one I wanted so that I didn't get "the runaround." I repeated my conversation with Uma for Susan's benefit, and she decided that I should talk to the website troubleshooting department. That sounded good enough to me. Away I went.

Pause for more of the same hold music.

The woman who answered in the website troubleshooting department, let's call her Alice, asked what my problem was, and I explained that I thought it might be a problem with my savings account not being configured for transfers. Alice must have been an experienced debugger, because she asked me to duplicate the problem on the app and tell her what the error message said exactly. So I did. "There has been a system error," it said. I relayed this information to Alice, and she said this message wasn't particularly helpful.

After poking around a bit more, Alice decided that there wasn't anything *technically* wrong with my account, certainly not my savings account, and that if anyone could solve the problem, it would be the banking department. Runaround averted. Transfer, please.

Pause for even more of the same hold music. It's not even a whole song, just a television jingle that repeats over and over and over. Amazing that Corporate America has found a way to make me miss Muzak.

A calm, deep male voice answered for the banking department, and I'll call this guy Albert. When I explained the problem to Albert, he immediately said, "oh, your savings account must be set as inactive in the system, let me fix that for you." And he did!

Three women to do the job of one man? Insert misogynistic joke of your choice here!

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Took my car to the mechanic, walked in the front door, said to the receptionist, "I'm Walter Stephens," and she said "I know who you are."

Which suggests that it's time I start thinking about getting a new car.

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