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Life Is A Gas–

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Jack gets in over the wire again in time – –

A few weeks ago in a previous post I mentioned that our gas furnace had stopped working. A very nice and obviously competent young engineer got it working, but a week later it stopped again, so he came back, carried out a more ‘in depth’ inspection and got it working again. At that point he suggested, in the tones of a cheerful funeral conductor, that time until we would be calling again might not be long; would we like to talk parts or full replacement?

We moved here over four years ago, and I always assumed that the furnace was fairly new. But it seems I was wrong; it’s probably over twenty years old and nearing the point where other things could need fixing. So we faced the same dilemma everyone does from time to time: soldier on with repairs to the existing unit or bite the bullet and have it replaced with a new one.

Enter our second engineer, who carried out another inspection, which happily revealed that the duct work throughout our (very old) house was fine, and so was the air conditioning unit. So we would only need a new furnace, and there was easy access to the basement. He also petted our cats, commented on the wine fermenting and the canning going on in the kitchen, all the stuff.

Were we being softened up? No, because as it turns out, we mentioned something about using their company once before, perhaps three years ago, and not being entirely comfortable with the condescension of the person who came.

“Oh, yeah,” said our new friend, Will. “That’s the guy who doesn’t work for us anymore. He was infamous.”

The company had apparently learned its lesson, as the two lads who came this time were excellent communicators throughout and explained things thoroughly without trying to ‘hard sell’ us a new unit. They both sat with us and patiently went through the pros and cons of our decision, one way or the other.

The decision, in the end, is personal to us. Everyone has to make their own decision in these moments, but we are confident we got all the advice we needed to make the right one.

Speaking of advice, I bless the fact that Wendy nag– er– persuaded me we should install a log stove three years ago. Until now it has been an occasional luxury. Right now it’s our main source of heat and working well…

…and the engineers complimented us on our cozy home, leaving their warmth as well.

Come back next Wednesday for more from Jack

Cynicism Is Underrated

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Writer Wendy’s weekly blog

When I was teaching at the local college, friends and I formed the CAB club: cynical altruist bitches. We believed that it was important to do good but that doing it wouldn’t make any difference.

Diogenes the Cynic, of Greek philosophy

Our fundraising model—although we never implemented it—was to rob gas stations and give the money to charity. But since we were all professors, getting five people together at once on that kind of schedule proved impossible. Hence our low funding.

We did get a grant once, $12 from the Provost of the College to buy red felt-tipped pens so we could correct errant apostrophes and statements of fact on public signs. None of us ever got prosecuted for the graffiti we left across town. My favorite correction was one of members who corrected “Vote Republican, Save America” to “Enslave.”

Cynics get a lot done, you have to admit. We’re grumpy and mutter things under our breath while we write policies we know will be rejected, demanding things like not promoting scholarship opportunities to students if they require a video application. Why do you need to know if the student is pretty? Or Black? Or Trans? (We did actually get one such application process changed; the problem with success among cynics is it deflates rather than fuels our contrariness-energized campaigns.)

Jokes among cynics are easy to spot, especially at Christmas. I admit, to this day one of my favorite responses when someone approaches me saying “Ho Ho Ho” is to snarl, “How dare you shame women like that?”

Cynicism walks close to bad virtue signaling. Recently some friends were grousing about how hard it can be to find the right words for a grant application to describe people who don’t have money and probably came from families who had experienced poverty before them. As the group shared how bad some of the options were—economically challenged, financially at-risk, perpetual poverty—someone asked, “Why can’t we just say ‘poor?’”

A virtue signaler huffed. “That feels like shaming people. The granting agency would and should flag it.”

A second virtue signaler tried to climb on top. “People who are poor care a lot less what we call them than whether we can bring resources to them.”

To which the CAB member in the group snapped, “We’re not bringing resources to them; we’re funding the salary for someone who will have to figure out what to call them in the next grant we write off their backs—I mean, on their behalf.”

Merry Christmas to all the cynics out there.