I live in a nice townhome that we rent from a nice lady. But she is a senior and a widow and utilizes a management company to save her from headaches like this. So I don't call Rose. I call the middleman. Or, more accurately in this case, middle women. The management company is newly owned by two former female employees that bought out the company and renamed it to reflect their first names. J & J Management Co.
I enjoy an early morning go-round of voice mail. Press this, wait for an entire message, leave my own plea for warmth and then? Wait. At nine am when I am sure a human will answer the phone I try again and connect with one of the J's. Oh, yes. She got my message. The HVAC company has been notified. I'll get a call. Not one to sit around all day, I go to Nia. I go to Al-Anon. I bring my phone to two places where I cherish no interruptions, but I will need to take this call. I shouldn't have bothered. No buzzing or blinking. No courtesy call.
I am driving home from my meeting and decide to call Rose, just to confirm she is in the know. She is and she is also surprised that at one-thirty nothing has been done. No worries I tell her I'll call one of the J's, and I do. This time I am reassured a call and appointment are forthcoming. OK. I can go home and wait. Chill out. Chillax.
I'm kind of handy. I've been joking with my own two girls recently that I am a genius. Because I know little things. Big things. Some things. Nothings. It has been a fun little joke. I decide to take myself seriously and tackle the heater. I used to live in a house with a furnace and a man. I'd watch while he fiddled and fixed just about anything. How hard could it be? My instinct was the door switch. I'd had to push the door in tighter recently, and even secured it with duct tape. My favorite go-to tool. Silence may be golden, but duct tape is silver.
So I switch on the thermostat, take off the door and press the button in. Hard. On comes the heat. I decide to tape the switch down and see what happens. I have a voila! moment. The furnace is cycling on and off according to the thermostat settings, the house is warming up. I am proud. Preening. I tell my girls via text that I really am a genius. The HVAC company calls and I tell them don't bother to come. I don't need a man with a tool belt and biceps to warm me up. I call the J's and leave a message. We're good. I saved the day and Rose some money. I am truly beside myself and my abilities!
Darkness falls and it is shower time. I decide to really crank the heat up. To like 78. I never do that. Get a sweater. Wear socks. Put mittens on. Drink hot water. I can sound just like my dad at times. But I am thinking, maybe intuiting, that if the heat decides to die again, I should at least blast the furnace as a preventative measure. I can't hear the heater blowing while in the bathroom with the water cascading and the exhaust fan going. I can't hear the heat when I step out to towel off, because of the fan and the closed door. I switch off the exhaust, open that door and hear... nothing. Shit! I look at the thermostat and it is a balmy 72 in the house. OK and crap.
I dress in pajamas, my usual work clothes, and open the closet that houses the faulty furnace. I press buttons, utilize tape, tap the buttons on the thermostat, toggle the on/off switch. Nothing. I am really bummed. Now it is after hours and I've missed my window of a service call. I humbly call back the HVAC company and the J's and tell them I am not a genius. I did not fix the heat. I do not know what I am doing. I may need a man in coveralls after all. Dammit.
The oil filled space heater in the living room has done a damn good job of keeping the main areas of the townhome warm. I debate between arm-wrestling my daughter for whose room should house that trusty standby this evening. I decide upon hers. My room faces the sun most of the day. Hers does not. She comes in late from her restaurant job, and needs to shower. That would not be pleasant at the frigid midnight hour. I grab some pot holders and carefully wheel this apparatus across the townhome. Being ever so mindful of not inflicting second degree burns upon myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment