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“There has to be something I can do. What size generator should I rent to run the oven and the coffee machines until the wiring’s redone?” She said, her jaw set with determination.
This woman did not want to shut down her shop for repairs. To tell the truth, I was impressed by her determination, her search for creative solutions.
After examining the oven, I knew I’d have to tell her how bad the situation was, how expensive it would be. For the first time in my adult life, I didn’t want to tell a customer the truth about their wiring trouble. She didn’t seem fragile or helpless—she seemed stalwart and tenacious, like she’d stand, stoic as if she were carved from marble when I broke it to her that it would take more than this shop could make in a year to make the electrical circuits safe and to buy a new oven. That thing was on its last legs. ‘Shot to hell’ is the term I would have chosen if I were delivering the news to any other customer.
“Can I offer you some cold coffee? A leftover muffin?” She asked with a halfhearted attempt at levity.
“You better sit down,” I said as kindly as I could.
Madison indicated one of the little bistro chairs that flanked the four small tables. She poured coffee, grabbed a chocolate muffin from the case and then brought the lantern to the table. I accepted the coffee, which was barely warm and took a drink, nodding my thanks.
“How bad is it?” she said.
“Have you noticed your lights flickering or dimming and coming back on?”
“Yes. It’s happened more in the last month. I had it on my list of things to check out, but I didn’t get to it before there was a crisis,” she said.
“You’re working with an overloaded, outdated system, some of the wiring I could get to was mediocre quality to begin with and it’s past its lifespan anyway. Did the oven come with the place?”
“It did. It was one of the reasons I decided on this storefront even though it was at the top of my budget. There was another one, better location, but I would’ve had to put in my own commercial oven, which, as I’m sure you know, is not cheap.”
“There used to be a sandwich place here, did toasted subs and stuff. My guess is they had that oven for a long time before you ever got it.”
“How long does it have?” She questioned with the gravity of someone asking the prognosis on a beloved relative.
“I’m not sure how to tell you this, ma’am,” I replied, hesitating.
“Ma’am? Jesus, it must be really bad,” she said.
“You’re lucky this place hasn’t burned down already. You have some scorching along the wall beside the oven. It’s not a black line or anything, but it’s following the path of the wire up the wall from the industrial outlet. You need to speak to your landlord about having it fixed. You have renter’s insurance, right?” I asked.
“Liability. Like if someone burns themselves on coffee or falls and breaks a tooth.”
“I understand,” I said. Insurance was expensive and not everyone, especially new business owners, had the extra money for it.
“My landlord isn’t easy to get ahold of. Can’t I just try to fix it myself?”
“It’s legally your landlord’s responsibility to make sure the building is safe for his tenants.”
She reached over and broke off a piece of the chocolate muffin and ate it. I picked it up and took a bite. “Damn, this is delicious,” I said.
She smiled, “Thanks.”
“Now I see why Noah called me desperate for a favor. You’re his supplier of these.”
“He doesn’t get the chocolate ones. He eats whatever the special is that week. This week it’s pumpkin. They sold out pretty fast.”
“I can see why, but I think I’d stick to these. When the chocolate is this good, there’s no reason to look any further.” I said, sinking my teeth into the luscious muffin again. The chocolate was dark and decadent, with a smoky, cinnamon flavor that tasted mysterious.
“Okay, so how much can I tell my landlord the repairs will cost?”
I gave her an estimate, not willing to lie and lowball her. I saw the muscle in her jaw tighten before she tipped her chin down. “Okay, thank you. What do I owe you for today?” She took out a checkbook, pen poised to write.
“Nothing. My brother called me in as a favor.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she protested, and I could see from the tightening of her mouth that she was uncomfortable.
“You don’t owe me anything. I’ll work up a specific estimate on the work that has to be done and get it to you in writing. Friends and family rate,” I said.
