My own personal dream team

What is it with me and repairmen? When I sit and think about it (because everyone sits and reminisces about their repaimen, right?), some standouts come to mind. Now, you already know about Bubba and 'em dawgs. But what about Norm and boy? Or Chris and his sidekick, Toofy? And then there was Billy Clyde the oh-so-"dashing" repairman. Sigh, the repairmen that dreams are made of. Allow me to share my own personal dream team with you.

Norm and boy were hired to add a family room to my parents' home back in the day. As it turned out, Norm was big on promises and small on commitment. In fact, he and boy only showed up on a handful of promised days. And at the pace they were going, that addition would have been completed in oh, say, 2004? Which, my parents aren't overly demanding people, but given that the addition was started in 1980, they might of had reason to be dissatisfied with the time frame. I'm just sayin'.

But watching Norm and boy work (that is, when they managed to show up for work) was a front row seat at the comedy show. For starters, we're fairly certain "Boy" was boy's real name. They never, ever gave us a single indication to the contrary. And Norm, he spoke like Pa Bear from the Hillbilly Bears; in unintelligible mumbles.



Scary thing was, boy understood. When he was listening, that is. And so it was with Norm and boy.

"Boy, git me a hammer."
"Boy, where's that leveler?"
"Boy, did you bring our bratwurst?"
Boy mostly grunted back, but there was a sync about Norm and boy that spoke to their cohesiveness.

We watched with wonder as boy would be on his knees measuring something and Norm would swing a big ol' 2X4 over his head, tufts of hair dancing in the resulting breeze, boy oblivious as he ducked just in time to miss being beaned upside the head. Norm's response, one of the only ones we could understand, was always the same.

"Boy, watch what I'm doin'."

Now, do correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the common phrase is, "Watch what you're doing." Yeah, well, not so with Norm and boy. Suffice it to say that my parents eventually had to hire replacements.

Now, Carl and I have had better luck. When we hired Chris to build our deck, we were downright happy with ourselves for avoiding a Norm and boy duo. After all, Chris was prompt, courteous, reasonably priced, had plenty of references, and promised an on-time schedule for completion. Oh, and he was a Christian to boot, which was a bonus for us. And he proved true blue on all points. He worked hard for 2 days, only stopping for 45 minutes to eat his lunch on site. He finised on time.

There was just one eensy teensy problem with Chris. You see, he brought Toofy to help him. Now Toofy was his cousin. I'm making the cousin connection in the loosest sense too, because in all honesty, I think Toofy came from Norm's gene pool but don't quote me on that. Toofy? Let's just say he had few. Toofs. I mean teef. Teeth. He had few teeth. And fewer words. Chris was clearly the brains behind that pair and it all proved true as the day wore on.

Around noon, we left to grab some lunch. On our return, Chris and Toofy were sitting in the back of their pick-up. Chris immediately came over and explained. "We're waiting for the gas company. While Toofy my cousin was using the posthole digger, he accidentally cut through your gas line."

(We interrupt this story to insert bug eyes and horrified gasps. Now back to our regular programming.)

Can't you just visualize it?
Dig,...dig,...dig,...Hissssssssssssss!
Chris to Toofy from across the lawn, "That better be a pit of vipers you just hit."

Yes folks, ol' Toofy cut the gasline. And Toofy, he was a puffer too. If he'd have lit up at that moment, I'm thinking our whole house would have been lit reaaaal good. Oh, thank goodness for Chris. He knew exactly where and how to shut off the gas line. And all was repaired and good to go again in no time. And the deck was beautiful (overlooked our 3.5 acres and faced west toward an unobstructed view of incredible sunsets; sigh).

Finally, I want to round out my repairman personal Hall of Fame by introducing you to Billy Clyde. Ah, sweet Billy Clyde. Remember that spoof on the B-52's song Love Shack?

You're out on the road
Down by the edge of the track
You're showing 16 inches of buuuuuut crack.

Oh, how I would like to tell you I'm joking. Honestly, 'cause I sure didn't pick him for his additional "smile", if you know what I mean. But alas, it was what it was and he was wearing the proverbial repairman's costume.



So, Billy Clyde headed to the side of our house to check out an electrical box whose purpose slips my mind right now. Phone? Cable? Something that required juice. So I'm in the house and I happen to glance at my dining room window, and what do I see? Billy Clyde dashing by (see, I told you he was oh-so-"dashing"), so fast in fact that I doubted I'd seen him at all. That was, until the doorbell rang about 15 seconds later. I was still trying to figure out what would have made Billy Clyde sprint so wholeheartedly, when it became crystal clear.

"Got'ny bee spray???"

You're going to have to imagine this next scene because I'm telling you, his hand was majorly WELTED. I immediately thought, "Bee spray? Forget the bee spray. Brother, you best be hoping I have an Epipen in the house." Ever the RN, I observed him for signs of Anaphylactic shock. And thankfully, other than being short winded from his recent sprint past my window and a few too many Big Bufords at Rally's Hamburgers, Billy Clyde was taking on ample oxygen. But, oh my! He had, count 'em, eight bee stings. EIGHT! My Reece took 3 stings to the face once and I thought that was bad (actually that was bad but I'll save you the momma drama). And all I could do was hand him a near empty bottle of wasp spray and hope he remained conscious. Yes, ol' Billy C had the misfortune of encountering a wasp nest when he had opened the box. But hey, it could have been worse. Did I tell you we had bumble bee ground nests on that side of the house?

Toni