The phone rang this afternoon.

It was the office of that repairman, demanding to be paid. I was stunned, and said I had. And she wanted to know if I wanted him to come back to replace the broken knob on the washer I had asked about. I said I did not. (I had already told him no.)

That’s the one for setting the water level. The machine is stuck on either full or nearly full and when the guy quoted me $400 last week to come back and fix that, yeah, no. Full loads are our thing. Ding #2 on Speed Queen, though: that should never have broken.

So (let’s set up the appointment) when did I want him to come back to do that. I could pay him then.

I did!

I may be deaf but she was determined not to hear.

I gave it to her straight, politely but taking no nonsense: the warranty call on the dryer, their guy doing nothing, his blaming our scorched wall and plug on the lines in a room we’d had custom-built for laundry 31 years ago that had been fine through four dryers all this time, that I’d paid $3000 yesterday to have the room rewired because that dryer had pulled too much voltage and burned our wires, and its sensor had not worked to stop the overheating. And that the electrician yesterday had been so bothered by their guy’s actions that he’d replaced the cord and plug on his own time and out of his own pocket at no charge. I was not happy with their guy’s refusal to repair the dryer, and then his charging me $79.95 for what was supposed to be a warranty call while doing nothing.

That’s what I’m calling about, she said: you need to pay us.

I DID pay him. He told me to write the initials of the company rather than writing it all out. If he says I did not pay it he is lying, or he lost the check, which (and here’s where she would have known how angry I was had she known me) is not my problem. I paid $79.95. I’d be happy to confirm that with my bank for you.

I will call him, she told me.

She called back almost as fast as she’d hung up. Yes he said I had paid it. Did I want him to come back to repair that knob?

I could not believe she was actually trying again, and answered, I do not intend to do business with your company ever again.

She tried to haggle her way towards–whatever. I told her, Have a good day. And hung up.

—————-

Okay. Now. I have to give you the antidote to all that.

When I am slogging through peach tree afghan rows on the needles, I reward myself in finger puppets: at the end of each row I put one on top of whatever book I’m reading so that at the end of the day I have a little zoo cheering me on for all the work I got done, while at the same time that visual count sometimes keeps me at it to try to get it higher. In the morning I put them back down on the couch to start over. It lets me think of the knitters in Peru, making all those little toys to make some child in the world happy, which makes me happy.

There tends to be a rotating cast there. Funny how that happens.

Yesterday, paying the electrician and thanking him very much for the 18 man-hours of work between the two of them on such a hot day, I found myself suddenly asking, Do you have kids?

Yes, he said, surprised and suddenly beaming, I have a daughter. She’s six.

I reached over to that pile. Is she into ponies? as a small yellow horse with a white mane in little loops came to hand.

YES! His eyes were big, like, How did you know?!

I was a little girl who was into ponies, too, I told him.

And he went off with the biggest smile on his face, looking forward to her and his wife’s delight to make up for his long day.