The Gas Guy Cometh

I recently had to wait for a guy from the gas company to come fix my heater.

They said he would be there between 7AM and 8PM. This is a diary of my day as I waited.

7AM: I’m not usually a morning person but I feel hopeful about this morning. Perhaps this earlier rise will inspire me to be more alert and productive. This could be the start of a new leaf, a leaf that I will both start and finish. I’ve lost track of this metaphor. Still so, so sleepy.

8AM: Woke myself up with a nice warm cup of earl grey tea and a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. “Tim, that cereal is for children” you might say. Well, you can go right to hell. It’s delicious. I enjoy cinnamon and toast so much that I want to make out with them. Or something. The caffeine and sugar haven’t quite kicked in, you guys. I’m going to go write something more substantial than this diary and clean my apartment.

9AM: I got nothing done. Well, that’s not true, I made some coffee as I decided that the tea wasn’t caffeinated enough.

10AM: Three hours have passed and no Gas Guy yet. I dare not leave the apartment in case he shows up. Instead I’ve been staring blankly at my sketch idea notes. Whatever “Huge Ledger” means, I’m not sure that it’s funny.

11AM: The cleaning has begun. Picked up stray clothes and swept the floor. Then, took the trash out. As I stood at the dumpster, a sudden wave of dread washed over me. What if the gas guy had come while I was outside? What if he knocked once and left immediately? Heart racing, I ran back up to my apartment. There was no evidence of a fleeting appearance by the gas guy. But the cat was staring at me through the window like she thought I was insane.

Noon: I’ve been staring out of the window for the past twenty minutes. I start at every van that passes. I become elated. Filled with expectant joy. The Gas Guy is finally here and this horrible waiting can cease. The world is awash with possibility. Then my heart plummets. It was simply some other van. I grow increasingly bitter each time. I question every choice that I have ever made, leading to this moment. I also wonder why there are so many vans driving down my street.

1PM: Seized by sudden inspiration, I have rearranged all of my furniture into an elaborate fort. It is stunning. Towering spires and strange, but oddly attractive, swirling, convex curved sides. It is soft in all of the right places. If Frank Gehry had worked primarily in chairs, pillows, and blankets, I imagine that his work would have looked much like this. My girlfriend, Rae, is complaining that it’s much harder to get around the apartment now. I have absolutely no idea when she came home.

2PM: I have, for the last hour, remained in my blanket-and-furniture castle, armed with a sword that I have constructed out of a coat hanger, a slotted spoon, construction paper, and copious duct tape. I regret not building the castle so that the refrigerator or the sink were within it. My thirst grows by the minute. It is agonizing. Rae has tried, several times, to bring me classes of water. But I will not take them. It may be a trick. She may be in league with the Gas Guy.

3PM: After immense introspection, and a great deal of consideration, I arrived at one important question about my life. Why have I never thought to check if the back of my closet leads to Narnia? Surely, if it does, Aslan could fix my heater. He’s such a smart lion. I left my castle to inspect, but all I found at the back of my closet was a wall. How has the Gas Guy done this to my Narnia portal? I resolved to return to my castle, where I have the advantage. However, I returned to find that Rae had dismantled it. She claims she needed a chair so that she could sit at her drafting table and get work done. But I know. I know that she is in league with the Gas Guy. I am now hiding under the bed, waiting, ready. The cat is down here too. She’s giving me that look again.

4PM: I begin to question the nature of time. Maybe I have not been waiting all day for the Gas Guy. Maybe it has only been an hour. Or ten minutes. Or a matter of seconds. Maybe it’s been ten thousand years. Maybe there is no gas guy. Maybe there’s no me, or no world. Perhaps we’re all just flights of fancy in the imagination of a giant. The Giant’s name is Carlos. He’s blonde and eating a bagel. Not a good bagel, like an onion bagel, but a bad bagel, like a blueberry bagel. Carlos has terrible taste in bagels. He’s getting an online degree from the University of Phoenix in computer programming. Carlos is taking charge of his life. Yes, I’ve got it all figured out.

5PM: Rae suggested that I do a puzzle to take my mind off of the existensial horror that is the Gas Guy. It’s a picture of a Brueghel painting. Dutch children, playing in the snow. Within minutes I became convinced that the happy Dutch children were actually laughing. They’re laughing at me. Taunting me. Well, you can go straight to hell, Dutch children! To teach them a valuable lesson, I ate the puzzle. It was… hard on the digestion. Surprisingly, though, not as hard as the Cinnamon Toast Crunch was this morning.

6PM: Rae just left the apartment again, shouting something about a “Stressful home environment.” I know that you’ve planned this all along, Gas Guy. You’ve attempted to turn everyone against me. To sabotage me. To drive me out of my mind with all of the horrible waiting. All so that I will be off my guard and unable to defeat you when you arrive. But, by God, I will stand fast. My mind is the one thing I am certain that I still have. And when you arrive, I will destroy you.

7PM: I woke up in a dog park with a schnauzer licking my face. I have no idea how I got there. I raced home to find a note on my door saying that the Gas Guy had come at 6:30 and nobody was home.

8PM: I went to Jack in the Box and softly wept into a shitty taco.

-Tim

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