IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM — though it might be more accurate to call it a “laundry nook,” since it is a corner of a corner of the cellar, a dark, dolorous place that some employees, back when we used to have some employees, refused to visit on the grounds that it was “spooky” — Lou, Clark, Artie, and Tony T stood watching me and kibitzing while I tried to find out what was wrong with the last of the washers. I noted the absence of Manuel Pedrera from this bunch of guys and assumed that, if I was right about his true identity, he was inspecting the launch and plotting some crafty sabotage or, if I was wrong about his true identity, he was pestering the women with offers of massages.
As soon as I began examining the washer, I felt the chill down the spine that one feels in the presence of death, but with everyone watching I didn’t want to look like a shirker, so I went through the motions of dismantling the housing and inspecting the machinery.
A point comes in jobs like trying to resuscitate a dead washer when the worker begins to curse not only the work but also the fates that have put him in the miserable position of having to do the work. When I reached that point, Clark said, “I gotta get back up on the roof,” Lou said, “Gotta take inventory,” Tony T said, “Gotta find the gas leak in the launch,” and Artie flipped his phone open and said, “I gotta find you somebody who knows what he’s doin’.”
Tony T brought the washer repairman over in the launch, not the runabout, because he reasoned, wisely, that a washer repairman was likely to be greasy, if not on the way over then certainly on the way back. The repairman was short, wide, and moronic. He looked at each of us from below heavy eyebrows as if he were sizing up the likelihood that we might have designs on a piece of raw meat that he had hidden in his back pocket to snack on later. I showed him to the laundry nook, and when he saw the line of silent washers he grunted, then he snorted, and then he blew his nose on his sleeve, which I interpreted as the professional washing-machine-repairman’s way of indicating that he would prefer to be left alone with the machines. So, I left him to his work and went back to mine, painting, patching, and plastering my way from one end of the hotel to the other. The repairman spent some time making things go thump and bump in the cellar, and then he came upstairs and found me.
“Gonna come to this,” he said. He held in front of me a computer that had been beefed up and dressed in armor to withstand the abuse of washing-machine repairmen. On its screen was an estimate for the repairs. The total came to the price of a good dinner for two at the hotel, with cocktails, wine, dessert, tax, tip, a night’s lodging, a moonlight sail, champagne breakfast in bed, and a couple of souvenir Small’s Hotel T-shirts.
“Holy shit!” I said, if I remember correctly.
Lou, Clark, Artie, and Tony T materialized silently and immediately, as if they had been loitering around the corner until the repairman appeared with his estimate. They jostled one another for position until each of them had had a view of the screen, and then they put their heads together for a quick conference. “How much to fix them all?” asked Lou.
The repairman gurgled and looked at the screen of his computer, as if he were hoping that the answer might appear there without his having to do anything to prompt it. The rest of us looked at the screen in the same manner. When nothing appeared, the repairman grumbled some more and returned to the cellar. We waited at the top of the stairs. We heard thumping and banging, and more thumping and banging, until he had thumped and banged each of the eight machines, and then the repairman came to the top of the stairs, held his computer out toward us, and said, “Gonna come to this,” as, I suppose, he had been taught to do in a customer-relations seminar. My four benefactors went into conference again, and while they conferred I tried to think of some way to thank them for the generous gesture they were about to make. I had just about settled on the idea that some sort of special dinner, on the house, would be appropriate and would still leave the house far ahead of the game, when Lou said, “Why don’t you do two of them,” and I decided that a round of drinks would probably do just fine, maybe just a round of beers.
The repairman turned and disappeared down the stairs into the dark, and in a moment there came forth from the cellar the anguished screams of washers undergoing organ transplants without benefit of anesthesia. It was enough to make strong men turn to drink.
“How about a beer on me?” I suggested, and we retired to the bar to await the outcome of the operation. Lou had hardly finished drawing five pints when, suddenly, it was over. No more than ten minutes had passed, but the washer repairman stood in the doorway with his armored computer, printing a bill. He tore it off and handed it to Lou.
“There is a three-year warranty on the parts,” he announced.
“Which cost eight dollars,” Lou said, examining the bill.
[to be continued]
Subscribe to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy
Share The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy
Have you missed an episode or two or several?
You can begin reading at the beginning or you can catch up by visiting the archive or consulting the index to the Topical Guide. The Substack serialization of Little Follies begins here; Herb ’n’ Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small’s Hotel begins here.
You can listen to the episodes on the Personal History podcast. Begin at the beginning or scroll through the episodes to find what you’ve missed. The Substack podcast reading of Little Follies begins here; Herb ’n’ Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here; What a Piece of Work I Am begins here; At Home with the Glynns begins here; Leaving Small’s Hotel begins here.
You can listen to “My Mother Takes a Tumble” and “Do Clams Bite?” complete and uninterrupted as audiobooks through YouTube.
You can ensure that you never miss a future issue by getting a free subscription. (You can help support the work by choosing a paid subscription instead.)
At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of Little Follies, Herb ’n’ Lorna, Reservations Recommended, Where Do You Stop?, What a Piece of Work I Am, and At Home with the Glynns.
You can buy hardcover and paperback editions of all the books at Lulu.
You’ll find overviews of the entire work in An Introduction to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy (a pdf document), The Origin Story (here on substack), Between the Lines (a video, here on Substack), and at Encyclopedia.com.
Share this post