Occupation… Man

As you’ll remember not too long ago my heater had plotzed. It happened to do this right as a big set of storms were rolling in. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, let me tell you it was co-co-cold!

I’d poked, prodded, and even banged on the thing. No dice. Mark came over. He poked. He prodded. He even banged. No dice, part deux. I can’t afford a repairman to come out and wave his butt crack around for sixty bucks an hour. So, I decided to put up with it. I like to consider myself to be a man of strong resolve. Yeah, resolve doesn’t keep me warm when my bedroom is 42 degrees.

I was looking at a weekend of this and just couldn’t see dealing with it. I went at the heater again. There was more poking, prodding, and banging. It was the 2001 ape men in front of the monolith all over again. I should add that there was some real critical thinking going on during all this. Things like how hard can I hit this with a sledgehammer without causing an explosion… that sort of thing.

After taking a number of pictures with the trusty iPhone I headed off to get some advice at the hardware store. I showed him my pictures and told him my story of woe. He puzzled for a moment then said,
“I think it’s the thermocouple.
“Oh, that’s good”
“I got three kinds in stock, but without seeing what kind you got I can’t tell you which kind you need.”
“That’s bad.”
“But I might know which kind it is.”
“That’s good.”
“But I’m out of stock on it.”
“That’s bad.”
So, I had him bring out the other two and then asked him what’s the most common type. I bought that one.
It took a long time to get at the little screws that are tucked away in a very little space, but I overcame all and with great hope in my heart I turned on the thermostat. “WHOOSH!” The gas came on, lit and wonderful warm air began pouring from the heater. ahhhhhhh, nice.
Then I broke the thermostat. 


I win!

After putting it off for, well, longer than I should have I got rid of the gardener. I know. A lot of people don’t have gardeners, but my reason for getting on was more vastly necessary. I didn’t want to do the yard work.

Today is the first weekend sans the gardener and the lawn was looking shabby. The weather report is warning me of a big storm coming in and I realized that if I don’t get it done now it’ll be days before I can mow the lawn. Braving all manner of alien creatures of death, I ventured into the garage and found my relic of a lawn mower.

Now, in my mind I thought, ‘I’ll get the mower, cut the grass, put the mower away… done!’ Uh… no. My garage is … disorganized. I think I’d of had an easier time of walking out of Fort Knox with 500 gold bars in my pocket than wrestling that mower through the gauntlet of my garage.

Undaunted, I kept at it and got the mower outside where it promptly crumbled when it was exposed to direct sunlight. Okay, just kidding, but it hadn’t been out for a very long time. As you can guess, the next hurdle was to get the thing going. At first, it didn’t want to start. Also at second, third, eighteenth, and twenty fifth. But, if there’s one thing I’m good at it’s brainlessly trudging away at something.

With a hearty and sweaty yank of the pull-cord the multi-bladed monster coughed to life. Soon I was guiding it over the raw, untamed nature that is my front lawn. Now it’s trimmed, the mower is back in it’s holding pen, and me? I’m standing in the lawn with fists on hips surveying my handiwork.