Late last night I woke up sweatin' in my bed...

I'm not referring to pregnancy hormones.

I was really sweatin' at the nearly $2500 repair costs that a particular company in the area told me we'd have to pay when they were here for their annual maintenance check-up when nothing was wrong. A few disclaimers: 1. this is a rant post 2. I apologize in advance that if you are around my town, this title might just get stuck in your head if you're like me and are a sucker for jingles. The darn jingle is what got us in this predicament in the first place. 3. if my language seems stealthy and sly, it's because I don't know if my big ole' mouth teeny ole' blog could ever get me put in the slammer for my investigative journalism that is meant to serve the people that I love. I'm bringing you 21 followers and a handful of anonymous readers the TRUTH!

A year or so ago, we needed some repairs done on a particular unit/appliance/mechanism in our house. It was urgent in order to maintain the functioning of our home. So I did what any bad consumer does: I called the Big Guys with the jingle. Not even a good jingle at that, but the one that stays in your head. Folks who use jingles do their research into addictions and brain activity and habits. And it works. They also do their research and are pros at the pyschology behind marketing. I fell for the trap like some kind of sad animal who tends to operate on fear and a good deal when I was told we could save on future repair costs by joining a maintenance plan. For a set amount of money we would receive annual inspections, routine services, and discounts on repairs. To make a short story long, we just got this season's visit and were told that we needed to make $2300 in repairs, for things we had not had any reason to suspect were not working. Excuse me?

Well if anything makes you doubt previous decisions and question current ones, it's the prospect of writing a big check from a skinny checking account, especially when it may not be necessary. So I decided to call the Little Guys without a jingle for a second opinion. I was expecting lower costs just by virtue of the economy and because catchy jingles cost money. But, I was not prepared for the scandal that will now wake me up shivering in my bed, with disbelief that any of the Big Guys can sleep at all. The verdict from the Little Guys: $0 in repairs. The parts that were corroded and damaged and leaky? Squeaky clean and looking good as new.

Moral of this story: who the heck knows. Why? Because how are we to trust anybody? I grew up in a small town where we left our keys in our cars, houses unlocked, and services and repairs and goods were all done by the Little Guys, Little Guys Junior, Little Guys III, and occasionally, Little Guys IV (there were, afterall, people like me who left their hometown or strayed from the family business). Oh how I miss a small town. The other nice thing, if Little Guy could fix our car, Little Guy (my dad, who isn't really little) could castrate their cows and all would be right in the universe.

I guess the moral of this story that I'm deciding to apply is to not be a pitiful stay-at-home-mom who looks like a sad animal who will walk into a trap. I rock the boat in most things in my life, so my home should be no exception. I needed to ask better questions, be an advocate, and see instead of trust. I'm also choosing to support the Little Guys of my Big City. Or at least to shop around. Duh, Emily. So any personal recommendations and referrals are welcome.

Sleep tight.