We set out for the cabin Saturday morning with high hopes that the power would be on. We had plans to stay all day, even after the sun set, to take out the inside wall and had even invited people to help. People! It was a great plan.
Pulling into the parking space (which is a term I use VERY loosely), we were relieved to see that the cabin hadn’t burned to the ground. Whew. Inside, we opened the dusty fusebox and flipped the big switch. Silence. Is it on? I flipped a few switches. Nope. I plugged in the old Pizza Hut-style light that the previous owner had left in the kitchen. Nada. Jen flipped the switch again in the hopes that we’d not thrown it far enough. Zippo.
Fast-forward 30 minutes, and I’m on the phone with PECO. Props for being open on a Saturday afternoon, but we learned that the power company came to visit (or so they say) but couldn’t find the so-called address. Oh, you mean 0 Trails Road, plot 47S or whatever you have in your system? Really? Please hold while I contain my shock. But you didn’t call? No, of course not. That would be logical. Personally, I think the electrical guy took one look at the off-road trail we call a road and packed it up. But he’s coming back on Monday (or so they say) and Jen is GOING TO BE THERE so they can’t weasel out of it this time.