The stuff of life
If you're like me, the world in which you eke out your meager existence requires that you fix stuff. Big stuff, little stuff, important stuff, inconsequential stuff - it doesn't matter. Oh, to be affluent enough to make a phone call, schedule an appointment, and have my broken stuff de jour set right by someone else! Yeah. That'll happen when pigs fly.
Usually, I find that stuff breaks at a critical time, when you need it most. Mind you, this stuff is not important to bringing about world peace but collectively plays a crucial role in your humble life. For example, last month I was scheduled to give a public presentation. The venue was four miles from home, I allowed one hour to get there and prepare, and the weather was beautiful. I turned the truck ignition key and Boom! - my battery blew up. I made my appointment by other means but had to fix the truck that evening.
Or this: An early riser, I stumbled into the kitchen at 4:10 a.m., intent on getting a pot of coffee started. I flicked the light switch and...nothing. I made coffee by flashlight because as it turned out the ballast that energizes the kitchen fluorescent lights was bad. I had to fix the ballast that evening.
Universe and galaxies of stuff
I know what you're thinking. "C'mon, B2, it is normal for things to break, it happens all the time, and it is no big deal," you knowingly chirp with a look of extreme smugness on your puss. But it is a big deal when you have been forced to fix or repair daily all your life, you need that particular stuff at that particular juncture, you live alone, and you are a homeowner. And remember, the universe of fixing stuff includes the galaxy of maintaining stuff...this is an evil, purely malevolent child that is nearly as vexing as its fixing parent. Before you say that proper maintenance would prevent the need to fix stuff, think again. My vehicles have always been impeccably maintained, yet there was that battery thing. Nope, no matter how well-maintained, stuff exists to break, require repair, and raise your blood pressure.
Sometimes, conscientious forethought and proper project planning will cause you to experience new levels of frustration in the fixing stuff realm. In 1988 I installed an environmentally-friendly, special-made, low-flow, low-profile, left-hand flush, double-secret probation, turbocharged, multi-port toilet in the spare bathroom. Seems minerals, Clorox tabs, age, or bad Karma (pick one or all) caused the replenish and overflow valve housing to split. No big deal, right?
Well, no ... unless you're me. I shut off the water, pulled the somewhat exotic-looking defective part to help find an exact replacement, headed to Home Depot and...zip, zero, nada, bupkis, no, nyet, non, nein - none in stock that will work...ditto Lowe's, ditto Ace, ditto all local hardware stores. I wound up ordering the part online from the manufacturer, ultimately paying 59 dollars for an eight-dollar part, and waiting weeks to fix the commode because the device was so old it was out of stock and they had to find a replacement contraption for it.
There is no escape, no hope for a pardon. I have been sentenced to a life term. This rant could go on forever and I could use up bandwidth describing gazillions of examples, but there just isn't time - I have to go fix stuff.