Last weekend, three things happened: Uncle Sam denied my 2005 amended tax return, I weighed myself for the first time in nearly a decade, and my furnace went on the fritz. The first made me panic and the second made me cry. But the furnace? Who cares? That's why they make furnace guys and why I have a home warranty.
Turns out that my newfound poverty and gigunderousness would be nothing compared with the furnace. Oh the furnace! Though it's a story still without an end, it still deserves to be told.
I woke up Good Friday morning and my bedroom floor seemed colder than usual. My upstairs usually isn't warm, but it's not cold either. I knew as I stumbled to the bathroom that something was the matter. And as I sat on the pot, trying to clear my mind enough to actually stand up and get in the shower, I heard it--the noise that would haunt my waking hours for the next nine days: the whiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrr of the furnace's blower. But the heat never followed.
I somehow roused myself from the toilet and made my way downstairs, only to find that my thermostat was reading the air temperature at 56 degrees--much colder than the 70 it's set at. So I did what any good homeowner would do. I called my mom.
Now, mom usually has great ideas for things I should try before I call a professional, but the only words of wisdom she had for me were to call in the experts. Furnaces, it seems, are not something to fiddle with. Mom reminded me that I have a home warranty, and that I should call my realtor so he could tell me how to proceed. So I made the call and hopped in the shower, trying to get warm.
My realtor called back pretty promptly and walked me through the process of calling in my claim. I called the warranty folks and they said they'd contact a company on the other side of the county from where I live, but that someone would be there soon. That person was at my house in about an hour, diagnosed the problem as a faulty pressure switch, ordered the part and told me that it would be in Tuesday. He also did something slick to get my furnace running again, and told me it would probably work for about a week.
He was wrong.
When I left home Saturday afternoon to spend the weekend with my parents, everything seemed fine. But when I walked in the door Monday afternoon, my house was as cold as it was outside. That's right, folks, 48 degrees! So I called the warranty folks again, who called the furnace company again. A nice lady in their office called to tell me that they couldn't do a thing until they had the part, and that until the part arrived I should buy some space heaters.
Space heaters?!?!?! In April?!?!?!
I didn't find any space heaters, but I did manage to track down the last remaining electric blanket in Western Pennsylvania, and huddled in for a night of freezing coldness. It was kind of like camping, really, but with a toilet that flushed and less likelihood of a bear attack. I put on my good-sport attitude and thought, "What the hell? It'll be kind of fun and it's only one night."
Well, it ended up being not one night. No, that would be too easy. As I sit here in my living room, wrapped in a heated throw and hugging the space heater I already owned, I'm in my ninth night of the Furnace Fiasco. I'm expecting not my first or second visit from a furnace tech tomorrow, but my SIXTH! I know most of them by name now--Dave, Rob, Kurt, Brandon. Susan orders the parts and dispatches the repair guys. The girl who told me I needed space heaters was new and didn't know any better. These people have quickly become my warped and twisted extended family.
You're asking yourself, "What can possibly be wrong with your furnace that it keeps breaking?" And the truth is, no one seems to know. They "fix" the problem, but just hours later the furnace stops working again and I'm back on the phone trying to get some help. On Thursday I thought they'd finally done it. The beast in the basement (which is only two years old) worked for 36 whole hours before it died again! Nearly ten times longer than any of the previous attempts. But Saturday morning I woke up to the unending whiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrr that spells disaster. To make matters worse, the whiiiiirrrrrrrrr even stopped last night and the furnace wouldn't even come on. Lovely. And as luck would have it, it's in the 30s here tonight and my house is barely topping 50 degrees.
Despite all this disaster, which has twice nearly drove me to tears, there have been a few silver linings. But the best one--the reason I'm convinced that God has brought this chilling experience my way--is Hot Furnace Guy (HFG).
HFG showed up at my door last Wednesday morning. I went to bed with a working furnace and woke up again to a cold house. So Susan at the furnace company told me she'd dispatch yet another guy. To this point, all the furnace dudes had been really nice, but either much older than me or totally not my type. But the Wednesday guy, well, Wednesday guy was a different story.
At first HFG didn't seem all that much to look at. But I was overwhelmed with his people skills. I asked him how he was and he smiled and said something like, "I must be better than you, since I hear you don't have heat." He was chatty, telling me about how he had been to a baseball game the night before and all kinds of other stuff. He was at my house for about an hour, puzzling over the challenge my furnace had become. And the more I watched him work, the cuter he became. He talked to the furnace as he worked, swore at it when the situation called for it, and kept up a stream of chatter with me. At that point I thought, well, this guy was cute. But whatever. He's just another furnace guy.
It was the next day, though, when he came back after my furnace failed yet again, that I fell head-over-heels in love with HFG. I don't even know what did it, but I distinctly remember a moment when he threw his head back and laughed, revealing cute little dimples on his round cheeks. He was particularly perplexed on Thursday, so he kept laughing at the furnace and swearing at it. He somehow got the thing to run again, but stuck around for quite a while to make sure the furnace kicked on a few times by itself. As we sat and watched the furnace, we talked like we were old friends. By the time he left, I was well and truly smitten.
I don't know if I'll ever see HFG again. Chances are good they'll send someone else tomorrow to install the new part HFG ordered Thursday. But I wish and pray and hope with every fiber of my freezing frame that it's HFG. He's logged the most hours on my furnace and knows it best. He treats the thing almost like a personal challenge. And I need just one more chance to see this guy and figure out if he's really that nice and cute, or if I'm that desperate.
People at work are encouraging me to ask this guy out, but I don't think I'll be able to do it. As far as I can tell, the only things we have in common are that we both bought houses last fall and we both like baseball. He works with his hands for a living, and I sit at a desk and fritter away the day. He's tall and adorable; I'm short and chubby. He can look at a furnace and know what's wrong with it. I can't wire my way out of a hole in the wall.
But despite all the reasons not to ask him out (my main concern is really that he'd make fun of me, since I'm so chubby), it seems like it might be worth the risk. I haven't felt this kind of irrational attraction for someone in a long time. He's not married, I know that, and I can't imagine he's gay. (OK, that's a lie. With my track record, I can totally imagine he's gay.) I'd just hate to watch him leave my house and know that I may never see him again, that he'll go on with his life and I'll always just be that Girl With the Furnace. I want him to know that I'm Susie, a bit neurotic, but funny and nice. That because I'm as cool as I am, I'm worth the risk of a casual beer or cup of coffee.
Of course, HFG might have left my house for the last time already, and tomorrow I'll get some old dude named Fred who has as much personality as my thumb. But I hope it's HFG. It has to be him.
If not, I might take a friend's advice and break the damn furnace on purpose. I've already been freezing for nine days and winter can't go on forever.
Now, where did I leave my hammer?
