Return of the Furnace Sadists

Just when my wife and I thought we were warming up again after the Big Freeze-Out of 2022 (see "Maple Avenue Freeze-Out"), those sadists from the HVAC rip-off outfit show up again at our doorstep, wearing ear-to-ear smiles, little cute footsy protectors, and dollar signs in their eyes.

I suppose it's our fault, really. I mean, the HVAC company pestered us and bugged us about setting up our yearly furnace maintenance check-up (Ka-Chinggggg!), until we finally bowed down to furnace bullying. I know that Americans never give in to terrorism, but they'd worn us down. So on the eighteenth call, my wife says, "Okay, fine, we'll schedule it soon."

The next day, the mysterious Furnace Phone Lady (I'm not even sure she's real!) calls back and says, "Say, we had a sudden cancellation today in our schedule and have a technician ready and eager to come out and pleasure your furnace (or something like that)!" It's the second time they've used that ploy on us. But just wanting to put them in our rear-view mirror, we gave in. (Ka-Ching, Ka-Chinggggg!)

Sure enough, within 45 minutes the duo of Tony (short, dark, swarthy like a 60's crooner, smooth-talking lead guy) and Bart (stout, friendly, all-American, ginger-haired and bearded lumberjack trainee) are grinning on the stoop. Meanwhile, one of my dogs is going crazy, ready to take a bite out of furnace crime. She showed good taste, but I restrained her, while I let the true beasts inside.

We went through the usual rigamarole, Tony reciting his speech, which I knew by heart and started saying it along with him. I leave the guys to get to work in the basement, this time foregoing my offer to give them a cup of coffee. (I used to think this might soften them up, make them not want to rip me off as much, but to hell with that! I've doled out more than a few cups of $4,000 coffee in the past, surely they can now afford their own.) I go upstairs and pray to the Furnace Gods to go gently on us this time and offer them a sacrificial pot of coffee.

After three hours of chit-chatter from the basement, numerous phone calls (NEVER a good sign), and no word, I finally go down to check on them.

"Well, there's good news and bad news," says swarthy and smooth Tony with his hair teased to well-coiffed points. 

I force swallow the goose-egg of dread in my throat and feel it plummet down to my gut like a weighted-down "goodfella" tossed into a lake. "Okay...what's the good news?"

"Your humidifier filter is in beautiful shape," Tony offers with car salesman sincerity. "Looks like it's never been used."

Good ol' Bart smiles, sticks his hands in his pockets, and nods.

"Huh," I manage, now in a walking daze of torment. "And the bad news?"

"The reason your filter is in such good shape is because your humidifier isn't working."

"Oh..."

"Looks like your humidistat (I think they make these words up to non-technical rubes such as myself) is busted." Tony says it with a smile. No...a leer.

Bart nods, a very empathetic nod. Good cop/bad cop.

"I...see." But, really, the only thing I could see was our bank account flying away on the wings of an angel. "And how much will that cost me?"

Tony flips a curl out of his eye--the way Fabio used to do it--and pretends to consult his iPad, although I'm pretty sure he and Bart have already conspired to come up with a magnificent number. "Let's see..." Annoyingly, Tony makes a clicking sound with his mouth as he pretends to check some numbers. "Looks like...about $695."

"What??? We just blew thousands on the furnace a couple weeks ago! Why didn't they catch it then?"

Tony stares at me blankly while Bart nods, displaying sympathetic, round dog-eyes.

"Okay, fine, whatever," I say. "How long will it take for the part to come in?"

"Oh!" Tony's face brightens. (Ka-Ching, Ka-Ching, Ka-Chinggggg!) "I just happen to have one in the van!"

Of course you do, I thought. "Fine. Let's do it," I say instead. These guys have perfected the art of planned obsolescence.

Another hour later, Tony comes upstairs, banging around the huge-ass furnace filter (just like those chain oil-change places always do), with Bart nipping at his heels.

"I think you need a new furnace filter," says Tony. "I mean, just look at it." He displays it like Vanna White, with a toothy enough grin to give her a run for the money.

"And how much will that cost?"

Tony goes through his imaginary iPad search again. "Lessee...uh-huh...yep...uh-huh...$175 dollars."

"Well," I said, more than a little miffed and ready for some payback, "I really wanted to look for those on Amazon. Pretty sure they carry them. And at a lot cheaper price, too. Oh! But I'm not supposed to talk about that, am I?" 

Bart lets out a laugh and a genuine smile. Tony shoots him a look. Then there's silence. Silence like the suffocating silence before a Spaghetti Western shoot-out. My eyebrow raises. Tony's eyes squint. Bart stifles another laugh. Somewhere Ennio Morricone music is playing. Tony opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. His jaw lowers and closes several times, resembling a land-locked fish.

Finally, he says, "Well...what you're really paying for is the convenience of us having it." A smile inches back, but this time not as assured.

I twist the sweet, sweet knife of revenge. "Oh, you mean it's more convenient than Amazon delivering it to my door?"

Bart laughs again. Probably his last laugh ever on the job.

I had my moment. Now, I just wanted to get them out of my house. Either that or unleash my dog on 'em.

While I'm thinking about wild animals tearing apart humans, have you guys checked out my darkly comical and horrific werewolf book, Corporate Wolf, yet? Well, do it already! Or I'll sic the furnace sadists from hell on ya!