The Talkin’ Power Ass. Blues (Yet another Horribly True Tale)

It’s a harrowing thing to find out that you don’t exist, but that’s exactly what happened to me today at the Tombigbee Electric Power Ass.

As their name would suggest, the Power Ass. is a company in charge of supplying electric power to my particular neck of Lee County, Mississippi.  They usually send out bills toward the end of the month and I usually wind up paying mine on the sixth of the following month, which is their cut-off day before they charge you a late fee. The month came and went, though, and I received no electric bill in the mail. This didn’t surprise me,  for I have long since begun to suspect that the Post Office is conveniently keeping various bits of my mail from me as part of some Orwellian plot. Usually this only amounts to missing CDs from my CD clubs. As of this month, though, both the cable and electric bills turned up missing so apparently Big Brother is upping the ante. Fortunately, the Power Ass. is located right across the road from the radio station where I work, so I popped on over to pay my bill.

The Power Ass. itself has a unique atmosphere and smell that can only be the product of 1963 architecture.  A giant teal-colored metal awning leads the way into a building filled with the kind of waiting-room furniture and Lloyd-Wright knock-off angular service-desks that were apparently the rage during the Kennedy and Johnson administrations.  The place also has an aroma of bygone times, that made me feel like I was stuck in an episode of Bewitched; probably a Dick York episode at that.

A jolly lady came to the customer service desk and I explained the situation to her, saying I forgave them for not sending me a bill but would still like to pay it all the same.  She asked my name. I told her what it was, which means I also have to spell it.  No biggie.  It’s standard routine for people with the surname of Fritzius.  She typed it in then got an odd look on her face and asked the spelling again, typed it in again, then her odd look reappeared and she asked my address.  A few seconds after typing that in, she developed an even odder expression.

“We don’t show any account under that name,” she said. “Could it be under another name?”

“No, it was under my name.”  After all it was my apartment, therefore it should be under my name. I was the guy who signed all the forms and paid the $70 deposit, after all.  “It’s apartment number three, if that helps,” I added.  It didn’t.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

At this point I realized that something must be truly and horribly awry since the lady  seemed as baffled by the whole thing as I was.

“And there are no other people it would be listed under?” she asked.

“Well, the owner’s name is Robert Willis. It might be under his name, I guess.”

She typed in that. “North Ione Street?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s his address, but that’s not where I live.”

“Well, do you know any of your neighbors names?”

Through some miracle I was able to recall the full names of three of my four neighbors. Yep, they were all in the computer under their respective apartment listings. However, according to her, my apartment was listed as vacant.

“Are you sure you haven’t recently changed addresses?” she asked.

I assured her that I would have noticed something like that.

“Well do you still have power?”

“I did before I left this morning.”

For a few moments she seemed to internally debate whether or not this was some sort of half-assed, late April Fools prank. My look of angry desperation must have convinced her otherwise. She wrote my name and address on a piece of blue paper and said she would go check it out with the Power Ass. Service Department. Then she disappeared down one of the back hallways, leaving me to admire the lovely decor.

I was now starting to get upset about the whole thing.  I had never done anything to create such a problem. I’ve always paid my bills on time, even over-paying on a couple of occasions because I’m incapable of writing a check while reading the correct amount box on the bill. Under no circumstances was this my fault. I do bloody well exist and have been doing so for quite some time.

After a few minutes the jolly lady came back with a grave look on her face. She explained that as far as anyone in the service department was concerned I didn’t exist and never had. But they were, at least, willing to entertain the concept of my existence and give me the benefit of the doubt.  They would send someone over to read my power meter and find out for sure.  If I actually existed, they’d bill me. If not, they’d probably just cut off my power.

“But are you gonna stick me with a late fee cause I didn’t pay by the sixth of the month?” I asked. The lady smiled and said that since I didn’t technically exist they couldn’t exactly charge me any fees at all. I was safe. At least until next month.

Twenty minutes later I was still having doubts as to the status of my existence. After work I beat tracks to Comcast Cable to try and pay that bill. According to their computer, I did exist.  I figure they’re probably right. They are the cable company, after all.
“Talkin’ Power Ass Blues Part II: Next Month”

Copyright © 1998 Eric Fritzius

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Get every new post delivered to your inbox

Join other followers

Powered By
Skip to toolbar