We Avoid A Slow Death And Manage Not To Chop Up the Kids for Kindling
Most of my books are set in Minnesota; the few that aren't are set in Massachusetts. There are reasons for this: I'm lazy and dislike researching locales, and I love living in Minnesota (and, years ago, Massachusetts). Those states are in temperate climates, and I was born in North Dakota, a chill, brutal, coyote-infested, McDonald's-less Arctic climate. (I'm exaggerating. Of course there's a McDonald's.) So the cold doesn't bother me much. I'm like Bill Clinton in my demand for the definition of a word that doesn't need it: "cold". Because one woman's Arctic is another woman's Antarctic. No...wait...that's wrong. But I'm getting off track.
My point: Massachusetts only thinks they have cold weather. I can remember my first year there and seeing locals bundled into parkas and titanic moon boots, shivering at the bus stop in frigid November weather. I'd hear them wonder aloud if the #71 bus to Watertown would show up before hypothermia set in: it was a brutally cold fifty-five degrees! That's what we Minnesotans refer to as tank top weather.
Minnesota, now. Minnesota is cold. Which brings me to our heater breaking down yesterday. The temp inside our house was sixty-two degrees and dropping; the temp outside was twenty degrees, also dropping. Even someone as bad at math as I was could see that, assuming I didn't forget to carry the remainder, it was cold and getting colder. It was also almost midnight.
(Cue haunting wolf pack howling at the full moon. Yep. It was a full moon. "Hoo-hoo-hooooo!")
We called the repairman, whose company offered a wide range of services: heating/plumbing/electrical repair/bingo calling ("P10, P as in Plumbing!"). I might have made that last thing up. They're an efficient company in nearly all ways, which is why their inefficient greeting is hilarious. "It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?" (I have changed Deb's name, which is not Deb, to protect Deb, and also myself.)
Seriously. They go through that whole thing every time they answer the phone. I was taught (in vain, but I have some vestiges of King Al's upbringing) it was rude to interrupt, but "It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?" is a long time to wait when your line is, "Our heater's broken; we're slowly dying."
To our delight, they offered to come straight out. We weren't surprised they wanted to help...their phone greeting ("It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?") made their stake in this pretty clear. But they were willing to come out at midnight, which my husband and I thought was pretty nifty.
I explained the problem, and was then asked if we wanted a call back within the next ten minutes, or an e-mail. Wow, you can make this phone call take three times longer than it should, and clog up my e-mail, too? Double threat! Awesome. Um, thank you very much and the former, please.
I hung up and told Tony what was going on while I kept an eye out for zombies. Our basement looks like it came straight out of any number of black and white zombie movies: crumbling cement walls, spider webs, the sound of dripping from somewhere, rumbling machinery, evidence of mice, the skeleton of my crazy dead grandma, and zombie-sized nooks and crannies. We've lived here nearly a decade, and I can still count on both hands how many times I've been down there. And not only was I down in that creepy hell-hole, but I was making calls from said hell-hole...and not to S.W.A.T.! Could the evening get any stranger?
Why do I always ask that stupid question, since it sure could, and nearly always does? Because to make things really exciting, we were flat-out of firewood, so we couldn't put the living room fireplace to use. Then I had my brain storm. I hate staying up late. So I suggested that if I ventured forth into the frigid night and brought back some firewood, I could then go (back) to bed and Tony could wait up for the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy.
Yes! So off I went. We normally buy half a cord of wood at a time from a local company, but in a pinch, most of the local gas stations sell little bundles of firewood. The first one I tried, though, was out! Can you imagine? A gas station out of wood? The world doesn't make sense anymore. The clerk could see I was out of sorts and tried to be helpful, but for some reason she wanted to sell me gasoline. I left, and tried the next one. Jackpot: a whole pallet stacked with tidy piles of wood. I loaded five of them into my car, and when the last one fell forward a few inches just as I shut the lift gate, I told myself that when I got home, at least one the bundles was gonna fall out and pulverize my foot, so be extra careful. It's the little things that make life easier.
(Yes, I'm walking with a slight limp today. Shut up.)
I went inside to pay, and the attendant asked me which pump I'd used. I explained that I had gotten no gas, just a load of firewood. Why else would I be at a gas station, for God's sake? Sometimes I wish people would think before they ask these things.
Meanwhile, while I was doing my impersonation of a bitchy six foot tall part-time lumberjack (love those flannel shirts!), my husband had texted me, to wit: "Where are you?" Sure, my ten minute errand had taken over half an hour, but it wasn't my fault. It took longer than I thought what with gas stations out of wood trying to sell me gas, and also to pick all the splinters out of my foot. What am I now, a lumberjack moonlighting as an oracle? Nobody could have seen that coming.
