From Dishwasher to Dad


The dishwasher stopped working, but I fixed it. That was the extent of today’s excitement. I am great with plumbing. I repair running toilets, leaky faucets, plugged-up drains, dishwashers with error messages. My husband and I have an unspoken agreement: water-related and I fix it; electrical and he fixes it. Plumbing makes sense to me, but electricity is like magic—a helpful ghost that powers my coffee maker. I do not understand its ways.

Under the electrical heading falls all technology, too. I have put in way too many frantic calls to “tech support” while my husband is at work.  “Honey! There’s no internet!” or “Lover! The TV! It is not doing what I want it to be doing!” I go through all the reboot steps before I call. When it still doesn’t work, I get pissed. Again, I sound like my father, complete with the cursing, “All I want to fucking do is watch a goddamn tv show! Jesus Christ!”

My father believed in a vengeful god, and that god was called the Get Goldman Office. Whenever my father felt he had been transgressed upon, he would rail, “The Get Goldman Office is at it again!” Every pothole in the road was placed there by the Get Goldman Office. Next time you hit one, blame my dad; it was meant for him. Lost your keys? The GGO was hiding them just to mess with you. Internet down? The GGO was trying to ruin your day. (Sorry, Judy!) All of life’s random inconveniences were the orchestration of the Get Goldman Office. (I imagine a heavenly kind of King Arthur’s round table of hippies, yuppies, senior citizens, small children and feminists (all groups my father despised), sitting in high-backed chairs, looking down and coming up with ideal ways to torture him. “Let’s have the cat puke on the stairs so he steps in it on his way down in the morning!”)

While I doubt my father would blame the GGO for the Coronavirus, I’ve been wondering what he’d make of all this pandemic stuff. He would have been most distressed by the closing of his favorite watering holes and steak houses.  I can see him rolling his eyes about the term “social distancing”, saying something like, “What are they going on about? The only person I let get close to me is my wife.” He would have found delight in the Red Sox’s season getting canceled. He would have called to check on me and said, “Daughter Number Three! What’s been going on in the ‘port?” He would have told me to stay safe and wash my hands, but with swearing and jokes, and he would have reminded me to keep beer in the fridge and not go to any parties. My dad was difficult and our relationship complicated, but lately I find myself missing him.

Comments

  1. LeslieApril 2, 2020 at 9:35 AM

    The GGO explains so much, thank you. Especially the cat puke on the steps. I could never figure out what I did to deserve that one.

    ReplyDelete

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