The Wrecking Crew

Originally Published Saturday, January 26, 2013

They call themselves a cleaning service, but they are a wrecking crew.  Why don't I just get rid of them?  They've broken so many things in the house, too many to keep an accurate count of now.  I tell myself "accidents happen," and I am a forgiving sort of fellow.  I keep them out of lethargy, I guess.  They show up every two weeks.  It would take energy to find someone new. 

Last night, I came home from a shoot and went to make dinner.  I dumped some things into the garbage disposal and flipped the switch, but nothing happened.  I reached under the sink and reset the breaker switch on the bottom of the disposal.  Again I flipped the switch, but there was only a buzzing sound.  With great fear, I turned it off and felt around inside.  Hmm.  I took a knife and tried moving what I thought were some blades and then turned it on again.  Crash bam boom.  And then a big piece of metal flew out of the drain.  "Well, that's it," I thought.  I've wrecked it. 

I should be able to replace a disposal, right?  That is what I was asking myself.  But it was the wrong question.  I didn't want to.  I didn't want to crawl around under there trying to figure out which things needed to be loosened first and which wires went to what.  But there can't be that many bolts or wires, some voice in my head kept saying.  Anyone can do it.  Be smart.  Oh. . . I'll be smart, the other voice said.  I'll call somebody.  It will cost too much money, the practical voice said.  O.K., said the other, shut the fuck up.  My fun voice is also my mean voice.  It has a crazy personality. 

Walking by the answering machine (yup, I still have one), I saw that there was a message.  It was from the husband of the women who owns the cleaning company.  He said that there was something missing from the top of the stove and that I should call him.  It was too late to call right then, so I'd wait until the morning.  Then something clicked.  I went back and looked at the hunk of metal.  I recognized it, now. It was part of the burner on the gas stove.  I looked at the burners.  One of them was missing a piece.  I grabbed the hunk of metal and fitted it on.  That was it!

I will call the wrecking crew today to tell them they will have to pay to have a new disposal installed.  At least there is that.  But why do I not simply get someone else.  Hell, I don't really want to have to deal with calling someone to come replace the one I have.  I have become that. . . lazy?  No, I am just jealous of the time.  I want all the time I can get, and dealing with household problems simply steals that time away.  I want to charge the wrecking crew for the time I must spend dealing with all of this.  It is a pain in my ass.  It is time I'll never get back. 

But many things are a pain in my ass.  At least, however, the factory partially compensates me for what they are stealing from me.  It is a deal we have made.  But broken sprinklers and meters that have to be replaced and walls that need to be painted and lawns that need re-sodding. . . no, no, no, no, no. 

I am just a child, I guess, and there are no parents around to make me clean my room.  I will have to.  It is a mess, all of it.  It will take much cleaning and arranging, these walls of life.  I'm sure my spirit is in the same disarray as everything else.  And you know. . . I can't trust someone else with all of this stuff.  It is not that I made the mess; I just allowed it all to happen.