Once back home, I made several trips to lug all the wood into the garage, then had trouble shutting the door leading to the wood bin. I finally got that done, gave up trying to brush the wood chips off my coat, then tried to go inside only to find that door locked. By the time my husband opened it, I had my hands on a small split log that would have shattered the living room window and alerted my husband to my freezing, splinter-laden, limping, pissed off presence, but because I throw like a girl, it fell two feet short and by then he'd decided to let me in.
He thanked me very sincerely, and I thought it was sweet how he thought I'd grabbed the chunk of wood to, of all things, throw on a fire. As he began to build a fire, I asked, "Is the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy here yet?" Nope, but would be in the next five minutes. So I figured I'd go (back) to bed. But his question stopped me in my tracks. Okay, that's not true, I was halfway up the stairs before what he'd said penetrated: "What's our plan if the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy can't fix the heater tonight?"
That's what I like about my husband: he's always after a plan B in case we end up dying or loaded with overdue library books or trapped in a basement with a zombie and can't remember S.W.A.T.'s direct line. So I thought it over and suggested that we sleep in the living room in shifts...someone can keep the fire going and someone can sleep. And my husband, who felt bad that his attempt to lock me out so I'd stop borrowing his socks failed, offered to take the first shift. We also decided I'd tell the kids that if they woke up and were too cold, they could sleep in the living room. As I climbed the stairs I noticed it was getting really, really cold; I knew I'd have to borrow at least two pairs of Tony's socks. But I figured my poor hubby had enough to worry about without wondering what persons unknown had done with his socks. Because that's the kind of thoughtful spouse I am: always putting my husband's needs ahead of my own.
"Say hi to the 'it's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy," I said, and headed to the bedrooms. I stopped at my son's room first and nearly wept, because I knew what was about to follow would be traumatic for both of us.
"Liam? Hon?"
"..."
"Liam?"
"..."
"William."
"..."
"William!"
"..."
"WILLIAM DAVIDSON ALONGI!"
"..."
"Wow, no response at all? Seriously?" I jabbed him in the ribs. Hmm, the boy was gonna have to lay off the pound cake, he had no muscle tone and was just a big bundle of flab, which--no, that was his stuffed seal. Stupid poor night vision! "WAKE UP BEFORE YOU FREEZE AND DIE!"
My shrill voice must have penetrated, as his fight or flight instinct kicked in: "...ten mmm...minutes..."
"WAKE UP BEFORE YOU FREEZE AND DIE AND I KILL YOU!" A firmer jab in the ribs, and he made a sort of slurry squeaking nose. "I know you're waking up, I just heard--oh." Stupid stuffed snake who squeaks when you poke it in the head. "We're kind of in crisis mode, so wake up before I water board your stuffed animals."
"What...? Nnn? Mom? Hnn..."
"Yeah, sorry to wake you up, I guess, but listen..."
"Don't want...hot chocolate...nnn..."
"I did not go to bed and then get out of bed and then notice we had no heat and then drive to two gas stations to not get gas so I could come back upstairs after midnight and make you hot chocolate!"
He was squinting one eye at me. "Well, okay, I don't want it and you don't..." He yawned like a grizzly bear. "...what's th'problem?"
"It's not about hot chocolate, how's that? Listen, the heater's not working, but the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' is on the way."
"Who?"
"Never mind. But he might not be able to fix it tonight. So if you wake up and can't feel your limbs, or if you can see your breath, you can come sleep downstairs."
"..."
"Okay?"
"..."
"Close enough."
Next I went to my daughter's room. She was a little more alert as her bedtime was later than Liam's, and groggily listened while I explained what was going on. "...or if you can see your breath, you can sleep downstairs."
"Nn-kay."
"And please shut off the fan."
"Why?"
"Uh...why? You don't know why? Okay, here's why. It's stupid to have a fan blowing when it's twenty degrees outside and the heater isn't working. So shut if off, please."
"It's mostly for noise," she said, not budging.
"It's mostly asinine to have a fan running at full speed in the winter when the house is slowly turning us into living [opsicles." I won't deny it; my temper was running pretty ragged by then. "So, darling daughter, my inner light and the delight of my eye, SHUT THE FAN OFF."
I turned to leave, and heard, in the tone every teenager masters the day of their thirteenth birthday: "And a very good night to you, too, Mother." To indulge in an overused phrase: Oh no she di'unt!
