When's a fire not a fire? When it's a furnace.
It seems without fail that every Thanksgiving there is an implement in our house that decides “this is a good day to die.” A couple years ago, it was our oven--not the best thing to have happened on Thanksgiving when about eight hours of cooking is in order. That was the year we rushed out and bought a turkey cooker, which now, we rely on. Take that, oven!
This year, our furnace decided that it would be best if it didn’t actively participate in the holiday. We awoke on Thanksgiving morning, shivering.
“What the hell?” I muttered as the night before; everything was cozy warm as I closed my eyes.
“Did you turn down the thermostat?” Annie asked me. I always find it interesting in marriage when “something” that a husband in his right mind would not do is assumed to be the thing he would do. Be it putting clean clothing in the dirty laundry basket or throwing out something like our wedding photos.
“Why would I do that?” I asked Annie. She looked at me annoyed, as if to imply that I indeed did get up at 2 a.m., snuck downstairs and dialed down the thermostat just to annoy her.
I kicked back the covers and staggered down the hall, shivering and swearing quietly at mercury-retrograde, the Devil or whatever other force was responsible for throwing a spanner into the works on Thanksgiving Day.
I went downstairs and sure enough, the thermostat was 53 degrees. Oddly enough, the furnace was still trying to work. I could hear it switch on and then after a few moments turn off.
It’s funny how 53 degrees in April will have me outside in my t-shirt, planting flowers. But now on the edge of winter, I could feel cold seeping into my bones.
I went into the basement to the room where the furnace is. Here, I did what a lot of men do. I stood in front of the furnace and stared at it. I have no idea how to fix a furnace, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to fix a furnace. I turned it off then turned it on. It started up and I could see the flames through the little portal. Then it stopped. I walked over to the fuse box, thinking that somehow, my turning that off and on would reset the furnace. I admit, it was a stupid idea to begin with, but when one has few options on what to do, one grasps at the odd straws that makes one feel like they are doing something.
I trudged back upstairs from the basement.
“It appears that the furnace is not working,” I told Annie, who was wrapped in several layers of clothing.
“That is just great,” she said looking right at me.
Again, I noted the tone of voice and understood that even though it was directed at me, it wasn’t really directed at me, but at all men in general. Especially the men who design stoves, water tanks, furnaces, automobiles and anything else that seems to die at the worst possible moment. And I have to admit, if women were given the power they deserve, it would be a better world for everyone.
“Well, it’s Thanksgiving. There will be no one to repair it,” I sighed.
When I am faced with such a challenge as no heat in the house, I immediately switch into my Little House on the Prairie mode. I figure that Michael Landon would come up with something to make things work.
“I’ll make a fire,” I said. And sure enough, the bustle of getting some firewood together and starting an actual fire seemed to break the spell for a while. Annie started cooking and the heat from the stove top and turkey cooker slowly made the thermostat rise.
By the time our first guests arrived, it was 61 degrees. Annie texted everyone to wear warm clothes as the thermostat was on the fritz. The temperature got to a balmy 64 degrees--which wasn’t bad considering that all we had were each other, the cooking and the roaring fire to make up for the faulty furnace.
That Thanksgiving Day, I set up an online appointment with Sears Home Services (who I have for anything that breaks in our home except my sanity) and a technician came out Friday. He looked at the furnace, turned to me and solemnly said, “it is not working.”
“Ok, " I said, keeping my voice as even as possible, “can you fix it.”
“Well, I can,” he said, “but it will cost you $535.”
I had my Sears Advantage Plan, and figured this was part of it. But it became clear that this repairman had come out just to do a diagnosis. So, I had to pay $100 to have the diagnosis of it in need of repair. He told me to call Sears again and schedule the repairman, which was weird considering he is a repairman. Still, I had learned a long time ago, especially in Chicago, that there are nonsensical protocols that one just shrugs their shoulders and submits to.
After he left, I got on the phone with Sears.
“I just paid $100 for a diagnosis from a repairman that my furnace is not working,” I said. “Can I apply that to my Sears Plan?”
“No, that was just a diagnosis,” the lady told me. “You have to pay a $100 deductible now so we can come out with a repairman.”
I started to remonstrate but brought myself up short. At this point, the temperature was around 50 degrees, and I didn’t wish to quibble.
“Ok,” I said. “Send the repairman.”
I was scheduled for Monday, but received a text that I could have the repairman come that day. I rescheduled immediately, but only to get a call from a repairman. “Hello, I can’t come,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, exasperated.
“Well, I need to find a part for your furnace,” he told me.
I recognized his voice. This was the same guy who just diagnosed my furnace.
I realized that there would be nothing to be done with discussing how ludicrous this situation was. At least not with this poor guy.
I thought to myself, “if they had another repairman show up, just for looks, or even the same guy, but this time wearing a different outfit, I would feel a bit better about having to pay $200 to have the furnace looked at twice.” It seems that Sears wasn’t into theatrics or has a small cast to work with.
From Thursday to Monday, we shivered, ran electric heaters and slept together in one bed. Even Capers was allowed to join us and huddled between Aine and Annie.
We had survived the Polar Vortex of 2014, and so this whole outing was quaint compared to that experience. Still, the being cold is fairly miserable, and we waited in anticipation of the repairman who diagnosed the furnace, but now was going to return as a repairman.
The repairman came back on Monday and went down to the basement. Even Capers was happy as she must have sensed that he was there to fix the furnace. It seems he had forgotten that he needed to get the part to fix the furnace, and so, he left, then returned about an hour later. The thermostat slowly inched up again as the repairs were made.
He came up the stairs with a smile on his face.
“You just saved over $500 in repairs,” he said.
I smiled back at him.
“I appreciate you fixing the furnace,” I said.
And I meant it.
Now, the heat is back to normal, and the only question left to ponder is whether or not Capers will continue to sleep in our bed.
I am not going to mention things one way or the other.
READ MARTIN’S OTHER STORY HERE.