Trouble Comes Calling

I sell drain cleaning machines. As such, every now and then a guy will come into the old barn and ask me - me - for advice on the subject. Imagine that.

The other day a plumber came by and asked for my thoughts on trying to use a steel cable drain snake which was 1-1/4 inches in diameter in a pipe which was 1-1/2 inches wide. Further, said pipe had two 90 degree turns in it. Someone with no plumbing or drain cleaning experience at all can surely see there isn't anywhere near enough clearance for that to work out well.

What did I think, he asked.

I think that you're not only asking for trouble, but laying out the welcome mat and insisting it stay for dinner. Get a smaller machine with a smaller cable. 

But that's just me. I do think I talked him out of it, though.

Cooling Agent

Sometimes at the Shop we have to heat things. Maybe two parts won't come apart, maybe a bolt won't loosen; you get the idea. Consequently we keep a large bucket of water near our work bench in case we need to cool hot metal. You know, for safety's sake. Because we Cosgriffs are all about safety.

So one day Pops was heating something or other while fixing a machine for a customer; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. When Dad finished he dropped the red hot whatever into the bucket of water. Cloyce asked, "Is that water, Cosgriff?"

With a twinkle in his eye Pops answered, "No. It's a special chemical compound called H2O".

"Oh," Cloyce responded with about half a laugh.

A few months later Cloyce was back, this time with a friend. Pops was heating something up again, and dropped the part in the water as he finished. Cloyce said to his buddy, "I bet you think that's water, don't you?"

"Uhh, yeah," the guy answered uncertainly.

"Nope. That's a special chemical compound called H2O," Cloyce responded. Dad said you tell that Cloyce was proud of that faux scientific factoid because he clearly did not realize that H2O was water.

"Really?" the man in turn responded, giving a curious eye towards Pops, who simply but mildly shrugged his shoulders. The man himself clearly knew H2O was water, but left it at that.

I believe Dad was happy that he did. After all, he was only cracking a joke however many months ago. He was not out to embarrass old Cloyce. 

Perchance to Answer

Me Grandpa Joe had a welder rental business which me Pops by and large ran. Dad frequently spoke about two calls. One he refused on principle, the other he nearly refused on a different principle, but took. 

One large company would only call Joe Cosgriff Welding Machine Rentals on weekends, and I mean late on weekends. They'd call at, oh, 11 PM on a Saturday night, all in a dither over some presumed emergency. Joe would grumble, but dutifully take the order and fill it, delivering whatever in the wee hours of a Sunday.

He happened to be out of town one weekend. That company called, and me Pops answered. He refused the rental. "You call somebody else during regular hours but us at off hours. We're not doing business that way," Dad blithely explained to the company rep.

Pops worried a bit what Joe would think, but grandfather sided with his son. Say what you want about Joe, and much can and has been said, when he delegated authority to Pops he never questioned what Dad did. Joe figured, "I told him to run it, so I gotta let him run it."

Another time we were in a recession, and business was bad. That wouldn't stop Joe from taking his trips, so he decided one day to go off on an adventure. Dad, of course, took the reins of the Shop.

He took a call from a very large company (you would recognize it but I won't tell you, just for safety's sake, discretion being the better part of valor) who were notorious for being slow to pay. Me Pops did not like dealing with them. Yet they wanted ten machines asap and there wasn't much other work. Dad opted to take the chance and fill the order, which ballooned into almost every one of the welders Joe owned at the time. At the height of the job, they had 210 units rented.

And, they paid promptly. "I'm glad I took that call!" Dad would say in telling the story. I know Joe did not question his decision on that one.

To Begin With

There are times where all you can do is scratch your head. 

A customer brought a large drain machine into the old barn for repair. "I think I burned it out, Cosgriff. Do have an idea what it will cost me?"

This particular machine had all the cords cut off at the reverse switch box attached to the motor. "Not really, without going over it. But where are the cords?" I asked.

"I was trying to fix it myself," he replied sheepishly, "and threw them away."

You threw them away? I thought in silence. "Well, a complete rewire is $175, so you'll need at least that if I can get it running. So whatever getting the problem fixed costs, $175 will be added on if you approve the repair."

"So we're starting at $175?" he demanded in shock. Yes, but you tossed the cords, I again thought quietly.

I sighed. "No charge at all if you don't approve the fix. I'm simply explaining that whatever the trouble is it'll be an additional $175."

The guy's shoulders dropped. "I guess I shouldn't have thrown them out."

I guess not. Why did you even think that was a good idea?

Zeke's Nightmare

Me Uncle John who we sometimes call Zeke worked with me Grandpa Joe in Grandpa's welding machine rental business. At times the pressure of the job got to him.

Zeke came into work one morning looking frazzled. "You okay, John?" my Dad asked him.

"I didn't sleep well," he answered. "In fact I feel like I worked all night."

"How can that be?"

Uncle John explained, "I dreamed I was ill, so I called in sick. But we were so busy that Joe knocked out a wall to my second floor bedroom and had a ramp built up to it, so you guys could bring me welders to work on anyway."

Me Pops just shook his head. "You really need to separate your work and private life better, Zeke."

The First, and Last, Place I Looked

Please tell me this has happened to you. Please tell me I'm not the only one.

I needed a distributor tube to finish a snake repair. Don't worry about what it is, just trust me it's essential and that I had to have it. When I began fixing the drain machine it came from I had set the thing aside for when I could reassemble said snake.

Saturday I was all ready to finish that repair. I could not find that tube anywhere. Ninety minutes of searching came up with zilch, zero, nada. Finally surrendering to the omnipotent forces of drain snake repair I decided to leave it to Monday. Well, after I tripped over some junk which should not have been there to trip over and skinned up my left knee pretty bad. But that story is for another day. You've done that too I'm sure.

I opened the old barn at 6:30 this morning to put out an APB on that distributor tube. May as well start early, I figured, because if I don't find it by 8 I'll just have to go to the parts house and get a replacement on my dime. Right is right, eh?

The first place I looked was the top drawer on my work bench. But it's not there. It cannot possibly be there. That's the first place I looked on Saturday.

It was there. 

How in the name of all that is good and holy could I have overlooked it? It wasn't hidden, wasn't buried under the flotsam and jetsam which hides so much in the Shop. It. Was. Right. There.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who's done that. Please.

I Am What I Am

Years ago I fixed a drain snake while a customer waited because he was stuck. "You're my hero!" he said as he paid for the job.

"I'm no hero, I'm just a guy who fixes drain snakes," I modestly replied.

Yesterday a guy came into the old barn desperate for eight cables and a particular drain cleaning tool. I had it all. "Man, you are amazing!" I was told.

'Nah, I'm not amazing. I'm only a guy who sells drain snakes." 

It is nice to be complimented, to be well thought about. But humility is a good thing too.

Besides, what I am is magnificent. Get your adjectives right.

Levanrd

About 20 miles out of Detroit on I-96 is Levan Road. The sign for the exit says Levan Rd. There's nothing unusual about that, is there?

Years ago me Grandpa Joe had a delivery driver, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who was a little slow on the uptake. Me Pops one day sent him out with a load of welding equipment intended for a place off Levan in western Wayne County.

About three hours after the scheduled delivery time, the company called asking where it was. This was the time before cell phones, so there was no easy way to track Cloyce. Dad had to wait to hear from him for an explanation.

Cloyce happened to walk into the old barn about ten minutes later anyway. "I couldn't make that delivery, Bill," he said.

"Why not? Pops demanded. "I wrote out exact directions." Surely the old man did, knowing Cloyce.

"Well, Bill, I drove all the way out past Ann Arbor (easily 40 miles beyond target) and I could not find Levanrd." Apparently Dad wrote the abbreviation for road too close to Levan.

With a heavy sigh Dad more precisely explained himself and sent Cloyce back out.

