Your boss tells you to report to her office this afternoon at 3:00. All morning you wonder if you are on the carpet for something. Ideas and thoughts run through your mind. "What could it be?" Waiting is a terrible experience. Waiting for the car repair bill, an IRS audit or a work evaluation are paralyzing. Waiting is worse than the experience. Now I am waiting again. For five years, I have been able to put this off. I can no longer procrastinate; time and social forces have joined against me. Yet, to have delayed the inevitable this long is heroic.

It began in the summer of 1980. An innocent yellow postcard arrived in the mail. After reading that card, I ignored it, and that is why I'm waiting now. The card was from Connecticut Natural Gas and was a request to enter my home to change the gas meter. Claiming the Connecticut Department of Public Utilities Control required changing the meter every ten years, it requested access to my apartment to relight the extinguished stove pilots.

Although it was a simple request, to grant it I would have to stay home between the hours of 8:30 and 4:00 on a weekday and give them ten days notice. There seemed to be no flexibility for those who work.

An unreasonable request, but something seemed strange about it. On an impulse, I turned on all the burners and observed the meter. To my joy, the needle crawled around the dial like a dying prospector under the desert sun. I could almost hear it wheezing and gasping as it dragged itself to the top of the gauge. Upon reaching the summit, the needle almost made an audible sound of relief as it spun on the downhill side of its circuitous journey.

Then I knew the truth. If a new meter were to be installed, the needle would spin like a whirling dervish. The cubic feet of water consumed by a thirsty camel would be minor compared to the cubic feet of gas devoured by the new meter. I was about to be victimized, and since I had to take either vacation time or personal time from work to let in the gas company, I decided to ignore the card.

Life went on normally for a few months. Thinking I had gotten away with keeping the old meter, I eventually forgot about it. However, the gas company didn't forget. After ignoring a second card, I received a call from the gas company asking if I had gotten my cards.

Being an honest and sincere person, I replied that I had, but could not schedule a convenient time to allow them in. The caller, in the spirit of gas company public relations, said to call when it would be convenient. "Of course!" I said.

Halfway through the first year's heating season, I received a certified letter from the gas company asking when they could come out and change the meter. Two weeks later, I decided I had better respond to the letter as I had signed for it at the Post Office. I called, and this time the next person wasn't as pleasant as the first.

"Well, Mr. Hatehorn, when can we come out?"

"Uh, that's Hathorn," I replied and gave a date several weeks later.

"Will that be morning or afternoon?"

"On, it can't be during the day; it has to be in the evening," I said, "I have to work."

"Well we only work during the day between the hours of 8 and 4:30. Can you give the key to a neighbor?"

"Oh no, what with higher inflation and utility bills, all my neighbors work and no one is home during the day."

"Well, call when you can be home."

"Of course! I'll as that as soon as possible."

Months went by; I turned off my stove pilots and used matches. Now it was possible to change the meter without getting into the apartment. I was also considering senility of the meter. Its endless journey would be lighter because there were no pilots to measure.

Months became seasons. Seasons became years; years whose passings were made lighter by occasional telephone calls to my answering machine. My machine would record messages such as the following: Mr. Hathorn (Pronounced Hatehorn), this is Connecticut Natural Gas. We must change your meter! It is 14 years old and we are required to change it every ten years! Call us today!" One message even pleaded, "Please call ANYONE, ANYONE at all at the gas company; we all are willing to serve you."

As I usually didn't get in until after five, my return calls were unanswered because the gas company only works until 4:30. The one or two responses that were answered were by emergency service who said they could not help me. I should call the next day when I had a chance. "OK!" was my cheerful answer.

Years passed and cards arrived. Then I received an ultimatum, a bright red card. This warned that no response would result in an interruption of service. "What! They can't do that! My bills are paid!" The next day I called the Department of Utilities Control to see if the gas could be turned off though my bills were paid.

According to the woman I spoke with, they could. She explained that they had to have access to the meter. I answered they had access on evenings and weekends, but chose not to come out.

"I can't take time off work," I added.

"Well, Mr. Hathorn, they are supplying the gas and they can set the hours of service they want," she said.

"I always understood that 'those who pay the piper call the tune' and since I'm paying them, they have to come at my convenience."

"They will only come during working hours."

"Very well, if I have to use my time to let them in, I will bill them for it. My professional fees are $60 an hour. Anyway, it's not like I'm asking them to come out and install an appliance."

"They don't have to pay."

"Maybe not, but we shall see. You should also be aware there may be a constitutional question involved."

"Oh, and what would that be?"

"I remind you that one of the causes of the Revolutionary War was the quartering of the King's soldiers in private homes including the illegal searching and invasion of those homes."

"And what does that have to do with this situation?"

"Simply, that one does not have to be forced to let people in one's home, unless consent is given or unless there is due process. The Fourth Amendment guarantees the right of individuals to be secure 'in their person's houses, papers, and effects, and against unreasonable searches and seizures.' Since time is money, to require me to stay home deprives me of personal effects and property, i.e. time and money. Maybe the American Civil Liberties Union would be interested in studying this problem."

"Well let me call the gas company and see what I can work out."

A little while later, I got a call from the gas company.

"Me. Hatehorn, this is Ms. Jones."

"Uh, that's Hathorn," I replied. I then mentioned how pleasant it was that we were finally able to establish contact.

"Uh.... Yes, when can we come out?" They would finally be willing to come out after five or on a Saturday. Trapped, I set a date for an evening the following week.

It is now 9:45. This has been a strange evening. When seven arrived and no service person came, I called the gas company and told emergency service that I was going out to eat and would be back around eight. They said their man, Frank, was tied up on Park Street and after eight would be OK.

Around 8:30, a sales representative called and tried to talk me into buying an interest in a Texas natural gas well. Since I had nothing else to do but wait, I listened to a sales pitch of the future profitability of natural gas wells. Meanwhile, the gas company had taken a call about a leak in another home. While I was on the telephone with the salesperson, Connecticut Natural Gas had tried for forty-five minutes to reach me to see if they could come out at this late to change the meter. They finally got through about 10:30. Apologetic for calling so late, they were wondering if it was too late to change the meter. I said I usually go to bed around ten as I have to get up early in the morning. We rescheduled for tomorrow. A day's reprieve.

Now I finally have some time to look at today's mail. This is interesting, a three by five card from the water company.

EPILOGUE

Just when I thought it was all over! Tonight I received another red card in the mail warning me that if the meter wasn't changed, they would shut off my gas in two weeks. I called and got emergency services (It was after 5:00) and explained that the meter had been changed last week. Immediately after that, there was a knock at the door. It was another gasman, Joe who had come to change the meter. Since it was pouring rain and he had driven in rush hour traffic from Hartford, I decided the most charitable thing to do would be to refrain from telling him the meter had already been changed and to allow him to install a second new meter in as many weeks.