I turned back. "Thanks, but I'm not going to have a good night. The heater's broken, the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy might not be able to fix it before morning, my foot has swollen to the size of the bundle of logs I dropped on it, gas station employees keep trying to sell me gas, your dad tried to kill me again by locking me out, Liam may or may not want hot chocolate, and my daughter thinks I'm a fascist because I made her shut off the fan that she, by her own admittance, doesn't use to keep cool. But I forgot the best part: your dad and I are gonna be sleeping in the living room in shifts. So you and your brother don't die. Because that's how we roll, kiddo, we try to make it so you guys don't die. So, no! I'm not having a good night!"
"..."
"Dammit."
I stomped to my room and glared at our two dogs. Both declined to start a rumble, even though the Alpha Female smelled enchantingly of wood and blood and fury. And what...wait. What was that odd feeling in my stomach? I could almost...dammit! Now I wanted hot chocolate. Curse you, son who can sleep through my screams, for putting that idea in my...wait. Was that rumbling my stomach or something bigger?
The heater was on! Just as I realized, I heard Tony call from downstairs. "Hon, the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy was able to fix it...took him barely five minutes! He says it's a temp fix but they'll come back first thing in the morning and figure out what's blocking the in-flow pipe and take care of the whole thing."
In-flow pipe? Whatev. At least it was a quick fix and not too weird or gross.
"He thinks maybe leaves got stuck in there...or a bat...or a dead squirrel. Isn't that great?"
Super great. But I stayed positive as I realized all the things I had done in anticipation of the heater not working took longer than it took the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy to show up and fix it. That kind of customer service is pretty hard to beat.
Best part (besides not freezing to death): our bed has lots of thick warm blankets to snuggle under; the only thing needed to guarantee my rest was an unguarded sock drawer. And since my poor husband was stuck downstairs until the fire died down, there was an unguarded sock drawer in this very room. Socks! Socks for everyone! Hell, sock PUPPETS for everyone!
* * *
An addendum: a few minutes ago, Tony texted me that O'Connor had left a voicemail asking if we were satisfied with their service, and would I mind calling them back?
No problem. I called their number and heard the greeting I'll probably hear in dreams for the rest of the week: "It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?"
A greeting I'd been giggling about was now, just hours later, music to my ears. Thanks for everything, OHHACBFPMSE. (They probably should stick to saying the whole thing; that acronym is not helpful.) It was a great day, and you saved me all sorts of time. And hey! Thanks for asking.
My point: Massachusetts only thinks they have cold weather. I can remember my first year there and seeing locals bundled into parkas and titanic moon boots, shivering at the bus stop in frigid November weather. I'd hear them wonder aloud if the #71 bus to Watertown would show up before hypothermia set in: it was a brutally cold fifty-five degrees! That's what we Minnesotans refer to as tank top weather.
Minnesota, now. Minnesota is cold. Which brings me to our heater breaking down yesterday. The temp inside our house was sixty-two degrees and dropping; the temp outside was twenty degrees, also dropping. Even someone as bad at math as I was could see that, assuming I didn't forget to carry the remainder, it was cold and getting colder. It was also almost midnight.
(Cue haunting wolf pack howling at the full moon. Yep. It was a full moon. "Hoo-hoo-hooooo!")
We called the repairman, whose company offered a wide range of services: heating/plumbing/electrical repair/bingo calling ("P10, P as in Plumbing!"). I might have made that last thing up. They're an efficient company in nearly all ways, which is why their inefficient greeting is hilarious. "It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?" (I have changed Deb's name, which is not Deb, to protect Deb, and also myself.)
Seriously. They go through that whole thing every time they answer the phone. I was taught (in vain, but I have some vestiges of King Al's upbringing) it was rude to interrupt, but "It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?" is a long time to wait when your line is, "Our heater's broken; we're slowly dying."
To our delight, they offered to come straight out. We weren't surprised they wanted to help...their phone greeting ("It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?") made their stake in this pretty clear. But they were willing to come out at midnight, which my husband and I thought was pretty nifty.
I explained the problem, and was then asked if we wanted a call back within the next ten minutes, or an e-mail. Wow, you can make this phone call take three times longer than it should, and clog up my e-mail, too? Double threat! Awesome. Um, thank you very much and the former, please.
