AQ Rants: Apparently, I’m the Fucking Fix-It Department

A brief warning before we begin:

This rant contains an unusually high number of variations on the word fuck. I considered editing them out for my more delicate readers, but unfortunately, gosh darn it, I’m overwhelmed does not adequately describe the current situation.

Reader discretion—or a healthy appreciation for profanity—is advised

I’m writing this from my couch.

I have a double ear infection, a ruptured eardrum, antibiotics on board, and approximately zero interest in doing anything beyond lying here feeling sorry for myself while my dogs supervise my recovery.

And my fucking phone keeps ringing.

Because apparently nobody knows how to function when The Fixer is temporarily out of service.

I don’t know what part of I am sick is getting lost in translation.

I’m not “working from the couch.”

I’m not “taking it easy but available if you need me.”

I’m not “just staying home today.”

I am fucking sick.

Yet the calls keep coming.

Can you handle this?

Do you know what’s going on with that?

What should we do about this?

Are you coming in?

No.

I’m not fucking coming.

And somewhere between another phone call and another dose of antibiotics, I realized this is probably the best possible illustration of something that has been bothering me for a while.

I have become The Fixer.

Not at one job.

Everywhere.

At my actual day job, something breaks in my product line and I’m the guy who gets the call. That one makes sense. I know my products. I know how everything fits together. When something goes sideways, part of my job is figuring out why and getting it working again.

Fine.

But somehow this became my role everywhere else, too.

For years, when something breaks at an organization I’m involved with, people call me.

Building problem? Call me.

Technology problem? Call me.

Something isn’t working and nobody knows why? Call me.

Some random piece of equipment has apparently chosen violence today?

Call AQ. He’ll figure it out.

And the problem is…

I usually fucking do.

Which means people have learned that calling me works.

Recently, I finally had to point out to one organization that I’m the treasurer.

You have an entire board of trustees responsible for the building.

Maybe—and stay with me because this gets radical—we could let the trustees handle trustee shit.

At church, admittedly, I have considerably less room to complain.

I’m the facilities guy.

If the toilet explodes there, congratulations, that actually is my problem.

Apparently I managed to professionally codify my role as The Fixer in at least one place.

And then there’s family and personal life.

No title.

No job description.

No board.

No support ticket.

Just the longstanding understanding that when shit goes sideways, I’ll figure something out.

And I usually do.

I make the call.

I find the person.

I solve the problem.

I rearrange the schedule.

I show up.

I handle it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until apparently we reach a Saturday where I’m lying on the couch with infections in both fucking ears and a hole in one eardrum, and people are still calling because something needs to be handled.

That’s when it finally clicked.

I’m not overwhelmed because I can’t handle things.

I’m overwhelmed because I’ve spent years proving that I can.

And once you become known as the capable person, people stop asking:

Whose responsibility is this?

They start asking:

Can AQ fix it?

Probably.

But that’s not the fucking point.

Because “he knows how to handle it” and “this is his responsibility” are not the same sentence.

And neither is:

“He can do it” and “he should have to do it.”

That distinction becomes especially fucking important when He Who Apparently Fixes Everything is currently horizontal on a couch, medicated, miserable, and trying to hear out of two ears that have collectively decided to resign.

So consider this my temporary Out of Order sign.

If it is actually my responsibility, I will deal with it when I’m functioning again.

If it isn’t?

This weekend presents an exciting opportunity for personal growth.

Figure it the fuck out.

Because The Fixer is sick.

And for once, you’re going to have to fix it yourselves.

— AQ