Those Georgia Power Guys …

My intentions were good; my wallet was just a bit lighter.

The weather was worst than crummy.  The skies were blackened, wind was whipping around, and the forecast warned to keep an eye open for possible violent storms.  That forecast was for Woodstock.

By the end of the day, the weather front had spared Woodstock and surrounding areas but moved toward the sacred ground of middle Georgia.  Sacred, of course, because middle Georgia is the location of The Cabin.  Milledgeville, the first capital of Georgia, and Eatonton, known only for its Uncle Remus Museum, are often in the path of serious weather fronts, and nobody really knows why.  But this was one of those days.

That day became night, and then news reports the next morning revealed that trees were down amid some damage in the Milledgeville area.  Most likely that included the Lake Sinclair area where power lines are above ground and serve as magnets for aging trees.  Then our lake neighbors called to say power was out.  For most people, I guess, that would not be good news.  For me, however, it was an opportunity to head to The Cabin.  Just to check on things, of course.  Even though the the lights were out, the a/c was out, the stove was out – all reasons to stay away.  Plus, you never know how long it will take those Georgia Power guys.

“Just go,” my WW said with a tinge of exasperation.  And that’s all it took.

Before leaving, I rationalized that the cabin’s refrigerators would need attention if the electricity was off an extended period of time – even though the upstairs refrigerator is left basically bare because of occasions like this.  But the risk for the refrigerator downstairs in the Man Cave was much greater.  That’s where the freezer guards the fish caught in Sinclair – fish caught by grandchildren who would be devastated to learn their fish had to be taken to the local trash dump.  “Of course,” my WW deadpanned.  “Just go.”

So, yes, I easily convinced myself that it was important for me to make the trip.  Sure it was.  But this would turn out to be a time I might should have stayed in Woodstock.  Or left my wallet there.

Some limbs and trees were down as I turned into the long gravel driveway that afternoon at The Cabin, but no serious damage was in sight.  The Cabin seemed a bit quieter with no electricity, a false impression; it’s always quiet on weekdays.  I also knew it would be pitch black dark in The Cabin and around the cove without lights at night.  And, you never know how long it will take those Georgia Power guys.

So, I was hunkering down and preparing for a long night.  While it was still daylight, I made sure candles and flashlights were handy and the outdoor gas grill was in place to heat coffee the next morning.  Media reports indicated power could be out for another 48 hours.

And then, at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the lights came on.  The refrigerators started to hum.  Ceiling fans started to spin.  I turned on the TV for an update.  Those Georgia Power guys had worked through the night and restored electricity to many areas, including some around Lake Sinclair.  In a way, they had spoiled my fun, but the day was not done, and the Georgia Power guys were not done with me.

I chose Longhorn Steakhouse in Milledgeville for dinner.  A lot of other people did, too.  So my only choice for seating was near the front, a booth where I could see others come through the front door.  Of all things, two Georgia Power workers came in.  They were dirty head-to-toe and obviously tired from a long day – and night – of work.  As they trudged past my booth on the way to their seats at the back of the restaurant, I had a feeling of guilt about my earlier notions about Georgia Power guys.  They actually had worked through the night so we could have our comforts sooner than expected.  Hats off to them.

And then it occurred to me:  the least I could do was pay for dinner for these guys.  After a few minutes, I motioned for the Longhorn manager to come over.  “The Georgia Power guys who came in earlier, would you arrange for me to get their bill . . . discretely, anonymously?” I asked.

“Of course,” the manager said.  “No problem.”

I finished dinner, paid my bill first, and then waited until the server brought the bill for the Georgia Power guys.  “Very nice of you to do this,” the server said. “Very nice.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I told the server. “Those guys worked hard for all of us.  Please tell them after I leave and also thank them for their hard work.”

Then I looked at the bill.  The two workers had joined six other Georgia Power workers at a table for eight at the back of the restaurant.  Which meant a bill for eight hungry workers.  Which meant $304 plus 20 percent gratuity.  Which meant I nearly swallowed my breath mint on the way out the door.

Maybe I should have stayed in Woodstock.  But I just smiled.

My intentions were good; my wallet was just a bit lighter.