Sunday, November 27, 2011

My Home Depot Nightmare...

     We moved into our new home in Blackfoot the first week of May, 2001. Prior to moving, I had contacted my current Allstate agent to inquire about home insurance rates, and to get an estimate. I was told that to qualify for their “Deluxe Policy” the home would need at least 1 smoke detector on each floor, 1 fire extinguisher on the premises, and each exterior door would need to be protected by a deadbolt lock. The home currently had the smoke detectors, and we were bringing an extinguisher with us, but as I had toured the home, I noticed only the front and rear home doors had deadbolts. The doors into the garage from outside and from the kitchen would each need to have one installed. I did have a small grace period of 30 days to get the deadbolts installed and witnessed by the agent before I would be moved to a more expensive policy, so it was my first home project I planned to undertake.

     I will add a humorous side story here: A day or two later, Dad and I happened to be discussing the property and the needed improvements. I made the mistake of mentioning that I needed to install a couple of new deadbolts to receive Allstate’s Deluxe Policy. As any supportive parent would do, dad then informed me that my agent didn’t know what he was talking about, and that I should find another. He stated that Allstate was his current insurance provider and that he had a Deluxe Policy himself and his home did not have a single deadbolt on any door. We argued for a couple of minutes, and as I left I told him I would be installing the deadbolts because I was told to. Plus, it wasn’t a bad item to have installed for security purposes.

     As luck would have it, I stopped by my parents’ house a week later to discover dad installing deadbolts on all of his doors. It seems that he had called up his Allstate agent to ask why I was being told false information about needing deadbolts. He then made the mistake of repeating how he’d never had deadbolts, but was covered by the Deluxe Policy. It turns out that somehow he must have slipped through the cracks when his policy was created, because his home was required to have deadbolt to receive the Deluxe Policy. He was then told that if he didn’t install his own deadbolts a.s.a.p., he would be moved to a different home insurance policy which would require a significant increase in his yearly premiums. I instantly became “public enemy number one”. He was mad that I had ever mentioned the stupid deadbolts. I made my escape as quick as I could before he could strangle the life out of me.

     Anyway, back to the story: We moved into our new home in May. The front and rear doors had deadbolts, the rest did not. When we took occupancy of the house we received a small key ring from the previous owner that contained 2 keys, 1 for the front door handle, and 1 for the rear door handle. There were no keys for any of the deadbolts or the interior or exterior garage doors. Somehow I failed to believe the other family had lived in the home for 22+ years and was able to get by with only two keys. Maybe they kept a couple key for themselves and were thinking that if they had forgotten anything they could swing by at a later date to retrieve it. Or maybe if they disagreed with how we were treating the place they would be able to stop by one night and strangle us all in our sleep. I decided not to press the issue as I planned on replacing every lock on the entire house and having them all keyed the same.

     I wasn’t in a big hurry since I had 30 days to do the deadbolt installation, and I had plenty unpacking and organizing to do. Plus, I could not yet locate 90% of my tools. I managed to put off the project for about 3 weeks. Unfortunately our Allstate agent decided to stop by early to formally present our policy and noticed the missing deadbolts immediately. He gave me two days to comply or face the consequences. (Looking back, consequences don’t sound that bad now!) I decided it was finally time to change all the locks. Of course I had been too busy (lazy) to get copies of the original house keys made yet. (Why waste money on new keys when you’re just going to throw them away?) Becky and I were splitting the two single keys. She would come in through the front door and I would enter in the back.


     The next day, I drove 30 miles to Home Depot in Idaho Falls because there was not a hardware store in Blackfoot to support my project. (Here I will begin to show some of that quality I have that Becky is so fond of. I would describe it as being “picky” or “finicky” while Becky has adopted the term “anal retentive” as her phrase of choice.) I literally stood in the lock aisle at Home Depot for 3 hours trying to decide how I wanted to “set up” my locks. I had several ideas; I just had to find a way to make one of them work. I ran through too many choices to list. The front and back doors had glass panels, requiring double sided keyed deadbolts. The garage doors were solid core and needed regular single sided keyed deadbolts. And all of the doors needed new handles and everything had to be keyed the same. (See my dilemma?) I finally figured out exactly what I needed for my project and not seeing the necessary parts on the shelves, I flagged down the nearest store associate. I told him what I needed and he said it would be no problem, he could order it for me and it would arrive in a timely 2 to 3 weeks. This was going to be a big problem since I was still on the 2 day timetable. I gave him an exasperated sigh, which now that I think about it was actually heavy sobbing on his shoulder.


