Handymen are no longer at hand

Getting hold of a plumber or a carpenter is like hoping to spot a dodo. These vanishing species are so much in demand that they can dictate terms while you have no choice but to meekly agree. They are the ones given priority by immigration authorities in countries that require skilled workers.

If you have children who haven’t yet decided on a career or profession, I would advise sending them to a technical school and letting them learn trades that are becoming scarcer by the day. There will come a time when they will be as much in demand in the Indian matrimonial market as engineers, doctors or lawyers. Compare the education costs and do your maths. It’s a no-brainer.

My respect for these species has grown by leaps and bounds. The real estate company I deal with has a maintenance department. Let’s just say that we know each other very well by now. In fact, as soon as I ring up and they hear my voice, the phone is politely put down with the promise that the person in charge will be in touch shortly. After several tries, the person avoiding me is unlucky enough to be in his seat when I try his number. Thankfully for me, he doesn’t have a phone identification device, so he has no idea who’s calling. As soon as he hears my voice, I can almost see his face blanching.

Before he can react and do something deceitful like pretending he’s someone else, I launch into my spiel on leaking taps or air conditioning that doesn’t cool. As soon as I run out of breath, I am reassured that my problem will be looked into. I suspect this is a ploy to get me off the line, so I ask for specifics such as time of visit of the specialist. I am asked for hours convenient to me. As soon as I say 10am to 12 noon, I am told that the men can only come after 2pm. Swallowing a jibe, I resign myself to a long wait if I want my problem solved.

The next day, 2pm comes and goes with no sign of the errant technician. As the minutes tick past and I continue my lonely vigil, I realise that I have wasted a whole day.

The phone calls begin again. After many tries I get through only to be told that the person couldn’t make it as he had to attend to an emergency. How is my problem not an emergency, I ask indignantly. In patient tones I am told that the visit will take place the next day. And it does. The only snag is that they come, they see, but they don’t conquer. Apparently, the first visit is a recce. All they do is take a look at the leaking tap, declare it is indeed leaking and then leave. They are not in a position to make financial decisions such as whether the tap should be replaced or repaired.

Three days later, I am back on the phone with the maintenance department. My patience having worn thin, I demand immediate action. That’s when I am told that the spare part in question had a five-year warranty and since I moved in only two years ago, I will have to foot the bill for a new piece. In the ensuing silence I can hear the ‘drip’ ‘drip’ of the tap in accompaniment to my accelerating heartbeat. As they start a fusion piece, I slam the phone in frustration.

Needless to say, the next day, I am back on the phone, the epitome of civility, as I ask for the plumber to be sent with the new piece which I am willing to pay for.

If you think I give in too easily, try living with the sound of a leaking tap. It can drive you up the wall and clawing it in frustration.