Lefty Loosey

Another basement appliance has bitten the dust. The dryer has been leaving smoldering char marks on my clothes for the last several days. My preliminary investigation has convinced me that it is much easier to disassemble things than it is to put them back into place. It is natural for me to slide into dumb guy mode when confronted with the challenge of home repair. I learned long ago that trial and error mostly works for those who are more in tune with the mechanical realm than I am. My shop class projects were eyed with pride by my father, from whom I inherited my lack of troubleshooting skills, and covertly chortled at by most others. Dad always knew better where to find a steak knife than a screwdriver and I too now refer to the cutlery tray as the toolbox. I do use some of the few tools that I own. I hammer with the back of a bladeless hack saw, pry with a putty knife and recite the righty tighty rhyme while loosening a bolt with a pair of pliers. And a steak knife is indeed a marvelous all purpose tool. But none of this will help in reassembling my dryer and making it properly do its chore again.

Several months ago when the water heater came down with the basement virus that seems to be spreading, I asked several acquaintances what would be involved in replacing it myself. They assured me that was an easy task while using alien terms such as sweat solder, gate valves and pipe dope. I did make a slight connection with the term pipe dope, though I’m sure there was something gone awry in my translation. Notice that I said acquaintances. Acquaintances are folks who refer to you as a friend when there is a chance that it could benefit them, but abandon your relationship should it come to actually physically giving you a hand. Friendship and fixing things are befuddling to me.

Now it is time to shop for a new dryer. My acquaintances tell me this too is a simple installation and that gas is the only way to go. But that involves, well, gas. And buying pipe dope. The way I interpreted their instructions the only tools I should need are a steak knife, a pair of pliers and the righty tighty rhyme. To be sure, I will have sensitive noses nearby to sniff for leaks and the phone numbers of the gas and electric company and fire department at hand. And if you don’t hear from me for awhile you should probably check with the Red Cross or put a call out to the burn units of the local hospitals. Wish me well, or else convince me to look up the number of that fellow who installed my water heater.