Mr. Handyman

Mr. Handyman

First thing Saturday morning I decided to fix the washing machine. This decision had not been reached lightly. The cold water pressure was weak so I had checked with two experts at work (i.e.- they Contd...

First thing Saturday morning I decided to fix the washing machine. This decision had not been reached lightly. The cold water pressure was weak so I had checked with two experts at work (i.e.- they had both owned washing machines at one time or another) and determined that it was a sticky solenoid. I grabbed my toolbox and told my wife what I was planning.

“It’ll be fixed in ten minutes- ” I explain as I head down to the basement. Meanwhile- she is looking up the number of a ‘24 hour emergency plumbing service’ and entering it into the speed-dialing function of the telephone.

“Shouldn’t I call the plumber?” she asks- making it obvious that she doesn’t understand men. Of course- she has her reasons - I’ve had some bad experiences. In fact- I’ve yet to tackle a home improvement project that has actually improved the home.

But today I was feeling confident. I carefully removed every screw from the back of the washing machine only to discover that it still wouldn’t come off. So- using the largest screwdriver I could find as leverage- I applied gentle pressure until suddenly there was a god-awful screech followed by two loud snaps and the back of the washing machine flies off like a cork out of a champagne bottle and smashes against the concrete wall with a thud that shakes the house.

I hear the basement door open above me. “Should I call the plumber?”
“We don’t need a plumber- everything is going according to plan- ” I assure her.

Of course- I’m not exactly sure what the plan is. The back of the washing machine is filled with enough wires and hoses to launch the space shuttle and I have absolutely no idea where to begin. So I slowly begin removing parts- looking for anything which might remotely resemble a solenoid- which is a cylindrical object which can be magnetized (I looked it up in the dictionary).

Every hour or so the basement door opens. “Should I call the plumber?”

Finally- with head held low- I humbly tell her- “It’s time to call a plumber.”

Personally- I believe I was on the verge of figuring the whole thing out- but I could tell that she was starting to get nervous. A short time later Mr. Smarty-pants Plumber arrives and views the carnage.
“What the hell happened here?” he asks in disbelief.

I tell him the only thing that pops into my head. “Vandals. We’ve been having some problems in the neighborhood.”

“Must have been a whole gang of them to have caused this much damage- ” he suggests and I can only nod my head in agreement.

He continues to review the scene of destruction- occasionally muttering “Hmmm” under his breath. Somehow- I intuitively know that every “hmmm” is costing me an additional fifty dollars.
Finally- Mr. Overpriced Plumber starts putting everything back together again until- like magic- the washing machine is back in one piece and pushed against the wall.

“Exactly what were you trying to do?” Mr. Couldn’t-make-it-as-an-electrician asks as he’s calculating a bill larger than a small country’s gross national product.

I seize the opportunity to show him he’s not dealing with just any goober who walked in off the street. “The cold water pressure was weak- ” I explain. “Sticky solenoid.”

“Uh huh- ” he responds and reaches behind the machine and twists off a hose. He taps the nozzle against the palm of his hand until a black- gooey glob of sludge oozes out. Then- with a final twist- he reattaches the hose.

“Your filter was clogged.”

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