Yesterday two nice men, wearing thick overalls over green sweatshirts, appeared at my door. They were here to replace my furnace, as arranged the day before by payment of half the egregious cost to a different man. They texted before they came. The company is very organized.

I didn’t really need a new furnace; I could have made it last a few more years, but I didn’t want to, because it was getting feeble. Besides, I just took my required minimum distribution from my 401(k) for the year, and I recently decided not to renovate my kitchen, so there you are.

I bought a new recliner the other day, too. God forbid I have money in my savings account, you see.

But I would like to be comfortable warm for however long I keep living here. That would be nice.

The two men tramped in, and my introverted little cat panicked, heading toward the basement. When he realized they were going that way, he did a U-turn, ran upstairs, and went under the bed for the next few hours.

One of the nice men was the helper. The other nice man was the father of the helper’s girlfriend. I found that out pretty early. The helper began spreading out floor protection mats, while the senior guy got to work. They brought in a huge variety of tool containers.

I periodically wandered down to talk to them. This is why I know that the senior guy was the father of the helper’s girlfriend. I also know the age of the helper, and all about his mom. I know his mom, like me, has paid off her mortgage. We discussed waking up sick when you’re addicted to drugs, and discussed the way that modern drugs can kill you more easily. I told him how long I’m sober, and he told me how long he is. We agreed that former addicts are the best people in the world. We also agreed that sometimes people are just assholes, so they can’t quit drugs and become nice, which is a shame.

The helper saw all the art on my walls and told me M.C. Escher was a great great uncle or something like that.

The two of them manhandled the old furnace out of the house, and like clockwork, a guy with messy hair, a blotchy face, and a headband appeared with a pickup truck and took the old furnace away. I was impressed with the coordination of the company, which is run by a young guy.

My new friends manhandled the new furnace in and set about connecting it. The senior installer told me that though the furnace itself is pretty simple, the many many wires that were sticking out of it were mostly for safety equipment of various sorts. I found this reassuring, because gas is involved, and fire and water as well.

My new furnace demonstrated its ability to work and coordinate with the thermostat, the senior guy made sure my AC still worked, and my credit card declined the charge twice until I saw that the card company had texted me saying it was possible fraud and asking me to text “1” for “go ahead” and “2” for “Jesus, no.”

I approved the charge. I will pay off the balance on Saturday, as I do every week, because the main purpose of using the credit card is security, and the secondary purpose is airline miles. I think I have enough miles to have a paid vacation on St. Thomas or something, assuming I want to go anywhere, which I don’t.

I gave them each a twenty and told them to have lunch on me. The senior guy tried to refuse it and got a little pink, but they were both pleased.

After they left, someone from the company texted to say a different pair of people was coming to my house to do the work, and though it would have been nice to have more company, I regretfully texted back, “Wrong customer,” and went to get my cat out from under the bed.

Then I went and had my monthly massage from the almost silent massage therapist I go to. He doesn’t talk, but having someone silently beat the hell out of you for too much money counts as a social engagement, I think. Every month I think I’m going to stop going to him, and every month I walk out feeling lighter and taller, with my nerve pain gone, and I change my mind.