Get a load of THIS

The week before we closed on our new condo, I dutifully started gas and electric service in my name. That was in January, and just last week we realized we'd never gotten a bill from the gas company or the electric company. "We should call them to see when we're getting our bill," we said. Then instead we ordered a pizza, two hookers and Karl Rove's head in a bowling-ball bag. Typical Tuesday night for us.

Then yesterday, I noticed there wasn't much hot water in my shower. But I was racing to get to work so I didn't think much of it … until the boyfriend noticed last night that the dryer wasn't producing any heat. So I tested the stove, and—sure enough—our gas had been turned off.

I called first thing this morning to get it fixed, and I learned that the gas company (comically named People's Gas) decided way back in January they'd need to see THREE forms of ID from me before they'd actually start service in my name. Even though they'd already told me they would do it on a phone call and a promise not to make fun of their own name. Apparently they made one attempt to request those documents from me, but I don't remember getting it. So though they had my email address, two phone numbers and my mailing address, they decided that instead of trying to contact me a second time about their weird little ID request that it was easier just to shut off my gas and make everyone have to go through all the trouble of starting over.

Goddamn gas fuckers.

What's more, the gas woman on the phone this morning told me I had to immediately fax all that ID to a certain number and then call a different number so they could schedule a time to come out and get it back on. Which I raced around and did—even though I had to be kind of creative with the IDs I had because Coppy McGoatfucker took my driver's license a few weeks ago and I won't get it back until Memorial Day.

BUT THEN! When I tried to call the follow-up number, it kept hanging up on me. Ditto with the regular customer-service number. After about 20 tries, I called the gas company's emergency number, where I found out that the turn-back-on department is closed on weekends. So the goddamn gas fuckers shut off my gas on a Friday knowing they wouldn't be turning it on until at least Monday because, apparently, they wanted to teach me a lesson about not wondering if my utilities want more ID after they tell me they'll start my service.

I'm trying to have a sense of humor about all this. Seriously. But right now I'm feeling no moral twinge when I entertain fantasies of holding a clumsy bomb-making seminar in the People's Gas corporate office.

On the other hand, though, I learned that the boyfriend thought we had a gas dishwasher. Which is pretty cute in a my-boyfriend-thought-we-had-a-gas-dishwasher kind of way.

And our electricity is safe. I called to double-check that we wouldn't be losing access to Internet porn cold milk AND hot showers, and the electric company assured me that they had all the ID they needed and my first bill should be arriving in the next week.

And if I don't get my gas turned on within MINUTES of the beginning of the workweek, I will DEFINITELY be causing every kind of grief I can dream up for the goddamn gas fuckers at People's Gas. IN CAPS.

UPDATE: The boyfriend seemed a little horrified that I'd announced to the world he thought we had a gas dishwasher. In fact, he simply didn't realize that the dishwasher produced its own heat instead of relying on gas-heated water from the water heater. Nofo regrets the error.