World Series memories, part two

While the Chicago Cubs were becoming champions, life continued happening. I needed to go to work, teach classes some evenings, take part in church services on Sundays, eat, sleep, breathe, and all the rest. In fact, some unusual events took place during the same days that I was watching playoff baseball on television.

One Saturday morning I began to take a shower, and there was no hot water. The water heater was replaced less than two years ago, and I have had to relight the pilot light twice before, so I threw on some clothes and went outside to light it again. (Our water heater is in a closet that can be reached only from outside, probably to reduce the risk of a gas leak into the house.) Although I tried several times, I was not able to light the pilot light. Instead (this being a new heater), I received an error message—a light flashing seven times, which according to a sign on the side of the heater signified a “gas control or valve failure.”

That sent me to the telephone. First I called the gas company, who assured me that the problem was inside the heater and not their responsibility. Then I called a plumber certified to work with gas lines. He said that he could replace the part, but he could not get it from the warehouse until Monday. He also suggested that I contact the manufacturer, since the heater should still be under warranty. After checking the warranty, I called the manufacturer and described the problem. After asking to be sure that the red light was flashing seven times, they said that they could send the part by overnight shipping, but not until Monday, since the warehouse was closed for the weekend. I called the plumber again and he promised to install the part, but he refused to schedule an appointment until I had the actual part at my house.

My family and I were taking fast cold showers. We were heating pots of water on the stove to wash dishes. Mostly, we were waiting for the repair. I stayed home from work on Tuesday. The part was delivered around ten o’clock Tuesday morning. I telephoned the plumber, who said he would try to get to my house that afternoon but might not be able to make it until Wednesday morning. I called him again around four to tell him not to try to make it any more on Tuesday, as I had a class to teach that evening. He finally arrived about noon on Wednesday. It took ten or fifteen minutes to replace the faulty part with the new part, and another fifteen minutes to complete the paperwork.

When I spoke with him on Wednesday, he asked me if I had drained the heater. When I said no, he asked me to do so while he was on his way to the house. I found a hose in the storage shed, attached it to the heater, and opened the valve. When I checked it a few minutes later, water was still coming out of the hose. I was about to go back inside when it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to turn off the valve at the top of the heater that brings water into the heater. Shortly after I did that, the heater finished draining.

Overlapping the drama with the heater was a second drama with a dishwasher. The weekend before the water heater stopped working, I decided that the time had come to replace the family dishwasher, which was no longer getting dishes clean. I checked prices and reviews online, then went to a store at the mall to order the best dishwasher I could afford. I ended up applying for a store credit card to get the benefit of no interest for a good number of months and then scheduled delivery and installation.

The truck came as scheduled, the workers came into the kitchen, and immediately one of them said, “We can’t do this.” The old dishwasher was too far from the sink; they didn’t have the right connectors for our house. They left the new dishwasher in its box in the corner of the dining room and promised to return. After a few days, a phone call to the company verified that they had not scheduled a return visit. Such a visit was scheduled, but not until the Saturday one week after the water heater failed.

Moreover, the day before the water heater failed, our city services failed to pick up the recycling on our street, something they are under contract to do every fourteen days. I waited until Monday, and when they still hadn’t come, I began contacting the company. Twice a day I was in touch with them, sometimes by telephone and sometimes through an online chat. Each of ten such conversations included a sincere apology on the part of the company and a promise to get the truck out to our street as soon as possible. I reminded them that I was one of fifteen customers who had been missed, but the one time that week a truck did come, the workers picked up only the recycling from two houses at the other end of the street. Friday afternoon I was told that they would probably wait until the next scheduled pick-up. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she sweetly asked.

“I know this isn’t your fault,” I told her politely, but this is getting old. Is there any way I can file a complaint?” There was indeed such a procedure, which I followed. I never heard back from the company about my complaint, but the recycling did get picked up during the day on Wednesday. And they did come back again Friday as scheduled to take what little recycling we had generated in two days.

So all three of these problems were happening at the same time: no hot water for five days, a new dishwasher in its box in the dining room for nine days, and a recycling bin at the curb for twelve days. Was I complaining? In fact, I was not complaining. I figured that, as long as Murphy’s Gremlins were busy at my house, they couldn’t cause any trouble at Wrigley Field. The inconvenience was worth the reward. J.

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