published April 7, 2005
It was a Saturday afternoon when my hubby told me that the pilot light on the water heater would not stay lit. I called the service company, who said that they would send someone between 2 and 4 p.m. the next day.
Rearranging my schedule, I was home by 2 p.m., waiting for the service man. At 2:30, our friends called to invite us to go bowling at Concourse and then have dinner at Buca di Beppo. I sent my family along, planning to join them when the service man had left.
At 4 p.m., I called the company. They said the technician had been held up and wouldn't be at my house until 5 p.m. A black cloud began to form over my unwashed head. At 5:30, my hubby Dale called to say they were at the restaurant and how was the heater coming? The cloud grew darker. I called the company again. This time I was told that a technician had called in sick, they were juggling his appointments and didn't have anyone to send to my house. I wasn't on anyone's "normal route," as if Placentia was on Gilligan's Island.
The cloud now took shape of a mushroom.
The man cooed excuses to me, asking if I could wait until tomorrow. "What other option are you offering?" I asked. There was a guttural noise on the line, the sound of brain cells trying to activate. I considered canceling this company and calling another, but if another company treated me this way, I could be four days without a hot shower. After two days, I was already feeling like I lived in my van with a year's newspapers and a small poodle. Sighing, I caved.
"Okay, I guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow," I huffed.
Gleefully, he asked, "Do you want to just keep the same appointment time tomorrow?"
What a dolt.
"Ex-Cuse me?" I hissed. "When do I get to be your priority?"
"You ARE my priority," he assured me.
"I don't think so. You've wasted my afternoon, kept me from going out with my family, and didn't even call me to say that you aren't coming. I think that tomorrow, you're going to make someone else wait while you fix my water heater first thing in the morning."
"But your house isn't on the morning route," he reasoned, as if that was logical to a woman who needs a shower.
"Know what? Not very sympathetic to the whole 'route' thing," I snapped.
Finally, he surrendered. "All right, ma'am," he grumbled as if I was somehow to blame for this mess. "We'll send someone between 8 and 10."
"Thank you," I said crisply, and hung up. Cleaning myself up as much as possible, I raced to the restaurant to meet everyone and share my troubles over a big glass of wine.
The following morning, a very nice technician showed up and fixed the heater for $200. In just a couple of hours, hot water and my sanity were restored.
I'd like to say that I learned something valuable from this experience, and that I'll never let another service company jerk me around, but I know the next time something breaks, someone is out there waiting to play with me like a cat torments a mouse. All I really discovered is that meeting friends and family at a restaurant to eat, drink and kvetch can make life bearable.