Plumbing time

I argued with a washing machine repairman this morning. He phoned around eight to announce that he would come to fix our machine ‘between ten and twelve’. Since I’m working today anyway, I told Bex to pop out to the gym and agreed to meet her for Buddhist pancakes at half twelve. Naturally, Mr. Washing Machine Repair didn’t show. ‘Just bail,’ she said, in a text message at noon.

So just as I was leaving I opened the door to find him standing there. It was a quarter past twelve, I said. He was doing other work, he said. I had to meet someone, I said. He frowned. I scowled. I’ll have to come back another day, he said. FINE, I said.  The lack of food was enhancing my sulk. And furthermore, there was the principle: surely if you tell someone you are going to be somewhere within a two-hour window, thus giving yourself rather a generous degree of flexibility, it is valid for them to be displeased if you turn up late? I think it is valid. Mr. WMR didn’t seem to agree.

Of course, my principled stance against the practice of plumbing time is only hurting us, since now our washing machine will continue to malfunction for the no doubt weeks it will take for him to come back. Bex was awfully sympathetic, considering.