The Genetics of Fixing Stuff

There are lots of different people in the world: good people and bad people, Democrats and Republicans, football fans and baseball fans. Almost more importantly, there also people who can fix stuff and those who can’t.

I fall squarely into the latter group. Sure, I can do the easy stuff: give me a light bulb to change, or a furnace filter to replace, and I’m a champ. No one can run up and down a kitchen ladder faster than me.

Bigger repairs are another story. Electricity scares me, and while plumbing may have been the family business, it’s a mystery to me. Instead, I have a terrific electrician and a wonderful plumber on speed dial.

I’m proof that the ability to fix stuff is not genetic.  My dad could repair things. He even enjoyed doing it.Mostly.

God knows, he tried to pass along his knowledge. When I was a kid, as he worked Dad would patiently explain what he was doing.  It didn’t stick. 

To this day I believe that yelling, “God damn it!” is crucial to any good home repair. When things are going particularly badly, you  simply add, “Sonofabitch!”  I’m proud to say I am now a Class A curser, but I can’t fix squat.

It’s not Dad’s fault.

When he’d visit, he’d constantly add to my tool collection. I have a large supply of different sizes and types of screw drivers, hammers and wrenches. He also organized my nails and screws. Each type and size was carefully sorted into labeled baby food containers.

But dad was only in Los Angeles two weeks a year. Though I saved up my problem tasks for him, eventually he always insisted on going home.

Dad passed away a few years ago and neither through osmosis, good genes or desperation, have I learned home repair. That was difficult when I lived in a little house in North Hollywood, but now home is a ranchette. Emphasis on the ‘ette.’

The place was in turnkey condition when I moved in. But four years, three horses and four dogs later, things are showing some wear and tear. Okay fine; stuff is breaking at an alarming rate.

Thank heavens for zip ties and duct tape. While I still have the stuff Dad gave me, including the well-labeled nails, my real tool kit consists of zips ties in six sizes and two colors and a case of duct tape.

When the horses' fan need replacing during the hottest weeks of the year, which somehow happens annually, it’s a cinch.  I scamper up a ladder, balance one foot on a feeder and simply fasten the new ones in place using the zip tie of my choice. Sometimes I go wild and use two.

The outgoing hose from my drier ripped earlier this year. Hot air and lint were filling my laundry. Luckily I had the ability to fix it. I broke out some duct tape and in mere moments, the thing was venting properly. It looks a tad tacky, but hey, it works.

A couple of days ago the dishwasher became stuck in the locked position. I pushed all of the buttons repeated and nothing helped. I even unplugged the machine to reset it. Still broken.

Finally I opened my laptop and Googled it. According to instructions given on the ‘my dishwasher is stuck in lock position’ page, there was a specific sequence of buttons to push. I did it and voila! Unlocked.

I was so proud of myself that you’d have thought I built an actual house out of Legos and superglue. Maybe I had finally transformed into someone who could fix shit!

My achievement was somewhat diminished, when I visited a friend. She’s one of those capable people. She not only hung her horses’ electric fencing by herself, (I had my barn man do it, and it took him three days), but regularly deals with a myriad of plumbing problems.

As I helped - okay, I watched -she scrambled onto the roof of her travel trailer, electric drill one hand, hammer in the other. In less than a half hour, she’d replaced the electric fan/sunlight.

Every so often while she was working,  I shouted encouraging words. It seemed to help.

Much as I would love to have her ‘can do’ gumption, it’s not in the cards.

On a recent Friday night, my air conditioning broke. In the days following it was well over 100 degrees. My dogs were melting in the heat. 

That night I dug out a spare horse fan from the barn, dusted it off and set it up across from the bed. The dogs all lined up directly in front of it. The only circulating air I felt was their panting.

First thing in the morning I did what I had to do. I went straight to Angie’s List and made a phone call.

The guy came out precisely on time. He replaced a few parts and threw in a lecture on proper A/C maintenance.

As I watched him change the part, I realized I could have fixed it myself. If only I knew which part to replace. But that wouldn’t happen in a million years. I wouldn’t even known where to look for the damaged part.

As I walked into the rapidly cooling house to get my checkbook, the dogs were lounging happily for the first time in three days.

I handed the guy his money, and added him number to my speed dial.

I may not be able to fix shit, but God damn it, sonofabitch, I sure know how to call someone who does.