The Eight Steps of Home Repair

As these things usually go, my wife said, "is that the sump pump?" I heard the tell tale whirring from our basement that kept me awake for the first two years we lived here. Typically it will whirr for several seconds, then stop, followed by a satisfying "CHUNK CHUNK" that rattles pictures off of the mantle and causes seismographs to register faint traces.

This time, the whirr kept going, followed by the sound of the world's largest child slurping up the last reminants of an Icee through a giant straw. And it kept going, and going and going.

It was official, we had a house problem. And I was going into the first stage of my meltdown over maintenance issues.

STAGE ONE: ANAL ALERT

The first stage of my maintenance malaise begins with feeling sick to my stomach. Based on my extensive scientific study, I've determined that this has to do with the gut's proximity to my wallet. As my mind instantly calculates the cost of the repair (which always starts at $1,000, even for a furnace filter change) my brain sends signals to my stomach and intestines telling me that throwing up or running to the toilet is the best response.

STAGE TWO: YELLING AT SOMEONE

Because anything that goes wrong has to be someone else's fault, whatever is in my path from is gonna get yelled at, because obviously, they caused this issue. If my wife or cats are not in the room, I turn on Fox News and yell at them for awhile. This seems much healthier.

STEP THREE: BECOMING BOB VILA

After the initial shock of the house failure wears off, I spring into action. I gather up those long metal unscrewing sticks, the big thing with the handle you beat nails with, a flashlight, and a pair of Isotoner gloves I found in my wife's drawer and go to tackle the problem. Typically this involves me observing the problem, and yelling "sh**" several times.

STEP FOUR: RESEARCH

This is where, based on my observations, I start researching on the Internet about how to tackle the problem. Usually I prepare a carefully worded query like, "how the hell do I replace a broken sump pump?" When this results in a search that has 38 people asking the same question without a valid response, I usually refine my query to say, "damn it, Google, are you dense? I need an answer. Don't make me switch to Bing." Typically I'll find a video that seems to answer my questions but is actually just an ad for a company that repairs my problem. This will lead me to watching videos of kittens riding household appliances for an hour.

STEP FIVE: RETURNING TO THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

With my extensive training from You Tube and Googletron under my belt, I return back to the necessary repair. Using a combination of the unscrewing sticks and the bangy thing, I try to fix the problem. Or rather, I peak in on the problem just enough to insult the manufacturers and/or installers of said problem, who have decided to conspire on ruining my life for the near future with their crappy products.

STEP SIX: CALLING MY FATHER-IN-LAW

My father-in-law was a union pipefitter. I don't know what exactly a pipefitter is, or why they need a union, but the guy's handier than a pocket on a shirt. He's installed a boatload of stuff for us, from ceiling fans to those new compact florescent lights that look like soft serve ice cream. Of course, the fact that he's union man means he has to take a break every fifteen minutes, and the picketing in front of my house has become embarrassing. The real problem is that I keep forgetting my father-in-law is 69, and is no longer able to do the heavy lifting he was at age 68. And he might be getting senile, since he told me that the best way to fix my most recent sump pump problem was to stand in the sump pump bucket, stick my finger in the water, and then in the wall plug to make sure it was working.

STEP SEVEN: CALL A PROFESSIONAL

This is when I finally realize I'm less than a man. (Not that watching Glee and grooving to Lady Gaga weren't already a tip off.) I put down my screw twisting thing and nail driver inner and pick up my smartphone. After spending four hours researching which professional is the least crooked, and watching some videos of babies reacting to farts, I call the guy who will fix my problem.

STEP EIGHT: ANNOY PROFESSIONAL WHILE HE FIXES THE PROBLEM

This final step involves me using the incredible breadth and depth of knowledge I've gained from googling the repair problem to engage the pro in a conversation. While I tell him all I've learned about the methods of cutting weep holes in PVC, he looks at me as though he'd like to crawl in the hole and weep. I then ask him to walk me through what he's doing step by step. That's when he asks me to try the middle step myself. I'm not quite sure how standing in the sump pump bucket, sticking my finger in the water, and then in the wall plug is going to help, but hey, he's the professional.