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My furnace plotzed, the day before a predicted snow/ice storm, naturally. sigh
The oil delivery company sent a repairman out. A Jamaican arrived at my door.
Knowing him, by his accent, to be Jamaican, I asked him where he was from. I meant which parish... He asked me where I thought he was from.
I said, "Well, I <span style="font-style: italic">know</span> you're Jamaican. I'm just trying to figure out - by your speech - <span style="font-style: italic">which parish</span> you're from."
His jaw dropped. He asked me doubtfully if I was Jamaican. lol
I told him I was only Jamaican by wannabe.
I followed him down to the cellar. We chatted while he took my 1941 furnace apart. Soon he diagnosed my furnace's problem. The problem was that he didn't have the part to fix the old beast with on his truck. He didn't want to leave Miz Witchy with no heat over this cold night... so he set about rigging something to make the furnace work for the time being. When he was most of the way finished, his boss (the owner of the oil company) came by to see how he was doing with my old furnace. Mine is the oldest furnace his company still services, and not all of his techs know how to work on it.
Long story shorter, they got the right part for my furnace, my repairman got it installed, and I offered him 'a likkle taste of home' - my last remaining black cake cupcake, which has been curing along with my full size black cakes.
My repairman left a happy man, I think. I was a happy woman, since my house had heat again. And my husband was a very happy man to come home to a heated house. All was well. And a simple black cake cupcake made for a little bit of joy...
(And now I know from a Jamaican born and raised in Kingston that my black cakes taste 'right' and good. Yeah, man!)
The oil delivery company sent a repairman out. A Jamaican arrived at my door.
Knowing him, by his accent, to be Jamaican, I asked him where he was from. I meant which parish... He asked me where I thought he was from.
I said, "Well, I <span style="font-style: italic">know</span> you're Jamaican. I'm just trying to figure out - by your speech - <span style="font-style: italic">which parish</span> you're from."
His jaw dropped. He asked me doubtfully if I was Jamaican. lol
I told him I was only Jamaican by wannabe.
I followed him down to the cellar. We chatted while he took my 1941 furnace apart. Soon he diagnosed my furnace's problem. The problem was that he didn't have the part to fix the old beast with on his truck. He didn't want to leave Miz Witchy with no heat over this cold night... so he set about rigging something to make the furnace work for the time being. When he was most of the way finished, his boss (the owner of the oil company) came by to see how he was doing with my old furnace. Mine is the oldest furnace his company still services, and not all of his techs know how to work on it.
Long story shorter, they got the right part for my furnace, my repairman got it installed, and I offered him 'a likkle taste of home' - my last remaining black cake cupcake, which has been curing along with my full size black cakes.
My repairman left a happy man, I think. I was a happy woman, since my house had heat again. And my husband was a very happy man to come home to a heated house. All was well. And a simple black cake cupcake made for a little bit of joy...
(And now I know from a Jamaican born and raised in Kingston that my black cakes taste 'right' and good. Yeah, man!)
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