Hero Worship

Most of us, many of us anyway, have heroes. My dad is my hero, I say with pride. But some people forget that even terms like hero can be used hyperbolically. And uncomfortably.

For example there's this plumber, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who, no matter what he's getting at the Shop, tells me and me brother Phil, "You're my heroes." 

Um, thanks, but we're not. We simply sold you a cutting tool, dude.

It might not bother me so much in a more desperate situation. If Cloyce had burst into the old barn in a panic because his machine quit while he had a hundred and twenty feet of cable lodged in a drain and needed a repair fast and we were able to do that, I'd get the sudden exclamation, "You're my heroes!" But when he says 'you're my hero' for run of the mill stuff, well, it's borderline creepy to me. At least how he says it, that is.

Maybe that just Cloyce's way. Still, I actually shuddered while typing this blog out this morning.

Lack of Planning

I'm not the only one who walks. Me brother Phil affords himself regular constitutionals. Yet unlike me he tends to hike in the late afternoon or early evening. 

One Sunday afternoon a bit after 4, he went out. While getting his exercise he figured to check out the Shop, the old barn where we work, just to see it was secure. 

He was just a bit surprised to see a plumber waiting by the door. "Man, I'm glad to see you Cosgriff. I need my machine worked on."

"Well, you're really lucky to find me. We normally aren't here this time of the week," Phil explained.

The man said, "Oh, I know. I just hoped someone might come around eventually."

So you came late on a Sunday afternoon? Did you intend to wait outside my door until Monday? Still, me brother offered, "Well, since I'm here, let's open up and take a quick look at your snake."

The plumber stammered, "Uh, I don't have it with me."

So you came to the Shop at a time when you didn't think that anyone would be there, and you didn't bring your machine, thought Phil. And, you didn't see a flaw in that plan?

Yet he said, "We'll be here tomorrow morning at 8 then sir."

I don't think we ever actually saw him though. That may he just as well.

Zeke's Flat Tires

You read that right: flat tires. It's not about any particular flats which me Uncle John who we call Zeke had in his lifetime, although he had his share. More than his share, he might argue. But this is about potential flats.

Any sharp object can cause a flat: a screw, a nail, even a small bolt under the right speed and angle can imbed itself into a tread. Ask a math nerd. However it happens, a few miles down the road and you're on the shoulder fighting to break lug nuts loose, lamenting your poor luck. You didn't, you couldn't even see when it happened. But you would find the dread nail and curse it.

Again, this isn't about real life flats but possible ones. I can't tell you how many times we'd be walking to and from the old barn to one of our satellite garages and Zeke's eyes would zero in on an object laying in the alley as though he were Iron Man seeing with the ultra sensitive sight of his metal suit. He pick up that vile nail and hold it out for you to see, right in front of your eyeballs. "That's a flat!" he would proclaim with scorn.

He was, of course, right. For all the actual flats we dealt with, it was best to get all the potential ones out of the way. 

Old Oil

The things me Grandpa Joe used to have us do at the old barn make me shake my head these days. At the time I didn't think much about it, but looking back, I often wonder why.

The gasoline powered welding machines he had had long side panels which folded upwards to allow access to the engine and welding unit. These panels (which were as I recall where about four foot in length) had what amounted to long hinges. That they required occasional greasing I get. Joe did that with old oil.

We changed the oil in our own cars back then, and the engines on the welders needed changing too of course. Joe would save all the old oil and have teens like me at the time paint the gray, sticky goo across and into the hinges.

Suffice it to say, it left you smelling like oil. It got oil all over everything: your clothes, the entirety of the machine, and a lot on the cement. For days afterwards you would get a light spray of oil when opening a panel on the machine. It was simply one big, slick, greasy mess.

I understand his reasoning. He felt the oil penetrated well, that it worked itself more into the joints. But thinking back on it, I have to believe there were actual penetrating oils which might have been less hassle: WD-40 or something. But back then I was only a 14 year old doing as he was told. Thinking wasn't in my job description. Joe did that for me...for whatever that's worth.

