I Sing of the Telephone Repairman

Two days ago, our house phone stopped working: no dial tone, no nothing. That meant that Kathy's DSL was down, too. Predictably, I was expecting a call from a doctor and she had lots of work to do, but we were out of luck.

So, I immediately used another phone to call the AT&T repair line, which, you'll be happy to learn, is automated for my convenience. Those AT&T guys are always thinking of me. Knowing that it would slow me down to actually talk to someone about the problem, they removed the option from their menus. All I could do was schedule someone to come out and fix the line...in four days.

Four days without our main phone is a big problem. Four days without DSL is a crisis. Not to mention, we actually use that phone as an intercom all the time, which meant that we had to get up and walk into another room to talk to each other. Gasp! Well, not really...we figured out our cell phones would work for that. I mean, there's no need to get all crazy-like.

I changed our outgoing message to say something snide about AT&T and tell people how to reach us. But I kept picking up the phone and trying to dial out anyway, because I am as trainable as a lab mouse.

This morning, I went upstairs to make myself some breakfast (appropriately clad in blue-green pajamas with accompanying wild hair) when I saw someone in an orange vest walking uphill in the rain, with some purpose to his step. Oooh, was he coming to our house? Or maybe a neighbor's house?

Like some sort of lazy spy, I slunk casually through the dining room and living room, catching glimpses of his orange vest through the shutters and then the drapes around the corner. He was definitely coming to our house.

Maybe he will fix our phone!

When our doorbell rang, I creaked the door open (note to self: oil those hinges!) and peeked around it, having no idea how many directions my hair was pointing in. Ah-ha! Underneath his Rastafarian hair, I could read AT&T on his vest. But why didn't he park in front?

"I was wondering if I could run a test on your phone," he said.

I grinned. "The one that's dead?"

"Your phone is dead?" He looked at a clipboard. Clearly, that's not why he was there. He confirmed the phone number. "Well, I'll run my tests and ring the doorbell when I'm done. You can see if that fixes it."

As I closed the door, I couldn't help but smile delightedly. A wandering minstrel repairman! What are the chances of that? I ran downstairs to put on a robe (I didn't want to look too eager and actually get dressed) and comb my hair (wow, it was pretty scary). I nursed my cup of coffee for about 20 minutes and then, he rang the bell. I grabbed the phone as I ran to the door, and flung it open as I hit speakerphone. DIAL TONE!

"Yay!" I squealed. I thought about telling him that I loved him but resisted the impulse.

He explained that while he was testing it, he removed some water that had gathered by the wires and voila! All better. But I'd have to call AT&T to cancel Friday's appointment, because they didn't know anything about this.

I thanked him and shut the door. I imagined him strapping his lyre around his neck and continuing on to the next house, strumming as he sang, "I sing of the telephone re-pair, and ladies with crazy-ass sleep hair, la la, la la, la lo dee do...I sing of the telephone re-pair..."

Okay, maybe not. But we have dial tone! Thanks, Margie and Norm.

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