Off My Game…

I’m tired… and I really don’t understand why.

Yes, I had a last minute change of plans thrown at me. I had discussed months ago doing a class for the Fond du Lac apartment association, but I remember it as just that.. a discussion. I had just posted on my blog my radio show topics and headed out to a showing. While waiting for the person to show up, my Blackberry Tour was blinking red, meaning I received an email. In checking, it was someone from Fond du Lac confirming that I was coming and letting me know how many RSVP’s they already had.


OOOOOOO-Kay. So, change of plans, change the blog post and go home and get the computer, projector and make sure that I have enough hand-outs (I didn’t).

I got back around midnight, went to bed about my normal time.. got up around my normal time.. but have just simply been in a haze. I didn’t come straight to the office as I had a few errands to run and a few property things to check on. Also, the Kia was on vapors so stopped at the gas station. That is where my mind really started to wander.

At the pump next to mine was a girl gassing up her car, and her son (looked 5 or 6) was “helping” her. I thought this was kind of cool. It seams like most of us know how to put gas in a car, but there was a time that we didn’t. Even those of us that are good at gassing cars have our moments.

In high school, I had a 1973 Chevy Vega. Stratford still had one gas station that was full service. One of the few friends I had in high school, Carmen, worked there. Here is a girl that (at the time) basically pumped gas for a living. I pull in and I see her just walking around the back of the car… finally about a minute later she walks up to my window and asks, almost ashamed… “Fisch, where do you put the gas in?” – The gas fill was behind the spring-loaded rear license plate.

Even I have had these moments. A few years ago when I picked up my Corvette from a dealership in Illinois, my first refueling became a bit of an adventure. My dad and I drove down there to get it, I was driving the Vette back and he was following. We stopped at a gas station to fuel up. It was easy to find where the gas went in, the problem was getting it open. We could not get the cover open. The Kia has a similar cover as does my mom’s Ford Contour. In both cases, there is a little lever down by the seat to pop open the fuel door…

We pulled every lever we could find.. we moved the seat front and back.. we popped the hood, we popped the truck. I was tempted to get a screwdriver. While sitting at the gas pump, I found the owners manual in the glove compartment and after another minute or two of going through it.. there was in the information I needed. The magic fuel door release button was in, of all places, the center console. I opened up the center console and there was the little button and I push it.. and POP.

I make my way to the office and I start catching up on work that didn’t get done because of my last minute prep work needed before heading to Fond du Lac to give my class. Finish balancing one of the checking accounts… prepare a lease that someone is coming in at 9 AM this morning to sign (by the way, it is now 10 and they are still not here), and finish entering bills from yesterday.

As I finish with some of the bills, I remember that the WDH Editorial Board is having a meeting some time today. I have not sync’ed the Blackberry with the computer in a while, so I thought it would be a good idea to check what time that meeting was. That meeting started at 9:00 AM, I discover this around 9:30.

Well CRAP. Sorry about that.

To be honest.. I have been “off my game” for a couple of weeks now, and I am not sure why. Somehow, I “zoned” a class in Fond du Lac, and this morning I “zoned” another important meeting. I seriously need to snap out of this soon.


About drrent

Wausau, Wisconsin Landlord, past president of the Wisconsin Apartment Association, Host of the Dr Rent Radio Show on WNRB-LP, 93.3 FM, Wausau, WI
This entry was posted in Blackberry, Corvette, WDH Editorial Board and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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