Eclipsed

Yeah, I'm just staying home and watching today's eclipse from the D. The more I thought about it the more I thought, I do have work to do (well, that was my boss's, and conscience's, thought anyway) and what real difference can half a percent off totality (Detroit is predicted to have 99.4 sun coverage)  make? So I'll slip on a welding helmet and step outside the old barn and catch the thing as it grows and ebbs.

But the corona! That sliver of sunlight at totality! Ah, I've seen it before, in pictures. And again, it simply can't be that much better. I doubt I'll be on my deathbed wishing I'd have seen the whole eclipse. I'll be on my deathbed wishing I'd spent more time at work.

Ha, ha, no. But in this world sometimes work must be a priority. I would have probably been more inclined to drive further for totality if, say, Detroit were only at 80 or 90 percent. As it is, I'll take what I get.

Hand Hold

Sherman used to clean drains. That means that we saw him a lot back in the day; he worked until about 1990. Sherman also used to preface every sentence with the word, see. 'See, I'm doing fine,' he would answer when you asked how he was.

One morning Pops was welding an end on Sherman's cable. When Dad finished he noticed Sherman reaching for the cable as he turned off the welder. "Don't touch that, it's hot!" he warned.

"See, I know it's hot," Sherman answered.

A minute later Dad heard him yelp. He turned to see Sherman rubbing his hand; he had grabbed the hot cable full palm. "Sherman, I just told you that was hot!" Dad admonished him.

"See, I didn't know it was that hot."

Pops went and got the burn ointment from our first aid kit. Squeezing some out of the tube onto the wound, Dad said as Sherman worked the goo into his palm, "Are you going to be okay?"

"See, I'll be fine, Bill. See, I didn't burn it that bad. See, I didn't hold it very long."

I imagine not. 

Fixing a Hole

Me Grandpa Joe once had this big black Cadillac, I think it was an Eldorado, and it was a monster. A veritable battleship. I mean, that thing was huge. It's passing by would cause a solar eclipse. And like most of Joe's cars, it was, well, unique.

We never did get the brakes working quite right. You learned while driving it to anticipate traffic lights, slowing down blocks away when it looked like the light would go red soon. Me Uncle John known in some quarters as Zeke once suggested we install those big parachutes like they have on drag racers to help the car stop on time because, being big and heavy, it took a lot to stop that vehicle. The engine required so much work that Zeke also quipped that once he saw the car on the street and almost didn't recognize it with the hood down.

But what got me the most about the car was the first time Joe had me changing the oil. Crawling under the belly of the beast to drain the motor, I couldn't help but see that the oil pan had apparently once sprung a leak. The clue? The pan was covered in heavy roofing cement.

I called to me Grandpa, "There's roof cement slathered on the oil pan. Maybe it used to have a leak."

"Does it look like it's leaking now?" he yelled back.

I studied it closely and replied, "No."

"Then we won't worry about it," Joe answered.

A typical Grandpa Joe view of a typical Grandpa Joe car. Damn, I miss that old man.

Distractions

I had a box in my front hall yesterday which I wanted to take to the Shop. But I walked out of the house and into my new old van and drove off without it.

Heavy, disgruntled sigh. I loop the block and park in front of the house and get out of the van. 

My cell rings. I take the call, start chatting with an old friend on the other end, walk up onto the porch, unlock the door, and step inside the house. The conversation goes on another minute or two and we hang up.

Putting the phone in my pocket, I take out my keys, head out the door, lock it, and get back in the van heading towards the old barn. Without the box.

Heavier, disgruntleder sigh. 

I went back home. I did not forget the box a third time. 

Mr. Moss Runs the Table

Well, they've gone and done it. The current owners of the property have torn the Clubhouse down. Undoubtedly that's because they did not know its revered place in local history.