     Anxious to get this big crying man away from him as soon as possible, he suggested I could buy all the locks I needed as singles, instead of matched sets and he could re-key all of them to fit the same key and he would do it all free of charge. I believe at this point my tears suddenly dried up. I grabbed his face, pulled it close and began to give him the old-world Italian kisses on each cheek. I quickly rounded up everything I needed and proceeded to the customer service counter where I found the helpful associate who seemed glad to be separated from me by the store counter. He quickly went to work keying all of my locks alike. I had purchased 2 Lever handles, 2 Double sided deadbolts, and 2 single sided deadbolts. When he finished, I drove directly home and began to install my new locks. I had most of them installed when I realized I had a problem. The lever handle I had purchased for the rear French door was a left hand lever when it should have been a right hand lever.

     I need to pause briefly and do a little explaining before I can continue with the story. When I purchased the locks, I found 2 double sided deadbolts at Home Depot that were keyed the same straight from the factory. Each of these locks had 2 new keys in them. The other 4 locks I purchased needed to be re-keyed to fit these 4 new keys from the deadbolts. When I was done, all the keys from the other 4 locks were now no good and were thrown away. Since I was returning one of the levers I had purchased, which had been re-keyed, I included 1 set of my new keys in the package so that the next purchaser would be able to open the lock. This left me with 2 keys left to open all 6 of my locks. Since I had to head back to Home Depot, I removed both of the regular door handles off the exterior and interior garage doors to take with me. They were the same brand as all of the new locks I was purchasing so I figured I would kill two birds with one stone and have them re-keyed while I was there, effectively making every lock on my house use the same key.

     I made my second trip to Home Depot for the day, this time taking along Becky and the kids. I stopped by the service counter and explained to the “lock technician” exactly what I needed. I left the new lever I had grabbed along with the 2 handles from my garage doors. I pulled my last set of new keys still on the factory key ring and left them on the counter for him to use to re-key the locks. The family and I then spent an hour or so shopping for miscellaneous items. It was about 10:00 p.m. when we finally picked up the completed locks, and as an afterthought, I had the associate make me 4 more spare keys. We then headed for Blackfoot.

     As we arrived at home, we gathered all our bags and made our way to the front porch. I fished the keys out of my pocket, and put 1 of them in the new lever handle I had installed and turned it (or should I say tried to turn it?). And…nothing. It wouldn’t turn. I stood there in the dark trying to get it to work. I had checked all my new locks as I installed them, and they were all working perfectly. I abandoned Becky and the kids on the porch and ran around to the rear house door. I put the key in this lock and…nothing. It wouldn’t budge either. I spent a couple of minutes fiddling with it, but could not get it to work. What made the whole situation worse was that while standing there trying to get the rear lock to work, I could see through the house to the front door where Becky and the kids were standing. They were all looking at me through the glass, and giving me the “Wow! You’re A Winner. You Can’t Even Install A #&$% Deadbolt” look. As I sat there trying to rationalize what had happened, (and cursing repeatedly), I figured out the explanation: The “Lock Technician Idiot” had somehow gotten my set of keys mixed up with the new set contained in the lever lock I had purchased, and had keyed all of the locks to the wrong set of keys. He had then thrown my set of keys away and placed the incorrect set in with my 3 locks. And, don’t forget he had made me 4 more key copies, but had used the wrong master keys so they were now worthless.

     So to sum it up briefly: It is 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday night. Becky and I and our two kids are standing on the front steps of our new home with no way to get inside. The keys to my brand new deadbolts, which are installed on the front and rear doors of the home, are in a garbage can at Home Depot 30 miles away. As I pondered my situation, I realized I had removed the garage doorknob to take with me to Home Depot to get re-keyed. So if I could only get into the garage, I would have access to the house. Unfortunately, if you remember, the original owners did not include a key to the rear garage door with the set they had given me. I ended up doing the only thing I could; I kicked in the rear door to my garage so I could let Becky and the kids into the house. Becky made a quick call to Home Depot and found out that they were open until midnight on Thursdays. I quickly removed one of my new lever handles to take with me back to Home Depot to hopefully help me locate my original set of keys. I then proceeded to set a new land speed record in a ’95 Ford pickup as I raced back to Idaho Falls to get to Home Depot before they closed.

