The other day—in the middle of the night, actually, on one of the coldest days thus far this season, with daytime highs in the single digits and windchills well below zero Fahrenheit—our furnace stopped working. It would fire up and blow unheated air for a minute or so, then quit before things had a chance to warm up. This was most disconcerting, not only because of the frigid weather, but also because the furnace was only a few years old, and there was absolutely no reason why it should malfunction. We went down to the basement and popped open the front panel for inspection, but, being a modern unit, there was very little for a laymen to monkey around with.
I hated to admit it, but there was no way around it: We’d have to call the HVAC guy and have him take a look; that meant it would cost us money. I could certainly come up with a hundred other things I’d rather spend my money on, but with the indoor temperature barely warmer than a walk-in refrigerator, I had little choice. So the call was made, and the repairman was scheduled to come between noon and two. Until then we’d have to tough it out, wrapped up in blankets and huddled around the space heater in the spare room we used as a home office.
Of course, being scheduled to come in a certain window of time and actually doing so are two different things. The kids, as kids are wont to do, failed to grasp this subtlety and took things rather too literally, commenting every five minutes, “It’s after two o’clock—why isn’t the repairman here yet?” Indeed, a good question. But to be fair, at least the dispatcher had called prior to two to inform us that the repairman was on his way, so I guess that counted. If he could have flown, he would have made it.
At length the repairman arrived. I ushered him inside and led him downstairs to the furnace. He took a look, then pointed to the front of the unit. “See those flashing lights there?”
Well, now that you mention it—
“Those are diagnostic lights. And when I’m king,” he said, popping off the front panel, “I’ll make it so every furnace will have these troubleshooting flowcharts on the outside of the panel in plain sight, so you won’t have to call guys like me all the time.”
And there, hidden on the inside of the panel, was a diagram that cracked the code displayed by the diagnostic lights. Who’da thunk—
The repairman was actually rather helpful, and intent on educating me in the interest of avoiding future unnecessary, expensive house calls. “All the modern furnaces have these charts, but it’s silly to put them on the inside where people don’t think to look. But as you can see here, this’ll tell you exactly what your problem is. Have you changed your air filter lately?”
I was floored, and not a little chagrined. “Really? You mean something like that—” I reached over and lifted out the dust-laden filter. Sure enough, the furnace kicked on all by itself, happily sucking unimpeded air from the intake duct.
“Yup. It’s a safety feature. A dirty air filter reduces the efficiency of the furnace, making it work harder.”
“I admit, an air filter is one of those things that’s easy to forget about. I haven’t given it much thought—”
The repairman held up the useless filter. “I’d say you haven’t given it any thought. Most people don’t. That’s why I advise folks to mark it down on their calendar, or let their monthly gas bill serve as a reminder to change filters. A little basic maintenance goes a long way. The trick is not to let things get out of hand in the first place. In other words, stop problems before they start. It’ll be cheaper, too, in the long run.”
He proceeded to check out the rest of the furnace to make sure everything was functioning properly, but, as was expected, there were no other issues that required attention.
Echoes of Barney Fife rang through my head: “Nip it in the bud!” I thanked him for coming out and tending to our furnace. If only there were another way besides the hard way to learn these things—