Good Spanish; Strange Workman

I have been suffering from Piglet Flu today, and so I spent this morning in bed in a coma, occasionally answering the phone.  If I woke up in time.

But even when I woke up in time, I wasn't always coherent.  Which makes the following even more astounding.

The phone rang.  I picked it up.  It was a man speaking entirely in very rapid Spanish.  I understood him completely!  He said he needed to come by my house to do some work on the dryer (that had been requested a couple of weeks ago), when was a good time to come?  I rallied myself sufficiently to realize that today after one would be perfect.  And told him so in Spanish.  Woo hoo!

I felt like such a Spanish stud.  Or would have, if I hadn't immediately passed out again into a coma.  It was very interesting driving to the preschool to pick up my youngest while in a coma, I can tell you!

So, this guy shows up at three (that's after one, right?) to install a lint catcher for my dryer:  a small box that contains water and mounts to the wall.  The dryer hose attaches into it and the lint is trapped in the water.

Did he install this above the dryer?  No he did not.  He installed it exactly even with the top of the dryer, making it impossible to push the dryer as closely up against the wall as it's designed to be pushed.

I politely questioned this (in Spanish again!!) since the position of the dryer is critical:  there are about two inches of leeway in its position, and after that, the door to the laundry room won't shut and then all the ash and rain and dust that blow in there from outside blow in to my kitchen.  Like I said, it's critical.

He assured me, that certainly the dryer was in a good position! and certainly the door would shut!  He looked offended.

He crawled out from behind the dryer, and shoved it back as far as he could.

The door would not shut.  He looked surprised.

My housekeeper and I sat in chairs in the living room, out of sight around the corner, and laughed silently until tears rolled down our faces as he then proceeded to attack an unoffending plastic pipe that stuck a mere half inch out from the wall and was doing nothing to impede the dryer's retreat.  He chipped it completely away.

That was the pipe for connecting the hose to vent the dryer to the outside.  I have no idea what the next tenants are going to do.  But I'll be gone, so it's not my problem.

The door still wouldn't shut.

I made him a cup of coffee:  two sugars, milk.  Maybe this would help.

He studied the problem, and then, by main force, shoved the dryer back until the hose was almost flattened and the innocent little plastic box (which should have been mounted a mere six inches higher and there would have been no problem) bulged on both ends.

But the laundry room door shut and the box didn't crack.  So he gulped down his coffee and drove off before any further problems could develop.

And my housekeeper and I laughed and laughed and laughed.

But the dryer works, the door shuts, and I sounded more like a retarded third grader than a retarded preschooler in Spanish today, so I'm calling it a good day.  Piglet flu notwithstanding.