     I arrived at the store at 11:40 p.m., only to find the store signs and parking lot lights off and the main entrance doors locked. I walked up to the semi-dark windows and proceeded to pound and kick at the automatic doors, while ignorant employees wandered by inside while trying to avoid my murderous glare. With the two veins in my forehead bulging out to the point of near blindness, I managed to pull my receipt out of my old bag and read their phone number. I quickly dialed the store on my cell phone and surprisingly after sixty-three rings, a real-life human being answered. I calmly asked what time they closed and when the poor lady said “midnight”, I let her have it. “Why in the Hell are your lights off and the doors locked if you don’t close for twenty more minutes?” I screamed. It took her a couple of seconds to stop crying and gain her composure enough to tell me that the doors down at the lumber entrance were open for late night customers. I hung up on her in mid sentence and ran down to the lumber entrance.

     Once inside the store, I went directly to the customer service counter. I wanted to stop and grab a 2x4 with which to beat the lock technician over the head, but I resisted the urge. Still wheezing from the 2 mile run across the parking lot, I tried to explain to the lady behind the counter that I need a lock tech to the front of the store, and I needed him “Now”. It didn’t appear that I had caught her at a very good time, since she was blowing her nose and wiping tears from her eyes. Someone must have really given her heck on the phone…Whoops!

     I will sidetrack for a quick second here and remind you of a movie released many years ago called “Dumb & Dumber”. I won’t ruin the movie for you in case you haven’t seen it, but to put it blunt – two guys, dumber that posts, not one ounce of intelligence between them. Now keep that pictured in your mind as these two new characters come into play. For simplicities sake, I will call them “Jim” & “Jeff”. I continue the story.

     After what seemed like an eternity, the lock guy “Jim” showed up. I explained my problem to him as quickly as I could, knowing that midnight was fast approaching. I was rather proud of myself as I had told it the whole story on only one breath. As I finished my tale and sucked in a big breath of air, I looked into Jim’s eyes and realized I was in trouble. He was still smiling at me with the Home Depot grin, and hadn’t made any move to start resolving my problem. We stayed like this – kind of in limbo – staring at each other, neither person saying anything for about two whole minutes. Finally he spoke, asking me to repeat the whole story again, but to go slower so his pea brain could understand it. After my second attempt at conveying the situation to him, he appeared to have caught on. He pulled out the lock re-keying kit and quickly broke all three of my locks apart: the new lever and the two doorknobs that had been done wrong. As he tried to contain the now 1.6 million loose parts rolling around on his counter, he asked for my keys so he could go to work re-keying the locks. I referred back to the story I had now told him twice about my keys being in Home Depot’s garbage can. He asked why I had put them in the garbage can. My reply was something in regards to a minimum wage loser at Home Depot (Whoops!) ruining my life.

     It took me a couple of minutes to convince him to start dumpster diving. Unfortunately, instead of digging through a regular garbage can with some refuse and a couple of keys in it, he pulled from under the counted a gigantic rubber container, filled with keys. Apparently they do so much key work at Home Depot that they collect all of their keys in a large bin and when it is full, it gets recycled. So not only are we digging through today’s’ scrap keys, we’re digging through keys from 3 months ago also. As he dumped the container out on the counter it gave me a vision of someone in Las Vegas winning the one million dollar lottery on the penny machine. There were keys everywhere. They were on the counter, and they were spilling onto the floor and pooling up around our ankles. There were so many keys they seemed to be multiplying on the floor. We quickly attacked the pile and began checking keys. We checked keys. We double checked keys. I checked the keys he had checked. He checked the keys I had checked. And we found … Nothing!

     Suddenly another associate “Jeff” showed up to see if he could lend some assistance to help get on my way out the door so the could close up for the night. I quickly related my story for the third time to explain what we were doing and why. Jeff gave me the “so much for getting off at midnight and going home to my family, who have been waiting patiently all day, so that we can celebrate my crippled, wheelchair bound son’s birthday” look. Not at all in the mood, I gave him the “these locks will be done before you leave tonight Jeff or you’ll be celebrating your next birthday in a wheelchair” look. We reached a silent agreement and all three of us went back to checking keys.

