On the Fritz

Our fridge was on the fritz. The perishables were perishing. The ice cream had softened to milkshake consistency. Our fridge was failing us.

Our landlord came over in an effort to stave off shelling out bundles of cash for a repairman. Upon pulling out the fridge from its cubby, he found a plastic wrapper lodged into the fan. He also discovered a poster board with weird streaks of paint (art?) with badly shot photos adhered to it that apparently was blocking the vent in the back. He showed both to me and I made it clear it wasn't ours. I am not that girl in the photos. I don't know her. I have never been to that particular street in San Francisco. I wouldn't be caught dead creating such lame, junior high art. He seemed unconvinced of my guiltlessness. It bugs me when people don't get that I am simply an honest person.

His attempt to fix our fridge was unsuccessful. He resorts to calling Maytag. He even pays the next day premium so all of our food doesn't sour. Of course, they don't come out until TWO days later. That should have been indicator number one that wonderful customer service is not their motto.

I get a call from the repair guy today around 12:30 saying they are 10 minutes from my place. I jet off to meet them. I make a sandwich- peanut butter on wheat bread. I wait. 30 minutes later, I am still waiting. I finally decide to call. The repairman answers. I attempt to tell him who I am, where I am waiting. He says, "We are waiting for you at #### Windham St. You aren't here." Um, yeah, I am not there because you are at my landlord's house. I tell him he is at the billing address, not the service address and there must have been some sort of mix up. He says, "We don't bill. You have to pay the same day." Um, ok, yeah, thanks for sticking to the point. You getting sidetracked on a tangent is really helping us solve the problem.

I tell him not to worry about payment. He will get paid. Is he going to come to the correct house and in fact, fix my fridge today? He doesn't like my tone. He says, "Ma'am, Ma'am, we've been waiting here for you." Hey bucko, I am just the tenant taking time off work to meet up with you. I just want my fridge fixed. Are you coming over here or aren't you? Man, he's got a chip on his shoulder the size of a refrigerator. I want to punch him in the face and I don't even know what he looks like. I finally convince him that payment will be received and he makes his way over to my house.

With Angelou barking incessantly in the backyard, he gets to work. He doesn't much look at me and only talks to me when he wants his money. His cologne has infiltrated every crevice of my home. His partner, the nice one, asks politely to use the restroom but then parks himself in the van for the entire visit. It costs $220.87 in parts and labor. My landlord doesn't answer his cell phone so in an effort to rid myself of this entire experience, I write a check and say good-bye. He left half the frozen food out on the washer and dryer. He left the old part in a box near the fridge. He left all the ice trays sitting on the kitchen counter to melt. Yeah, he really didn't like me.

You know what I keep thinking about though? When did I become a "ma'am"?!