Son of Beckett

You may recall that in an earlier post, I had a mission to Kill Beckett. I am happy to report -- Mission Accomplished. And I'm not talking any of that swagger-on-a-carrier-deck soundbite BULLCRAP. uh-uh. This is a done deal. I personally cut him into a dozen pieces and loaded him into a dumpster at the Howard County Landfill. So long, Beckett.

However, as is often the case in the sordid underbelly of the oil industry, revenge reared its ugly head this afternoon.

After the oil delivery truck left, I tried to fire up the furnace. I started, of course, at the thermostat. This little exercise in deja-vu failed - I'd failed miserably at a similar endeavor earlier in the day at Cornerstone Church. At any rate, no button on the thermostat seemed to be connected in any manner with the actual heating device.

Down in the furnace room, I removed the furnace cover and recoiled in horror at what I saw. There, staring down at me with eyes of fury, was Son of Beckett. Unfortunately, my screams went unnoticed, since the family is pretty much used to them at this point.

I was, however, pleased to find a large red button, conveniently labeled "RESET". Seemed promising. One touch and the oil burner fired up immediately - all seemed well. Until I got the cover back onto the furnace, and the burner promptly shut itself back off again. Undaunted, I tried again, this time pushing the red reset button all the more firmly. Once again, the burner cut off the instant I got the cover back on. Beckett was toying with me. After playing his cruel game for half an hour, I decided to call the service company, and request an after-hours "emergency visit" (read - financial emergency for you and your family).

Fortunately, the fellow on the other end was very perceptive - sensing my keen mechanical insight, he said he'd try to talk me through the restart procedure. Since the procedure he described seemed to require every tool I owned, I asked him to call me back in five. I ran to the garage and began to assemble an impressive array of hardware. My cell phone rang.

"Okay, you ready?"
"Yup, lemme run back downstai...... SHIT!"
"uh, everything ok?"
"No. I'm locked in the garage."

Of course, all the door-banging in the world couldn't have possible been heard down in the opposite corner of the basement, where the family was huddled around a space heater.

"BECKETT!!!!"
"Uh, sir? Maybe you need a few moments?"

I got the instructions from him, ran outside, banged on a window, and managed to get someone's attention. I bled the oil lines, and everything seems to be working. For now.

But Beckett still lurks.....