Aging Professionals

The first time I noted it was about a year and a half ago, when our dentist retired. His practice was bought by an aspiring young professional.

Young being the definitive characteristic here.

He looks roughly the same age as, umm, Richie Cunningham on Happy Days.

He even looks a little like Opie Taylor.

So it took just a little rethinking when he came into the room for the first time all rubber gloved and ready to put his hands into my mouth.

Did I really trust someone this young with my molars?

Turned out, it wasn’t a problem. He’s very nice and seems to be a good dentist, although he doesn’t understand any of the references to 1970’s television like the last guy did.

Especially when they’re spoken around a mouth full of gauze or while giving directions to “spit”.

After a couple of visits we’re settling into a routine. He calls me “Mr.” I call him “Doctor”, rather than “Skippy”, which is probably the best thing to do since he occasionally has sharp instruments poking around among some of the more tender spots in my head.

Besides, he had things on the wall that said he was authentic. He could pick at my teeth because the State of North Carolina said so.

I keep reminding myself that, eons ago when I first graduated, several people had enough confidence in me to let me handle their important business. I ought to return the favor now that I have a bit of grey in my hair.

Then last week I found out that a friend’s kid was now an appliance repairman. Having learned that GE appliances suck since we spent several thousand dollars for a kitchen full of them a few years ago, and without the desire to send the appliance dealer’s children through college I’d been looking for an option to get some diagnostics done to tell me whether what I had could be fixed or if we needed to start looking at a home equity line to buy new appliances.

The ice maker doesn’t dispense appropriately. The trash compactor was never fastened in right (more my fault than the manufacturers, I have to admit) and the dishwasher wasn’t doing well at all.

A friend suggested that her son was a Certified Appliance Repairman and would be happy to come over and look at them one evening.

I thought back on the fact that I’d known him since he was about 12. There were transgressions of which I was aware. Minor, but transgressions nonetheless.

But hey, I’m cheap. What’s the worst that could happen? I have to call the appliance repair company or buy new ones?

The young man showed up, mom in tow. She just came along for the visit, not to hand him tools or anything.

Maybe to occupy my “supervision” time. Moms are like that, you know. They’ll run interference for their kids if they think it’s necessary.

I was hovering on the edges and fine until the question came up—“Do you have a bigger hammer?”

Of course I have a bigger hammer. That’s a ridiculous question. I probably have 6 of them to choose from since every project is the opportunity to acquire another tool and I’ve had a lot of projects over the years.

Whether I can find it or not is an entirely other question, but if I can’t we can go buy another one. There’s a Lowe’s Hardware a quarter of a mile up the road.

Then I thought about the question. “DO I HAVE A BIGGER HAMMER?”

This implies that he's already used a smaller hammer on my relatively new appliances.

This kid – again, whom I know from his childhood – is asking if I have a hammer so that he can beat the hell out of the ice maker in my $4,000.00 refrigerator.

I admit a moment of panic. Then I thought, “I’ve fixed lots of things with a hammer. Besides, if I can’t fix them, I at least get the satisfaction of beating them up.”

Of course he can borrow my hammer, assuming we can find it.

Turns out, it was OK. He knew exactly what he was doing (including the specialized “appliance repairman vocabulary”), had all the appliances taken apart and put back together within an hour or so, didn’t have parts left over as I frequently do, and explained why the things weren’t working just right and what I could do to avoid problems in the future.

Apparently a tablespoon of dry dishwashing soap is enough. Filling both cups with liquid soap isn’t necessary and just gums things up eventually, which is why the dishes weren’t getting clean.

Who knew?

And I’m learning to appreciate the fact that gray hair isn’t necessary to be a professional, although having extra hammers may be.