I hung up and told Tony what was going on while I kept an eye out for zombies. Our basement looks like it came straight out of any number of black and white zombie movies: crumbling cement walls, spider webs, the sound of dripping from somewhere, rumbling machinery, evidence of mice, the skeleton of my crazy dead grandma, and zombie-sized nooks and crannies. We've lived here nearly a decade, and I can still count on both hands how many times I've been down there. And not only was I down in that creepy hell-hole, but I was making calls from said hell-hole...and not to S.W.A.T.! Could the evening get any stranger?
Why do I always ask that stupid question, since it sure could, and nearly always does? Because to make things really exciting, we were flat-out of firewood, so we couldn't put the living room fireplace to use. Then I had my brain storm. I hate staying up late. So I suggested that if I ventured forth into the frigid night and brought back some firewood, I could then go (back) to bed and Tony could wait up for the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy.
Yes! So off I went. We normally buy half a cord of wood at a time from a local company, but in a pinch, most of the local gas stations sell little bundles of firewood. The first one I tried, though, was out! Can you imagine? A gas station out of wood? The world doesn't make sense anymore. The clerk could see I was out of sorts and tried to be helpful, but for some reason she wanted to sell me gasoline. I left, and tried the next one. Jackpot: a whole pallet stacked with tidy piles of wood. I loaded five of them into my car, and when the last one fell forward a few inches just as I shut the lift gate, I told myself that when I got home, at least one the bundles was gonna fall out and pulverize my foot, so be extra careful. It's the little things that make life easier.
(Yes, I'm walking with a slight limp today. Shut up.)
I went inside to pay, and the attendant asked me which pump I'd used. I explained that I had gotten no gas, just a load of firewood. Why else would I be at a gas station, for God's sake? Sometimes I wish people would think before they ask these things.
Meanwhile, while I was doing my impersonation of a bitchy six foot tall part-time lumberjack (love those flannel shirts!), my husband had texted me, to wit: "Where are you?" Sure, my ten minute errand had taken over half an hour, but it wasn't my fault. It took longer than I thought what with gas stations out of wood trying to sell me gas, and also to pick all the splinters out of my foot. What am I now, a lumberjack moonlighting as an oracle? Nobody could have seen that coming.
Once back home, I made several trips to lug all the wood into the garage, then had trouble shutting the door leading to the wood bin. I finally got that done, gave up trying to brush the wood chips off my coat, then tried to go inside only to find that door locked. By the time my husband opened it, I had my hands on a small split log that would have shattered the living room window and alerted my husband to my freezing, splinter-laden, limping, pissed off presence, but because I throw like a girl, it fell two feet short and by then he'd decided to let me in.
He thanked me very sincerely, and I thought it was sweet how he thought I'd grabbed the chunk of wood to, of all things, throw on a fire. As he began to build a fire, I asked, "Is the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy here yet?" Nope, but would be in the next five minutes. So I figured I'd go (back) to bed. But his question stopped me in my tracks. Okay, that's not true, I was halfway up the stairs before what he'd said penetrated: "What's our plan if the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy can't fix the heater tonight?"
That's what I like about my husband: he's always after a plan B in case we end up dying or loaded with overdue library books or trapped in a basement with a zombie and can't remember S.W.A.T.'s direct line. So I thought it over and suggested that we sleep in the living room in shifts...someone can keep the fire going and someone can sleep. And my husband, who felt bad that his attempt to lock me out so I'd stop borrowing his socks failed, offered to take the first shift. We also decided I'd tell the kids that if they woke up and were too cold, they could sleep in the living room. As I climbed the stairs I noticed it was getting really, really cold; I knew I'd have to borrow at least two pairs of Tony's socks. But I figured my poor hubby had enough to worry about without wondering what persons unknown had done with his socks. Because that's the kind of thoughtful spouse I am: always putting my husband's needs ahead of my own.
"Say hi to the 'it's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy," I said, and headed to the bedrooms. I stopped at my son's room first and nearly wept, because I knew what was about to follow would be traumatic for both of us.
"Liam? Hon?"
"..."
"Liam?"
"..."
"William."
"..."
"William!"
"..."
"WILLIAM DAVIDSON ALONGI!"
"..."
"Wow, no response at all? Seriously?" I jabbed him in the ribs. Hmm, the boy was gonna have to lay off the pound cake, he had no muscle tone and was just a big bundle of flab, which--no, that was his stuffed seal. Stupid poor night vision! "WAKE UP BEFORE YOU FREEZE AND DIE!"
My shrill voice must have penetrated, as his fight or flight instinct kicked in: "...ten mmm...minutes..."
