Why We Guess Wrong About Who Will Help: A Repair Story
He had a shop light clipped to the furnace door and a spiral notebook open on the floor, and the first thing he said to me was, "I almost didn't call you." It was January, the kind of Oklahoma January where the wind comes across the wheat stubble and finds every gap in a house. This was a brick ranch outside of town, built in the seventies, with a newer high-efficiency gas furnace tucked in a hall closet. The homeowner was retired. He'd spent a career fixing things, and he still kept his tools cleaner than I keep mine. The furnace would start, run a minute or two, shut down, and try again…
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