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From Ianreadgood

1st factor Saturday morning I decided to fix the washing machine. This choice had not been reached lightly. The cold water stress was weak so I had checked with two specialists at operate (i.e., they had each owned washing machines at one particular time or yet another) and determined that it was a sticky solenoid. I grabbed my toolbox and told my wife what I was planning.

Itll be fixed in ten minutes, I clarify as I head down to the basement. Meanwhile, she is hunting up the quantity of a 24 hour emergency plumbing service and entering it into the speed-dialing function of the telephone.

Shouldnt I get in touch with the plumber? she asks, generating it obvious that she doesnt realize men. Of course, she has her motives - Ive had some poor experiences. In truth, Ive however to tackle a residence improvement project that has truly enhanced the residence.

But right now I was feeling confident. I meticulously removed each and every screw from the back of the washing machine only to uncover that it still wouldnt come off. So, using the biggest screwdriver I could locate as leverage, I applied gentle pressure until abruptly there was a god-awful screech followed by two loud snaps and the back of the washing machine flies off like a cork out of a champagne bottle and smashes against the concrete wall with a thud that shakes the home.

I hear the basement door open above me. Should I call the plumber?

We dont need a plumber, almost everything is going according to strategy, I assure her.

Of course, Im not exactly positive what the plan is. The back of the washing machine is filled with adequate wires and hoses to launch the space shuttle and I have absolutely no notion where to commence. So I gradually commence removing parts, looking for something which may possibly remotely resemble a solenoid, which is a cylindrical object which can be magnetized (I looked it up in the dictionary).

Each and every hour or so the basement door opens. Should I contact the plumber?

Finally, with head held low, I humbly inform her, Its time to contact a plumber.

Personally, I believe I was on the verge of figuring the complete point out, but I could inform that she was beginning to get nervous. A brief time later Mr. Smarty-pants Plumber arrives and views the carnage.

What the hell occurred here? he asks in disbelief.

I tell him the only issue that pops into my head. Vandals. Weve been possessing some problems in the neighborhood.

Must have been a whole gang of them to have brought on this much harm, he suggests and I can only nod my head in agreement.

He continues to assessment the scene of destruction, sometimes muttering Hmmm beneath his breath. Somehow, I intuitively know that every hmmm is costing me an further fifty dollars.

Lastly, Mr. Overpriced Plumber starts putting every thing back together once more until, like magic, the washing machine is back in one piece and pushed against the wall.

Specifically what were you trying to do? Mr. Couldnt-make-it-as-an-electrician asks as hes calculating a bill larger than a small countrys gross national product.

I seize the opportunity to show him hes not dealing with just any goober who walked in off the street. The cold water pressure was weak, I explain. Sticky solenoid.

Uh huh, he responds and reaches behind the machine and twists off a hose. He taps the nozzle against the palm of his hand until a black, gooey glob of sludge oozes out. Then, with a final twist, he reattaches the hose.

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