     It was rigorous for several minutes. Our method was to grab a key, try the key in my lock, and throw that key away. Grab another key, try the key in my lock, and throw that key away. Grab a…Hey! Half a pretzel … still warm … little bit tough … needs more salt … lick off fingers …grab another key. Suddenly I had an idea. When I had purchased the double sided deadbolts, I had used the code on the box to buy two sets that were keyed the same from the factory. There were a total of four locks at that time that had the same code on them. This meant that down the lock aisle there were possibly still two packages that would have keys to fit my locks. I brought this up to Jim who quickly shot down my idea. He said that even though the codes are the same on the boxes, the locks are actually keyed differently. What? I did a double take. I slowly explained that when I bought the packages of deadbolts, I had matched up the codes on the boxes so they would have the same key. He told me again that wasn’t the way it worked and to stand aside and leave the work to him because he was the “lock expert”. It occurred to me to jump over the counter and beat the brains out of these two idiots when I realized that wasn’t physically possible. The brains in question did not exist. I abandoned these two “redneck twin brothers from different mothers” and headed down the lock aisle where I immediately found what I was looking for, a package with the identical number as my original lock package. I took the box and ran back up the aisle headed for the service desk. As I ran, I tore open the packaging while scared home Depot employees scattered to get out of my way. I pitied anyone who would be dumb enough to think I was a shoplifter and try to stop me. In fact I heard one of the employees tell a co-worker, “That was the guy I was telling you about, the one that stood in the lock aisle this afternoon for 3 hours talking to himself”.

     I reached the service desk with the liberated set of keys in hand, tore my lever lock out of Jim’s hands and proceeded to show both Jeff and Jim that this set of keys opened my lock perfectly. They raised their arms expecting me to give them high-fives across the service counter, but I shut that down quick. “Time’s a wastin’, back to work inbreds”. They exchanged nervous glances and began to sway back and forth from foot to foot. I knew what was coming. They suggested that since it was after midnight, and now that we had found keys that would work, I should go home and return tomorrow to have the locks re-keyed correctly. I stood there for a second and thought carefully how I wanted to play this next part. I rolled my eyes back into my skull and gave them my best jack Nicholson impression: a little bit of the “Shining”, and a little bit of “One flew over the cuckoos nest”.

     “No … No …No …. No … No! What you’re going to do is rekey my locks, Right Now! I don’t care if it takes you an hour. I have been in this store for 6 hours today, I live in Blackfoot and once I go home I am Not coming back tomorrow.”

     I believe I had adequately explained my case, so I waited for their rebuttal. None came. The twins got my locks re-keyed in record time along with making me six copies of the correct keys. I left Home Depot at 12:45 a.m. I returned to Blackfoot where I spent the rest of the morning finishing the installation of all the new locks and handles. I finally went to bed at 5:15 a.m. only to arise at 9:00 a.m. to take photos of all the newly installed locks. I drove down to Pocatello and presented the pictures to my Allstate agent who promptly confirmed my home as meeting the requirements to be issued a Deluxe Home Policy.


     As I finally crawled into bed later that night, exhausted from the efforts, I thought how glad I was to have that nightmare over with. Never Again. As I slowly started to drift off to sleep, I looked up at the ceiling and thought “I really should put a ceiling fan in this room…”

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

They call me Water Boy




I have a special relationship with water. It hates me and I feel about the same for it. I feel I must give some background prior to beginning the story.

Early on in my married life, Becky and I ended up at an apartment complex in Pocatello where I had the unfortunate experience of managing the property. I inherited the position from a cousin who will remain nameless, but I think that it was written into his contract that the only way he could ever be allowed to leave was if he found a suitable replacement. A lot of focus was spent explaining the perks of the job such as free rent, while other aspects were cleverly omitted. It was funny that items such as never ending pipe leaks, flooding basements, extremely cranky tenants etc. was never mentioned.

Later in life, as I was discovering exactly what I had been saddled with, this unnamed cousin and myself crossed paths. We started talking and suddenly his eyes glazed over and he began telling me a flood story from his past. It was an incredible tale of an ordinary man battling nature and in the end man coming out victorious. I asked him in which year this tremendous battle had taken place, and he responded 1992.

"So" I said, "That was the famous water battle of 1992?"

He looked at me rather sheepishly and said "Well, not exactly. That was only one
of the water battles of '92."

"What do mean that was only one of the water battles of 1992?", I replied. "You mean you had more than that one experience with water?"

He hesitated and then said, "Actually there were dozens and dozens of stories I could tell you, but I don't want to scare you."

Too Late, I was scared. We quickly said our "goodbyes", and I raced home to retrieve my employment contract. There at the bottom in microscopic words was the following phrase: "This contract will be valid until such time as a suitable replacement manager has been found and is willing to assume sole responsibility for the property by entering into a binding agreement by signing this contract".