"WAKE UP BEFORE YOU FREEZE AND DIE AND I KILL YOU!" A firmer jab in the ribs, and he made a sort of slurry squeaking nose. "I know you're waking up, I just heard--oh." Stupid stuffed snake who squeaks when you poke it in the head. "We're kind of in crisis mode, so wake up before I water board your stuffed animals."
"What...? Nnn? Mom? Hnn..."
"Yeah, sorry to wake you up, I guess, but listen..."
"Don't want...hot chocolate...nnn..."
"I did not go to bed and then get out of bed and then notice we had no heat and then drive to two gas stations to not get gas so I could come back upstairs after midnight and make you hot chocolate!"
He was squinting one eye at me. "Well, okay, I don't want it and you don't..." He yawned like a grizzly bear. "...what's th'problem?"
"It's not about hot chocolate, how's that? Listen, the heater's not working, but the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' is on the way."
"Who?"
"Never mind. But he might not be able to fix it tonight. So if you wake up and can't feel your limbs, or if you can see your breath, you can come sleep downstairs."
"..."
"Okay?"
"..."
"Close enough."
Next I went to my daughter's room. She was a little more alert as her bedtime was later than Liam's, and groggily listened while I explained what was going on. "...or if you can see your breath, you can sleep downstairs."
"Nn-kay."
"And please shut off the fan."
"Why?"
"Uh...why? You don't know why? Okay, here's why. It's stupid to have a fan blowing when it's twenty degrees outside and the heater isn't working. So shut if off, please."
"It's mostly for noise," she said, not budging.
"It's mostly asinine to have a fan running at full speed in the winter when the house is slowly turning us into living [opsicles." I won't deny it; my temper was running pretty ragged by then. "So, darling daughter, my inner light and the delight of my eye, SHUT THE FAN OFF."
I turned to leave, and heard, in the tone every teenager masters the day of their thirteenth birthday: "And a very good night to you, too, Mother." To indulge in an overused phrase: Oh no she di'unt!
I turned back. "Thanks, but I'm not going to have a good night. The heater's broken, the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy might not be able to fix it before morning, my foot has swollen to the size of the bundle of logs I dropped on it, gas station employees keep trying to sell me gas, your dad tried to kill me again by locking me out, Liam may or may not want hot chocolate, and my daughter thinks I'm a fascist because I made her shut off the fan that she, by her own admittance, doesn't use to keep cool. But I forgot the best part: your dad and I are gonna be sleeping in the living room in shifts. So you and your brother don't die. Because that's how we roll, kiddo, we try to make it so you guys don't die. So, no! I'm not having a good night!"
"..."
"Dammit."
I stomped to my room and glared at our two dogs. Both declined to start a rumble, even though the Alpha Female smelled enchantingly of wood and blood and fury. And what...wait. What was that odd feeling in my stomach? I could almost...dammit! Now I wanted hot chocolate. Curse you, son who can sleep through my screams, for putting that idea in my...wait. Was that rumbling my stomach or something bigger?
The heater was on! Just as I realized, I heard Tony call from downstairs. "Hon, the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy was able to fix it...took him barely five minutes! He says it's a temp fix but they'll come back first thing in the morning and figure out what's blocking the in-flow pipe and take care of the whole thing."
In-flow pipe? Whatev. At least it was a quick fix and not too weird or gross.
"He thinks maybe leaves got stuck in there...or a bat...or a dead squirrel. Isn't that great?"
Super great. But I stayed positive as I realized all the things I had done in anticipation of the heater not working took longer than it took the 'It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?' guy to show up and fix it. That kind of customer service is pretty hard to beat.
Best part (besides not freezing to death): our bed has lots of thick warm blankets to snuggle under; the only thing needed to guarantee my rest was an unguarded sock drawer. And since my poor husband was stuck downstairs until the fire died down, there was an unguarded sock drawer in this very room. Socks! Socks for everyone! Hell, sock PUPPETS for everyone!
* * *
An addendum: a few minutes ago, Tony texted me that O'Connor had left a voicemail asking if we were satisfied with their service, and would I mind calling them back?
No problem. I called their number and heard the greeting I'll probably hear in dreams for the rest of the week: "It's a great day at One-Hour Heating and Air-Conditioning Benjamin Franklin Plumbing Mr. Sparky Electric, my name is Deb, how can I save you time today?"
A greeting I'd been giggling about was now, just hours later, music to my ears. Thanks for everything, OHHACBFPMSE. (They probably should stick to saying the whole thing; that acronym is not helpful.) It was a great day, and you saved me all sorts of time. And hey! Thanks for asking.
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