Hire an expert if you need to have something major, fixed. Recent experience has taught me that it’s cheaper, less time-consuming, and less frustrating to just call in an expert that does this every day, truly knows what they’re doing, and will guarantee their work. If you are currently debating whether or not to bring in your cousin’s cousin to come in and fix your light fixture, take it from me that you’ll save a lot of money, frustration and time by just calling in that “unnecessarily” over-priced expert.
A mechanical animal will not tell you this. They will tell you the exact opposite. Mechanical animals will tell you that you can fix this yourself, and they’ll make you feel foolish for not being male enough, or industrious enough, to fix it yourself. If you remain stubbornly realistic about your abilities, they’ll say those words: “Hell, I can fix it for you.” If they reach this point with you, my advice is to just smile, placate their ego, and walk away.
If you want to further endear yourself to them, let them get their jones off in the field of mechanics. Let them tell you all of their three-to-five-to-seven-to-nine point plans and smile, and nod, and say “Holy Crackers!” and “Man, you know what you’re talking about!” Do this, and dazzle them with your lack of knowledge, and keep your puppy head in a non-confrontational and subservient position, and you’ll have a friend for life, but I warn you now: do not take this guy home with you.
He may seduce you with talk concerning the love and care he will show your nuts and bolts, but once the lubrication is applied he’ll be wrecking everything you hold dear. Then, when they’re “done” they won’t mind that you’re left incomplete, because your satisfaction wasn’t the reason they injected their ideas into your conversation in the first place. The conversation was the purpose of the conversation. They’re mechanical animals.
In the conversation, mechanical animals are experts in the field of saving you money, time, and frustration by simply following their simple three-to-five-to-seven-to-nine point plans, and these plans are usually right on the mark. Mechanical animals usually know the plans. The plans have been programmed into their heads in a manner similar to the manner Rachmaninoff can be programmed into a mechanical piano. Like any song, a problem can be fixed in programmed steps, but where they differ is in the variables that arise. Mechanical animals are usually great at duplicating their programmed knowledge on a lawn with a beer in their hand, but they usually fall short when variables arise. They’re mechanical animals.
Mechanical animals are also great at telling you that the guys you’re planning on hiring are not as qualified as you might think they are, because they had a friend of a friend of a friend that hired them once, fourteen years ago, and he wasn’t satisfied with what they did. This all makes for great “male, on the lawn, with a beer in your hand” conversation, but it’s been my experience that this is when you should finish your beer, go back in the house, and talk to the ladies about the drapes and the finest upholstery known to man. Do not ask for another beer, or listen to further conversations regarding the mechanical animal’s expertise with a twinkle in your eye, or you will be left with a half assed fix and an inoperable dullness in your eye that will last you the rest of your adult life.
We all know them. They’re our brother, our neighbor, the guy that stops to chat with us at our local Home Depot, our Uncle, and just about every male that we know beyond the smiling nod. They’re mechanical animals—usually named Morty—that have encountered just about every obstacle in life, and they can diagnose any problem you’re having in T-Minus two minutes, but if you make the mistake of turning a dime on them, you’ll be screaming: “Houston, we have a problem!” in T-Minus two months.
Morty type mechanical animals usually have an archetype male perpetually affixed in their memory that genuinely knew how to fix things, because he had a need to know, and he likely didn’t have the money necessary to hire a fix-it guy. If this archetype male didn’t learn how to fix the plumbing in his house, in other words, it didn’t get fixed. A Morty type will usually have one great story regarding this archetype male going to a hardware store, picking up a pamphlet, and wiring his home for electricity. “It’s not that hard,” these Morty types will tell your open mouthed awe, “All you have to do is…”
That archetype male was incredibly industrious, self-serving, patient with the trial and error variables involved in fixing things, and undaunted by matters that leave the rest of us breathless, but, again, their knowledge was borne out of necessity. Our generation, Morty’s generation, does not face such all-encompassing need, so we usually don’t have such knowledge, but Morty types spend their whole lives trying to replicate them. At some point in their lives, most Morty types will realize that they have fallen short of this idyllic image. They know how to wire their cable to their TV…barely. They know how to change oil, spot a car and relay some unknown facts about that car, they can mow and fertilize a lawn, and perform some perfunctory plumbing chores, but they pale in comparisons to those archetype males of their lives, usually their Dad, because they don’t have a need to be as industrious. And this is where you, the listener, come in. This is where you play the role of circuitous conduit to their goal of appearing to be as industrious, and mechanically inclined, as their archetype male.
