I have my thermostat programmed to let the house settle down to 55° at night, and then bring the house back up to 63° in the morning, about half an hour before the Jazzman's alarm goes off. (Lest you tell me 63° is not warm enough for humans in houses, I will say that the thermostat for this house is funky. I'm comfortable at 63° It feels like 68 or 70 in other houses.)Yesterday morning he hit the snooze bar, then turned to me and said, "It's cold in here." Uh-oh. We looked at our Weather.com apps on our iPhones and saw that it was about 14° outside. While he started getting ready to go to work, I ran to the basement to touch the furnace. (That's all I'm qualified to do—touch it. Know how to turn it on? Nah. Know how to do anything other than call the plumber? Not so much.)
I went back upstairs and reported that the unit was cold and silent. When he was ready for work, we went together to the basement. He surveyed the furnace from all sides, then started jiggling the panel on one side. Voila! Heat!!
Now, any intelligent person would have gone ahead and called the plumber. It was, after all, Friday. Not Saturday. Not weekend rates. But, no! I have so much faith in his jiggling capabilities, his ability to fix anything and everything in the house, that I just let it ride, basking in my warm house.
When he came home last night after midnight after his regular Friday night drinking-with-my-buds outing, he thought the house was too cold. He went downstairs (I learned this morning) and jiggled the panel. Nothing.
This morning we woke again to no heat. No amount of jiggling and hitting did anything.
It's 24° outside, with a wind chill of 17°. The thermostat says it's 55° inside, but I seriously doubt it. My feet are blocks of ice, and the cats are hunkered down inside their fur coats.
And I'm waiting for the plumber to come. At weekend rates.
Update: The installer didn't tighten one screw far enough when the furnace was installed almost three years ago. Installer error. No charge.
Heat!!
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