Many moons ago (also known as several days before Halloween), I discovered that my heat did not work in my bedroom. I fought with the gas company, which lead to me later pen this lovely missive just to blow off steam. But today, by the skin of my Noodley teeth, I got heat again.
Barely.
I was given a four hour window for the gas company guy (who, turned out to be a woman. Bad Noodles for having gender stereotypes) came with 20 minutes left to spare. She was super nice and was about to turn the gas on when she stopped, wrench in hand, and said: "Wait. Does this supply a furnace in your bedroom?"
"Um. Yes."
"I can't turn this on. It's against code to have a furnace in your bedroom or bathroom."
Keep in mind now that this furnace has been in a bedroom for at least six years under various owners. I swear to you, without hyperbole (which, um, I may or may not have a slight fondness for), I nearly cried. Right there. On the spot. In the dusty basement.
Apparently, my watery eyes and helpless girl charm (which I bust out only when necessary) and the fact that I argued that my bedroom was really part of a studio, she turned it on. And then, she went all grandma on me, which made me want to bounce in her arms and give her a big old kiss. (The Mutt, however, sensing how awkward that'd be for me took the initiative to do it herself. What a team player.) She lit the pilot light and even gave me some quick home improvement advice.
Talk about a fairy godmother. So tonight, while sitting in my toasty warm bedroom, I raise a glass of hot cocoa to the wonder woman at the gas company. Way to be bad ass.
1 comment:
That's awesome, and the perfect ending to your saga. Glad you can be warm now, although it reminds me of the days that you kept your Whitten apt. so dang cold.
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