The Glass Man
I have never liked to use the phone. Conversations and transactions, whether personal or business, that I easily conduct in person become loathesome by phone. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is because I come from a family of phonophobes. I don’t think I have ever had a conversation of more than five minutes with either my father or my brother, and while my mother and sister were more that willing to converse on the on the phone, neither seemed to know that it was a device that could both place and receive calls. On the other hand, perhaps it is a characteristic of most men. In my Thursday Night Men’s Group, calling the guys, whether it is for help with a problem or just to talk, is part of the program. Whether it is the dislike of using of the phone or of asking for help, most of the men refer to the phone as too heavy to pick up. Having lots of company doesn’t make being a phonophobe any more acceptable at home.
Last week, my wife, Muri, noticed that a window in our bedroom had a crack and left a note that we should call someone to fix it. When I find such a note, I ask her why she doesn’t just tell me. She usually says, It’s a note to me to tell you. I don’t buy it. Anyway, when I found this note, I thought I’d surprise her and Get ‘er done, as Larry the Cable Guy likes to say. I called several glass companies and found one that would do the work on the next Thursday. She was genuinely pleased and asked what time they were coming. They’ll call, I said, realizing I hadn’t asked, so a bit later (when Muri was out) I called Anaheim Glass. They’d never heard of me. I tried Anaheim Glass and Screen. After checking, they said they’d be coming really early Thursday morning. Close enough, right? I told Muri I’d get up early to let him in but because the window is in our bedroom, she got up, too. By ten o’clock she decided she’d take over and called Anaheim Glass and Screen. They didn’t have us scheduled. Neither did Anaheim Glass. Let’s let it go for now, I said.
Friday morning, the door bell rang at 7:30 … we were both still in bed. A glass truck was parked outside, so Muri took cover in my office while I put on a pair of jeans over my jammies and answered the door. The Glass Guy came upstairs, measured the window and gave me an estimate. When he’d left, Muri came back to the our bedroom and asked when they’d be back. They’ll call, I said, since I hadn’t asked. Was it Anaheim Glass or Anaheim Glass and Screen?, she asked. He didn’t say, I answered. She just shook her head but I suspect she was thinking, Next time, I’ll take care of it myself. I suppose that’s just fine with both of us.