Last week the tri-fecta of repairs cursed my home. I must not be living right or something, because two major appliances and my truck all decided to crap the bed within the same seven day stretch. The dishwasher went dead as a hammer in the wee hours one morning. The washing machine followed suit a few days later. What sent me over the edge was my truck. For the sake of time, I'll only share the appliance repair guy incident.
At my insistence that we purchase a home warranty, many of my home repairs require a deductible be paid to a local repair service. Sounds great on paper. The thing is, the warranty company chooses the repair company, leaving the homeowner at the mercy of Butt-Crack Bubba and a handful of Xanax.
Remember the old "Newhart" show the Bob Newhart did years ago? "This is my brother, Darryl. And my other brother, Darryl." Well, the show's long gone, but I believe one of the Daryl's moved south and found work in my area. Either that or I'm being Punked by Ashton Kutcher.
After assessing the appliances, Darryl approached me with the verdict.
"Well, the good news is I can get the parts. The bad news is they're all the way in Big City (like a whopping 20 miles away)," he said.
Yeah, and? What, it's three days by llama? The way he said it, I figured I'd have to wait a week or something, which is not unusual.
"But...I do have to go down there today so I can pick up the parts." He stopped and scratched his head. "Well...I won't be able to get to it until...how late can I come back tonight?"
"Whenever. Just call me and I'll be sure to be here. It's fine," I told him. This was not complicated. At least, not to me. Later that afternoon he called me back.
"Ms. Reese? Uh...I'm at your house (okay...) and I wanted to know if it's okay to fix the appliances."
"Yes! Get out of your truck and come inside. It's fine!" I opened the front door to wave him in. I stuck my head outside and saw no sign of Darryl's truck or his lama. What the heck? About ten minutes later, another phone call.
"Uh, Ms. Reese? I lied to you," I heard.
"Okay...how's that?" I asked Darryl. Now follow along, people. Every bit of this is true as my love for my secret crush (you know who you are).
"Well, I'm in Dogpatch (next town over) at this lady's house. I worked on her dishwasher this morning. I came to her door a little while ago and told her I had the part for her dishwasher and she thought it was weird since I told her I fixed it this morning. So I took the part in the kitchen and thought it was weird that her dishwasher is a touch panel, not a dial like yours is. So, I went to the wrong house thinking it was yours."
Wow. I can see getting lost, but ending up in the wrong town? He was just at my house that morning! He went on.
"I'm going to pay my water bill, 'cuz it's in town here, and then (sigh) I'll head your way." Obviously the commute was killing him. You just can't get a dependable llama these days.
"Fine. Don't worry about it. I'll be here," I told him. Any more than that may have confused him.
He found his way back and worked on both appliances. He turned on the dishwasher and nothing happened. Awesome. I might also mention that because he couldn't figure out with circuit breaker went to the dishwasher, he took a risk I was very uncomfortable with.
"See this wire?" he said. I nodded. "As long as it doesn't touch this over here, I should be okay." Another Xanax down the hatch.
After discovering a loose wire to be the troublemaker all along, he did something to said wire and declared his victory. I asked him about the now unnecessary new part he installed, and he decided to leave it, since he drove all the way to Big City to retrieve it. So, with the dishwasher humming along, he packed up his toys and left. I loaded my dishwasher and restarted the cycle. It worked for all of ten minutes. I called Darryl.
"Hey, Darryl. Dishwasher's dead, dude." Silence.
"It is. Okay, I know what's wrong with it. I'll try to come back tomorrow and fix it." He explained what he needed to do, an all of five minute fix, which he performed the following day.
I googled untraceable poisons before calling in a Xanax refill.