a lot some about my BIL and his children… “The Boys”. If you recall, a few days ago I was to attend a command performance of the older one turning the magical age of 16. I didn’t make it. (Oh. Darn.) I don’t know about your neck of the woods, but around here that only means one thing. Especially, but not exclusively, to boys. The Driver’s License.
Hubby called me awhile ago to inform me he saw this Boy-Driver on the road heading in the direction of Hubby’s shop. This can’t be a good thing. BIL has taken advantage of the shop since there has been a shop, and has continued on taking advantage even after FIL passed away and the shop became Hubby’s. It’s located at MIL’s house, but we pay all the utilities for the shop as well as her house as a form of rent on the building. Hubby has a hoist, as well as “more tools than God” and supplies up the ying-yang. (Technical term.) BIL thinks nothing of helping himself to whatever is there, without bothering to even offer to pay for the supplies he takes (not mentioning the water, electricity, etc.). This drives me up a wall.
That screw, nut, washer, can of oil, rag, papertowels, oil dry, carb cleaner, glass cleaner, car wash foam, you name it that you have used has been paid for by ME (the collective ME which means, Hubby and Myself). ME is the one who has to replace every. friggin’. thing. you. use. You think that is an insignificant bit of metal, that screw you just used or that lightbulb you just replaced or that fuse you just slipped into your vehicle. It may be to YOU, to ME it is M-O-N-E-Y.
Besides the use of equipment and parts and those things like water and electricity, you have no respect for the things you are using or the person to whom these things belong to. Do you ever ask if you can use the hoist? No, you just help yourself – or call and see if it’s going to be occupied without actually asking to use it.
Hubby tried to lock his toolbox once and BIL went to MIL and complained. Guess what? Yep, you guessed it. He changed the locks on the shop, too, but MIL had to have a key because she’s the owner. Not a week later, BIL had a key.
A big part of the frustration is BIL’s complete lack of attention to what his kids are doing when they come with (of course they come with! This is the greatest amusement park on the planet, doncha know? It’s THE FARM! Rides galore! Lots of things to rummage through and pilfer… did I say pilfer? Um…yes, yes I did, damnit.) Since they were little, BIL would bring them to the shop and look around and say, “oh, sure…go ahead and ride your bike all over the shop – don’t mind the $100,000 tractor sitting there… if you scratch it, I’m sure Uncle ___ won’t mind”
Once we had a new 4-wheeler sitting in the shop to demo. We hadn’t even decided if we were going to buy it yet (we use a 4-wheeler on the farm for spraying fencerows and various things – it’s a tool, not a toy). Hubby went to the shop after BIL and The Boys had been there and noticed tracks all over MIL’s yard. Goes into the shop and the 4-wheeler is exactly where he left it… but it had 20 miles on it! WTF!?!? Yes, the oldest boy had been riding it – with his father’s permission (BIL).
They wonder why we
hate strongly dislike them on some days.
So, back to today. Hubby sees The Boy heading toward the shop. He’s pretty sure MIL isn’t around, he’s on the way to our house for something, and BIL isn’t around either. Wonder what The Boy is up to? Does he now feel since he’s driving that he is going to go to the shop to wash and work on and steal things for his vehicle too? I mean, what’s to stop him… he doesn’t have a very good track record with our family (remember Em’s run-in with him?).
Hubby calls me back. He decided to follow and see what was going on. He met The Boy coming back at a high rate of speed, sliding and skidding all over the gravel road. Hubby figured out that MIL must have been there and figured out The Boy shouldn’t have been, so shoo-ed him off. Now, that’s interesting… Hubby said he looked really mad – didn’t even wave. Figures the way he’s driving he may not have that license for long.
I can hardly wait… (yeah, Evil Aunt Sue… that’s me…)