You know what happens. You call the TV repair guy because your picture is doing loop-d-loops while you are trying to watch Desperate Housewives or the Falcons game. He shows up, maybe a week later -- good luck getting him to come out sooner -- you turn on the set, and the damned picture looks like it's in High Definition, which you don't have. The guy gives you that look, you know the one, the What Have You Been Drinking Today, Lady? look. That'll be $130 for the service call, thank you very much. 
I have been smelling gas around my gas range for the past three days. This particular issue has given me problems in the past, not because I smell the gas, but because every service MAN who has ever been dispatched to my home on this type of complaint seems to have come in knowing that he is not going to smell anything but the room freshener I have added to mask the fumes. Sniff. Sniff. Head turns slowly in my direction. The Look!
True to form, a technician young enough to be my grandson showed up this afternoon to save me from the deadly gas leak that I was sure would asphyxiate me and my Bichon Frise before the end of the day. This time, though, I had called in the reserves. No less than four of my friends' noses were called over to confirm what I knew would be questioned. They all smelled it and urged me to call in an emergency tech.
So Joshua walked back to the kitchen and stood in the middle of the floor. Sniff. Sniff. Before he could swivel his handsome head in my direction, I said, "Yeah, I know, you don't smell anything." He was a little taken aback, but recovered quickly and assured me that although he did not, in fact, smell gas, he would conduct a complete leak test for me. Reading his mind, I heard him thinking: "Ok, Granny, did you get lonely today? Nothing better to do than pay the service call fee to get some company? I'll humor you. I get paid no matter what."
I went back to what I had been doing, and he pulled the range away from the wall. About 20 minutes passed in bemused silence. Then:
"Well, ma'am, I think I found your leak. It was coming from so far back, where the intake valve connects to the stove, I couldn't smell it right away. I'm surprised, because I pride myself on having a good nose for gas! I can't have you in here with the gas leaking like that, so I shut it off. I'll have to order blah, blah, blah..and of course I don't drive around with in a big ol' semi filled with parts, and I doubt they'll be on the shelf back at the garage because this stove is so new, so I'll have to order them." Seriously? It has gone from non-existent to a major project inside of 30 seconds?
To keep from gloating, I asked another question. "Will you be coming back to finish the job?"
Guess what the answer was.
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Terry McKenna
Jacob Sugarman
Devi Hart
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Which reminds me: I've got to call my Internet people tomorrow. Looking forward to that. Not.