girl’s guide to fixing broken shit.

23 May

I just got off the phone with my friend who’s also at work right now, and we talked about how bad we feel for ourselves for having no life other than our small businesses. Then we discussed the concert we’re going to in a few weeks together, a little bitty road trip he’s taking tomorrow, our Memorial Day plans and how we should all barbecue or go to the beach, and our upcoming vacations. Our lives are extremely difficult and you should all feel really bad for us.

Most of the time we were talking I spent standing on a chair, trying to shut off the fans in the party room. Every time I thought the fan was starting to slow down, I would doubt myself and pull the string thinking that it was just on the lowest speed, not totally off. And then it would go really fast. So I’d pull it a couple more times, doubt that it was off again and vicious cycle for about ten minutes. Luckily the fan in the dining room is broken, so I didn’t have to worry about shutting that one off tonight.

Lots of stuff is broken around here. That’s just what happens. You come in here for your food and drink and decent company. You use my furniture and my glasses and my plates, and shit breaks. And it’s all your fault, but are you gonna fix it? No! Am I? Probably not unless it can be repaired with a cordless drill or something in my pink toolkit (except for the pink level because some motherfucker stole it) or it’s a lightbulb or any other object that you screw to make it work! My approach for most repairs and small projects around the restaurant is to ask my dad and Harry, and have them ignore me or complain or procrastinate, and then have one of the cooks or waiters do it on a day that I’m here alone. For instance, the hook on the back of the bathroom door. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone having nowhere to stash their bag when they pee so I had a waiter who claimed he was a world class hook hanger hang it up. And now every time I use the loo I stare at this crooked fucking hook and I get all twitchy because it isn’t level but he doesn’t work here anymore and so I don’t want to take it down in case I can’t find another sucker to fix it. But alas, at least the shit got done. I just signed on a new waiter to renovate the bathrooms with me this summer. If he passes that test then I’ll let him fix the hook.

For the most part, my dad is a stay-at-home dad. He does a lot of gardening, goes to the casino for the buffet and some slots, babysits and reads every headline on the AOL home screen on an hourly basis. Let’s just say that an occasional restaurant-related activity would do him little-to-no harm. Yet today when I called him about the fan being broken, he first called Harry to check if I had actually pulled the strings. Then he called me at like 10pm to ask if the fan had come on yet.

“No, did you come fix it? I didn’t see you.”

“I asked Harry to pull the strings. Did it go on?”

“No. Because it’s broken. And pulling the strings on a broken fan does nothing except give you exercise*.”

“Well are you sure that Harry pulled the strings? I don’t want to come there and waste my time if nobody pulled the strings and I find out that it’s something stupid that I have to fix.”

“I’m pretty smart, Dad. And I think you should come.”


Hopefully nothing incredibly important will happen in the world while he’s up on the ladder, or I’ll feel really guilty that he missed the headline.


*Sidebar: Today one of my new waitresses asked me what “workout regimen” I use to keep my legs in such awesome shape. After I stopped hysterically laughing/snorting/falling off my chair, I told her that I often walk to my office and occasionally I walk back. Also I turn fans on and off. Nicole said that my toned calves are from “heels and sports when you were younger.” I explained that neither JV softball nor smoking pot on the lacrosse field typically do anything for your muscle tone. Harry came up with the best summary of my exercise regimen. Ben & Jerry’s. He’s pretty spot on, except for the past three days which have also included my pushups.

Also, I just remembered that I missed poetry Tuesday. Where the hell does the time go? I even worked with Charlie and could have thrown a little ditty together for him. I owe you one, Charles.


One Response to “girl’s guide to fixing broken shit.”

  1. Sandrew May 23, 2012 at 11:15 pm #

    how many JAPS does it take to change a lightbulb?

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