Public Service Enterprise Group, aka “PSE&G,” is our electric and gas provider in New Jersey. The company motto is “we make things work for you.” Well, that has not been the case for us. Luckily last night was not as brutally cold as it had been Wednesday (dipped down to 13º), but the low was 26º.

My husband Lorin got home before I did and informed me by text that our electricity and heat were off. He said he forgot to pay the last bill and apparently, we received a shut-off warning that he put aside. We all make mistakes. In light of the fact that we were hit by Hurricane Irene and had to purchase a new boiler costing about $7K (paid by monthly installments to PSE&G), you'd think they might cut us some slack.  No one called to inform us of the imminent shut-off.

Lorin was on the phone with PSE&G, trying to get our service turned back on. They don't accept Amex, only Visa and Mastercard, for those of you who might find yourselves in this situation at some point in the future. The woman at customer service took my checking account information over the phone to do an electronic transfer. Lorin asked how soon our service would be reinstated and she said our “case” would first have to be assigned to a dispatcher. He asked if the dispatcher would come out tonight, and she said they could not guarantee that. If our case was not assigned by midnight, it would be put on the list for Friday starting at 8:00 a.m.

Lorin asked if they could expedite the turn-on due to the cold weather and she asked, “Is there anyone over 65 living in your house?”

“No.”

“Do you have any newborns?”

“No.”

“Anyone with a heart condition?”

“I'm about to get one now,” Lorin said.

“Well, there's nothing I can do,” she said.

“My wife has a sinus infection,” he said.

“I'll make a note of that,” she said.

In summary, if you don't have a newborn, a person over 65 living in your home or a heart condition, you are screwed. What about if we had a toddler or a person under 65 who was very ill?  I guess that wouldn't count.

We are fortunate to have very close friends living across the street who insisted that we come over for Chinese food and spend the night in their home, which we did. I didn't like leaving my cats alone in the dark, especially the little blind one Quincy, but at least he has a fur coat.

 

Quincy

Friday, January 6.

Lorin called PSE&G at 8:00 a.m. to ask if our case had been assigned; it had. He asked during what time frame we could expect someone and the woman said, “Between 8:00 a.m. and midnight.” A 16-hour time frame for loyal customers who have never made a late payment until now, how refreshing!

He asked, “Do we have to be home for the service to be turned on?”

“Yes,” she said.

“But we didn't have to be home for you to turn it off?” he said.

“No,” and Lorin burst out laughing.

“I see,” he said.

So, basically, they have our money—it was transferred last night at 8:00 p.m--but we may have to wait until midnight for service restoration. Nice!

Even at 26 degrees, I was wearing my coat, scarf and a blanket in our candlelit home.

I started thinking about people who have nowhere to go, who may have small children or sick relatives and may be in our situation right now or have been in the past. They would be forced to bury themselves and their children or elderly under numerous blankets and quilts to keep warm. What about if one of their children were ill, what then? What if a relative had a heart attack and died. Would PSE&G reimburse them for their loss?

I enjoy the winter, but not when I'm cold in my own house. I don't mind the dark, in fact I'm enjoying the break from television and lights, but I don't like the cold.

When I was in a college, I lived in a “converted” laundry room in the Bronx, with cement floors, and a pipe running through the main room. The sole window was gated and overlooked a synagogue parking lot so I got a whiff of carbon monoxide several times a day. The front door opened onto a courtyard; the “bathroom” consisted of a toilet and a shower head in the corner, also with cement floors.

My brother and his friend were superintendents in the building and lived in the basement and my rent for this unregistered hovel was $200 a month. It was all I could afford even though I worked two to three part time jobs while studying at Hunter College. Alex, the drunken landlord, only put the heat on once or twice a day for short spurts and periodically came to my door to ask how I was doing with a leering grin. I think he wanted something I wasn't willing to give. When I wasn't at the library, I studied in my coat and fingerless gloves, like Fagan.

Alex was known to fall asleep in the boiler room after a dinner of boiled whiskey. I don't think his wife liked him very much. Our building was mentioned in The Daily News when he almost blew it up by flicking the switches on and off in a random fashion during a besotted spree.

All I'm trying to say is I don't like being cold. It is now 7:29 p.m., and I am counting down the hours till midnight.

Lorin called PSE&G about an hour ago to inquire about our status. They said to stay home because the dispatcher's cell phone isn't working (huh?) so he won't be able to alert us of his impending arrival. So here I type at the candlelit coffee table—très romantique—while Lorin has absconded to Home Depot to get us a kerosene heater.