Me Grandpa Joe had dubbed it 'The Clubhouse' because that's where the neighborhood drunks (and I call them that affectionately I assure you; I thought well of each one of them) hung out in it. It was an old brick garage behind a house Joe then owned, and he didn't care if they used it as a hangout. Pop Turner, Tall Glass (he drank from a long tall glass, Joe would say), L.B., Chuck the mechanic (he was a crackin' good  mechanic when sober), Grandpa (not Joe, but another guy everyone called Grandpa, Heaven knows why anymore), a guy named Watson and a few others. They just sat within its confines on old makeshift benches and passed out whiskey to each other in plastic cups, talking in low mumbles only they could understand once the juice had been flowing a while.

But then a craps game might break out. We all knew when; the whole neighborhood could hear the ruckus. Yells and screams and ooos and aaahhs; sure, they shouldn't have been wasting their money like that, but they weren't hurtin' nobody and only vaguely disturbing the peace. They never fought over a result either. They just shot craps and drank liquor.

I did see them pretty down one day though. They had invited Mr. Moss to play with them. Mr. Moss was a dignified old gent who lived on the block. He had a small electric company and generally kept to himself. But for whatever reason, maybe he was bored or had no work, he joined the boys in the Clubhouse that one afternoon. They wanted him to play because he had money. Simple as that.

He proceeded to clean them out. What they hoped would be an easy road to a large payout for one of them became a payout for Mr. Moss. He dominated the game so completely that everyone else was out of money in about 45 minutes. I never seen such a dejected group in my life. Easy Street had become Hard Luck Highway.

I think Mr. Moss felt a bit sorry for them, because he left quickly to return with a couple bottles for the boys. He didn't drink himself but I imagine he felt obliged. And the guys themselves were thankful for a small victory.

I don't believe Mr. Moss was ever again invited to shoot craps with them, though.

45 Years of Subtle Annoyance

I have this one customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who is annoying in small ways. Many small ways. He never does anything so bad as to allow me a reason to throw him out of the Shop bodily. That's an aggravation by itself; you almost want the guy to become outlandish and obnoxious enough that you can tell him to go hell. I'm sure you have such a friend too. Quiet Ron.

Cloyce likes to do things such as inspect my work every time I do it. Every. Single. Time. On the one hand, I get it. A fella wants assurance that the thing he's about to pay for is done well and proper. On the other, he's watched me do stuff for 45 years (cue old guy stating emphatically, and perhaps angrily as though offended, 'I been doin' this for well on 45 years now') and I feel he ought to trust my abilities at this point.

The other day as I finished welding a fitting onto his drain snake cable he asked upon inspection, "You sure that's enough weld on there, Marty?"

What to do, what to say? "Here's the welding lead, Cloyce. How 'bout, rather than me doing it and charging you $40, you show me how it's done and I'll pay you forty bucks?" Or, "It's just like I've done it for the 45 years you've known me (a variation on the earlier old man rant) Cloyce. What's yer problem?" 

But then, why get mad? He's going to act the same damn way next time, ain't he?

Contingency Plan

By Spring, I tell people that if the Shop door is open, we're there. That may sound silly, but we keep the door closed in the winter because otherwise the heat will get out. Although the Shop was once a barn, we weren't born in one.

I was explaining that to a customer earlier this week. "All right Cosgriff, if I see the door open, I'll come in."

"Well, be careful. I suppose there's always the chance we might have had a break in," I cautioned half in jest.

"Then I'll call 911 for you, Cosgriff."

I thanked him. Why not?

Sales Glitch

In sales, you just never know what will happen. Chicken one day, feathers the next, me Pops used to say. There's a lot of truth to that.

I remember on June 1, 2015, I had 105 lengths of main drain cables in stock. That's a decent amount, an amount I typically direct sell (sell out of the Shop) in a month.

I didn't that time around. I didn't sell a single cable section in June. But July would be better, right?

Right. Didn't sell any of those cables then either. I was beginning to wonder if I was doing something wrong, if I had lost my touch.

August 4 was the first Tuesday of the month that year. Out of nowhere that day, spread over 7 or 8 customers, I sold all 105 of those cables in 90 minutes.

In sales, you just never know.