Fourteen Degrees

It’s 14 degrees outside, and some very nice young gentlemen are here installing a new dishwasher.

It’s 14 degrees out, and snowing, and the first thing they asked when I opened the door was, “Do you mind if I use your shovel to clear the sidewalk?”

It’s 14 degrees out, and they’re in here laying down runners so they don’t track in snow—even though I tried to tell them that unless the Queen is coming to visit, I never clean the floors till spring.

It’s 14 degrees out, and one of them asked if he could use a mug to bring hot water over to the new model because the trap—whatever that is—is frozen.

It’s 14 degrees out, and one of them has to keep running up and down to the electrical panel in the basement to check which breaker shuts off electricity to the dishwasher because it isn’t labeled correctly.

It’s 14 degrees out, and we have a step up to the kitchen and a puppy gate in that doorway, so transporting the dishwashers over it is doubly difficult. “CAN I TAKE THE GATE DOWN FOR YOU?” I ask. “We got it,” they tell me.

It’s 14 degrees out, and I’m asking them to install pre-cut insulation behind the dishwasher after they take the old one out. LIKE A JERK.

It’s 14 degrees out, and the dogs are up in the bedroom howling. I brought some toys up, and then they started playing—which from down here sounds like two rhinoceroses tearing apart the entire second floor.

It’s 14 degrees out, and if they ONLY wanted some coffee, maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty that this is turning out to be a difficult job.

It’s 14 degrees out, AND ONE OF THEM JUST CAME INTO THE DINING ROOM TO WIPE UP A BIT OF WATER THAT DRIPPED FROM HIS SHOES. IT’S NOW THE CLEANEST SPOT IN THE HOUSE.

It’s 14 degrees out, and when you’re trying to stop apologizing for everything, the universe sends you 14-degree weather with snow and a new dishwasher to be installed.

It’s 14 degrees out, and these guys are getting a massive tip.