POSTING #54

A Crotchety Repairer of Small Appliances

My old computer died and the new one's operating system, Vista (don't get me started!), refuses to recognize my somewhat elderly but otherwise perfectly functional scanner and printer. The computer shop says I have no choice but to buy a new printer and scanner. I have bought a new printer but am still dragging my feet on the scanner.

All of this reminded me of the owner of a store in Ottawa who repaired small kitchen appliances. He was in his late 50's, tall and erect with close-cropped grey hair, and half glasses. He always wore a neat shirt and tie.

And he was French, from France, with the attitude that one associates with Parisian waiters, the attitude that says that: the customer is not only always wrong, but dumb to boot.

But the thing was that he did excellent work, was fast and had a mania about keeping appliances working.

And he didn't charge the earth.

On one occasion, I took in a coffee grinder that had stopped grinding. I told the owner that it wasn't working, that the gears or grindstones or whatever ground the coffee weren't working.

He adjusted his head so he could see me over his half glasses and said, "May I infer from the fact that you don't know whether this machine has gears or grindstones that you haven't taken it apart to clean it?"

Ouch!!

He took the grinder from me as though I had no business owning such a fine machine.

The machine was repaired in a day, at a very modest cost, and worked like new.

On another occasion I took in the plastic container from a food processor. The base of the container had a crack and, assuming that the plastic could not be repaired, I asked him if he stocked a replacement part.

He studied the break for a few moments and then straightened up.

"I do have a replacement but the company is charging a ridiculous amount for something that is just plastic. They want $75.

"You look like a civil servant", he added, "You must have a paper clip in your pocket."

Puzzled, I looked in my suit coat pockets, and, what-do-you-know, found two paper clips.

"This one will do", he said, taking the smaller of the two.

He plugged in a small electric soldering iron and while it was heating he straightened out the paper clip and then with some pliers bent it into a neat, tight oval.

He pressed the two broken edges of the food processor container together, placed the paper clip oval on top of the break and then pressed the soldering iron onto the clip.

The clip melted into the plastic, welding the two parts together.

He let the plastic cool and then handed the container back to me, "There, it is better than new".

I asked how much I owed him.

"Oh, give me two dollars."

The repaired container lasted for years, until we decided that we needed a more powerful food processor.

On yet another occasion, he informed me that the appliance could not be repaired for a week.

Take it or leave it.
I guess he felt he had been a bit abrupt.
He added that he was going to Philadelphia to see an exhibition of Paul Cézanne's paintings.

I had taken an art history course at Queen's from Andre Bieler an artist/professor who loved Cézanne, a love that he communicated to his students.

I told the store owner that I admired how Cézanne used colour to represent the different planes of roof tops in Provence.

He looked at me, not with respect---he was French from France after all---but with a new interest. He explained that he was from Provence and that the paintings meant a great deal to him.

We had a pleasant chat about Cézanne,

It would be nice to say that our relationship changed after that shared Cézanne moment, but it wouldn't be true.

He remained as superior and acerbic as ever.



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See you next Sunday for Posting #55 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.