Call the Guy?
Pepper Scott
I mentioned before that Terry and I made a pretty good team. As Terry liked to introduce us, we were "a cripple and a midget."
Yes.
That was us.
It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, but somehow we managed to build, repair, remodel, and occasionally outsmart things that probably should have outsmarted us.
Terry was the brains on the ground. I was the legs. If I did not know how to do something, he would patiently explain it while I crawled around with a wrench, a drill, or whatever mysterious gadget the project required. Between the two of us, we usually figured it out.
Now, we did have limits. We were not about to install a furnace, replace an air conditioner, or tackle major plumbing adventures. Those jobs belonged to the professionals.
When something crossed that invisible line, we would simply say, "Call the guy."
If you have ever watched Two and a Half Men, you'll understand exactly what I mean. Every family seems to have "the guy." The electrician guy. The plumber guy. The heater guy. There is always a guy.
Owning a home is wonderful.
Owning a home is also a long-term relationship with things that wear out at the worst possible time.
As Terry's MS slowly stole his mobility and endurance, those unexpected repairs weighed heavily on him. Every strange noise sounded expensive. Every leak looked like trouble. Eventually, he set aside his pride and started calling "the guy" for jobs that, years earlier, we would have tackled ourselves.
I completely respect the professionals. Truly, I do.
But I am also curious.
Living with Terry taught me a great deal, and once I learn something, I have an awfully hard time resisting the urge to try it myself. Besides, living in our little laid-back town came with its own challenge. Sometimes you called "the guy," and the guy did not answer. Or he promised to come next Tuesday. Which Tuesday remained a mystery.
Terry always said Google was his best friend.
Mine has been YouTube.
Go ahead.
Laugh.
I have fixed our washing machine thanks to a stranger on the internet who filmed himself taking one apart in his garage. It worked beautifully.
Then there was our water heater.
For years, we paid someone to service it. Eventually, getting hold of "the guy" became an exercise in patience that I simply no longer possessed. So one afternoon I watched video after video, read everything I could find, and very carefully learned how to service it myself.
One year turned into several.
The heater kept humming along happily.
I never mentioned any of this to Terry because he already had enough to worry about. There was no reason to add, "Oh, by the way, I took apart the water heater today."
Then one day he casually asked, "Have you been scheduling for the guy to come take care of the heater?"
I smiled.
"Actually... I've been doing it myself."
I walked him through everything I had learned and everything I had been doing. He listened carefully, asking the kinds of questions that told me he was mentally checking my work. Finally he nodded with that quiet look of approval I always hoped to earn.
Then he grinned.
"Honey, we don't need no stinking guy."
I laughed so hard I nearly cried.
That sentence has stayed with me ever since.
I still have enormous respect for "the guy." There are jobs that absolutely belong in skilled hands, and I am grateful those people exist.
But every time I successfully repair something around this house, I can almost hear Terry chuckling beside me.
Not because I saved the service call.
Because somewhere along the way, the student became just capable enough to surprise the teacher.
I think he would have liked that.
Actually...
I know he did.
