It's 8:47 a.m. on a sunny Wednesday morning and I'm back on the upstairs balcony porch on this second day or summer, typing away while I wait for a call from the hottub service guy.
A week ago tonight, my stepdaughter and her girlfriend came in from the backyard hottub to report it was "broken." I went out to check, noticed the acrid smell of overheated electrical stuff and immediately cut the power to the tub. The motor, which carries a lifetime warranty, had somehow burned out. This is the second such motor burnout since we bought the tub in January 2001. But, since the lifetime warranty is still in force (I'm still alive), all I have to pay is the $60 service call fee. The folks who sold us the tub said the service guy would call sometime after 8 a.m. to schedule his arrival. So I wait.
If anyone is curious, the brand is CalSpa. I've always resisted calling these things spas because I feel the term is too ambiguous. Spa is the name of a town in Belgium, renowned for his thermal hot springs and to which Kaiser Wilhelm retired after Germay's defeat in World War I. Over the years, the name has come to mean any place or institution used for relaxation and the restoration of health. To condense such a broad term down to apply to a single appliance, seems wrong to me, so I'll be content to call it a hottub. Speaking of "hot," we set the temperature at the default of 100 degrees in summer, 101 in spring and fall and 102 in winter. It's surprising how much difference a single degree makes, but there it is.
No comments:
Post a Comment