My heart sank, as I realized what I now had to do. I needed to find some poor unfortunate soul to take this burden off of my shoulders, and assume the managers' position. It shouldn't be too hard I thought, after all you do get free rent...

Eventually, I did find some desperate college student who was willing to step up and assume the responsibility and all the glory that came with it, but in the end, I have been scarred for life. It has been over 11 years since I managed the apartment complex, but it still affects me. To this day, I can be dead asleep in the middle of the night, and one single drip from any location in our house will bring me running and screaming from the bedroom prepared to do battle with that horrible blue monster.

And now, onto the story...

We purchased our first home in 2001 and were glad to have a place to call our own. I soon discovered that the front faucet on the exterior of the house was non-functional. After some internal torment, I mentally prepared myself to once again go to battle against my old nemesis. I purchased the parts needed to replace the faucet, and descended to the basement to shut off water to the house...where I discovered the whole house shut off valve stuck in the open position. I retrieved a pair of channel lock pliers from the tool box and began working the valve back and forth to try to free it up. After spending several minutes working at it, I had a sudden vision of myself breaking the valve and flooding the basement.

I decided that before I spent any more time on the stuck valve, I would shut off the main water service to the house at the valve in the yard, just in case. I grabbed the water wrench from the garage and located the valve in the yard. I stuck the wrench down the pipe and gave it a quick turn...only to discover that a 30 foot pine tree's roots growing in close proximity to the valve had caused the vertical pipe to be pulled up off of the valve, and my wrench was contacting nothing but dirt.

As I stood there crying, er... I mean weighing my options, I came to the conclusion that I had lost this battle. I had quickly discovered that I had no way whatsoever to shut off water to my house.

In the end, I had to cut down the pine tree, and dig up the stump. Then, because I was too cheap to rent a backhoe, I decided to dig the water line valve up by hand. I mean really, how deep is a water line anyway?

SIX FREAKING FEET, that's how deep. And I know because I was too much of a tightwad to spend money on a backhoe, and dug the stupid thing up by hand. In the end I'm sure it was worth it, after all it only took about two weeks for the blisters and the pain in my back to go away.

With the hole completed, I was able to reset the vertical pipe on top of the shutoff valve in the yard. When it was done, I decided to go ahead and fill in the hole by hand. I mean it's already dug and it's not worth the effort or the cost to rent a backhoe just to fill in a little hole, right?

A SIX FREAKING FOOT DEEP HOLE. Let me tell you, your back doesn't feel any better after filling in a 6 foot deep hole than it does digging one. Another couple of weeks of recovery, and I was finally able to shut off the water in the yard which allowed me to replace the water shutoff valve in the basement. This allowed me to finally be able to replace the front faucet.

So let's do a quick recap. To replace a defective faucet on the front of my home, I had to cut down a 30 foot tall pine tree, so I could dig a 6 foot deep access hole in my yard. This allowed to me to fix the non-working yard shutoff which enabled me to replace the stuck house valve, so I had a way to shut off the water in my home, so I could replace a defective faucet on the front of my house. Who'd have figured?

Welcome to "Life According To Dallas".

Sunday, April 10, 2011

In The Beginning...

In The Beginning... there was Murphy's Law. And it was good because Murphy was only writing about it. Fast forward into the future and along comes a poor fellow named Dallas. He is familiar with Murphy's Law, not because he has a knowledge of the written word, but he has a personal experience with it. He lives Murphy's Law daily.

I had every intention of writing an elaborate story to catch you by the seat of your pants and take you into a realm of unbelievable experiences. Of course that was before I tried to set up this blog. Until today I had not considered myself as 'technilogically challenged'. Now I have learned the truth. I now wonder if I could supplement my 3 year olds' allowance enough so that he would resolve all of these technical issues for me. I turn quickly from my computer and I can glimpse 'the look' on his face. You know what I am referring to. The look of pity for the adult who sits in front of the computer screen, but in a child's words, "just doesn't get it". Walk away from your computer for just one moment, and you'll see what I mean. That innocent child has climbed to the seat of your computer chair, and in a few quick keystrokes has rendered your computer inoperable, necessitating a full system reboot. You think he has punched some combination of keys that has frozen up the internal workings of your computer tower, but in the back of your mind you harbor the lingering doubts that maybe it was all on purpose. Your child's feeble attempt to save his daddy from the embarrasment of realizing that he is technologically challenged. Too late, I have discovered the truth and I hang my head in shame as I hit the submit button, and dream back to the good old days with my Commodore 64.