Today's submission is a little different. Jon von Gunten discusses "Mr. Fix-it", a ghostly mechanic:
Mr. Fix-It first manifested himself after my over-zealous son totally disassembled the pedal-brake assembly on his old bike. Once apart, they seem to comprise a hundred little metal rings that must be reassmbled just so. He gave up in frustration. The project sat for days.
Saturday morning my son came bursting in to thank me for fixing his bike. I paused. It had not been I. I suspected my girlfriend had paid a bike shop to fix it. She swore it was not she. I asked neighbors on both sides if they had anything to do with the event. Had they seen anybody? No, and no.
But the bike was sitting in the garage, neatly put together, with its foot brake assembled and working like a Swiss watch -- and no one was responsible. We named "no one" Mr. Fix-it and thought no more about it.
About a year later, I found I had thoroughly twisted up the tape inside an audio cassette. I was able to separate the halves of its shell and get inside, but found it had an intricate and convoluted tape path. My fingers were too big to manage the fussy job, so I left my project on a counter and went to fetch a tweezers. I got sidetracked on some diversion for about ten minutes.
As I sat down to finish -- my tweezers at the ready -- my mouth dropped. The tape had been neatly threaded through all the posts and turns in the cassette. All I had to do was rejoin the two halves of the shell. Was it one of my kids, my girlfriend. I think not. I was alone in the house.
Except, of course, for Mr. Fix-It.
Saturday morning my son came bursting in to thank me for fixing his bike. I paused. It had not been I. I suspected my girlfriend had paid a bike shop to fix it. She swore it was not she. I asked neighbors on both sides if they had anything to do with the event. Had they seen anybody? No, and no.
But the bike was sitting in the garage, neatly put together, with its foot brake assembled and working like a Swiss watch -- and no one was responsible. We named "no one" Mr. Fix-it and thought no more about it.
About a year later, I found I had thoroughly twisted up the tape inside an audio cassette. I was able to separate the halves of its shell and get inside, but found it had an intricate and convoluted tape path. My fingers were too big to manage the fussy job, so I left my project on a counter and went to fetch a tweezers. I got sidetracked on some diversion for about ten minutes.
As I sat down to finish -- my tweezers at the ready -- my mouth dropped. The tape had been neatly threaded through all the posts and turns in the cassette. All I had to do was rejoin the two halves of the shell. Was it one of my kids, my girlfriend? I think not. I was alone in the house.
Except, of course, for Mr. Fix-It.
Jon von Gunten discusses Mr. Fix-It
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