You are their idiot, and they love you for it, “A decently trained chimpanzee could fix that,” a Morty type will tell you, “If they were willing to put forth a little effort. What kind of man are you that you can’t?” At that point, you would love to have your own idiot on the totem pole, but if you’re anything like me there aren’t any out there.
“All you need is a napalm rake and a Descartes hammer,” is the way Morty types begin such conversations. “If you wanna call a fix-it guy, that’s fine,” they say in tones that provoke compulsory responses. “If you want to go into debt, and listen to a guy demean you for not being able fix your own home that’s fine, but if you stick with me we can fix this thing in a couple hours for less than a hundred dollars.” They dazzle their listener with the hypothetical fixes that they have accumulated over the years, and they leave their listener feeling guilty for being male and not knowing all this.
To be fair to Morty, there are Morty types and there are Morty types. Some Morty types will confess, in typical Morty type humor, that they know “just enough to keep out of trouble”, or “just enough to be dangerous”. They are fun-loving beasts that will usually only rear their ugly heads after they’ve had a few, and you’re with a bunch of fellas, looking out on my dilapidated lawn. It is not the goal of these Morty types to make you feel stupid, inept, or less than male however. “Hey, you know your stuff and I know mine,” they will say to reveal how congenial, patient, and humble they truly are. If, however, you don’t continually lower your puppy head, they feel a need to lead you deeper into the weeds.
There are other Morty types, and everyone knows one, that will cause you to dive into a row of insulation at Home Depot before they spot you. These Morty types will lock onto your overwhelmed, vacant eyes and giggle: “Hey Martha, writer dude here doesn’t know what a Descartes hammer is.” To which a more cultured Martha type will reply, “Be nice Morty!” And he will, usually, if there are no other fellas around looking at a dilapidated lawn with beer in their hands. He will, if you successfully respond to all of his quick-fix theoreticals with careful responses that provide him the illusion that you know something about what he’s talking about. He will, if you add something that alludes to the idea that you have some knowledge of the napalm rake and the intricately designed web of knowledge he invited you into.
The thing is Morty types do know things. They know just enough to secure a crowned position on the conversational mountain of knowledge, but once you join them up there you see that they have the same brown patches in their yard, a board to cover their garage’s broken window, a bed that collapses when a sub 200 lb. man climbs aboard, and fancy, impressive doors that won’t close properly. Once you get there, you are forced into the shocking revelation that all of your prior conversations with them were baked in a foundation of half-truths, aggrandizements, and makeshift intrinsics. It’s not that they have no idea what they’re talking about. They do know the logistics of the fix, and they know how to go about getting things fixed, but they just don’t do them very well. They’re mechanical animals.
Those of us that have made the mistake of turning a dime on these conversations have realized our mistake shortly after saying, “Well, crap, if you can fix this for half the cost, then you are my man!” in an altruistic and platonic manner. It was never your intention to call them out, you just wanted your something something fixed. You didn’t know that there were shocking revelations to be found in the man’s home, in his car, or on the outskirts of his lawn. If you’ve made this mistake, you’ve realized that there are mechanical animals, and there are mechanical animal conversations. You’ve realized that there are those that do, and those that thoroughly enjoy the talk of doing, and that the entire conversation was about feeding into their ravenous need to appear archetypal.
If you are an inexperienced observer—with no precedent—currently debating whether or not to bring in your cousin’s cousin to come in and fix your light fixture, you should also know that you’ll be making a HUGE mistake by leaving them alone in the room that needs fixing. The best diagnosis we experienced folk have for you is to affix vacant and overwhelmed eyes on you face, and say “Wow!” and “Holy Crackers, you’re smart!” and a “Here, let me hold that for you!” to assist them in completing the task. Let them talk, give them their crowned position on the mountain, and let them dazzle you with their expertise. Nine times out of ten, these Morty types don’t need the money, and they usually don’t like you so much that they’re willing to fix something for you just cuz’. Chances are you are filling a vital need they have just by standing there with your “Wow!” and “Holy crackers, you’re smart!” face on. Chances are if you are an inexperienced observer—with no precedent—you will find these “Holy Crackers” expressions to be tedious after a time, or you may believe that these mechanical animals will work harder, better, or faster if you leave the room to get them to stop talking about what they’re doing and just do it. You’ll realize your HUGE mistake soon after they climb down the ladder, say they need a part that they need get from home, and you’re calling that “unnecessarily”, over-priced expert three months later, paying far more than you would have if you had just called him in the first place.