The power of courtesy
When I approached Sean, the HVAC technician, while he was parked in the alley outside my building's gate, I could see he was weary and out of sorts. His face was tightly set; he responded tersely when I asked him about parking. There was no parking on my street, I found out. And it was hot. So I let him into the back lot to park temporarily in my neighbor's space and hoped my neighbor wouldn't come home before the technician was done.
As Sean carried the foldable ladder up the few steps to the first floor landing, on his way to the stairs that would take him to the second floor and the hatch to the roof, he stumbled up the steps. The words, “Are you ok, dude?” bubbled out of my mouth. I kept the words soft so I wouldn't run afoul of any male pride, and he mumbled and gently shrugged me off. I immediately said, “I'll leave you be,” and told him I would turn on the A/C when he cued me so he could zero in on the correct unit on the roof.
When he called me from the roof to cue me, his voice was less stressed. I cranked up the A/C.
Once he finished his work on the roof and came down the steps, I met him outside and chatted with him briefly about the routine maintenance. He suggested a coil cleaning and explained the rationale. I told him I'd think about it. He asked to come inside, and he showed me inside the blower in my HVAC closet what the work would entail. I understood then the importance of it, and I consented. He got to work.
He was sweating, and I offered him a glass of cold, filtered water from the refrigerator. He hesitated, almost like he didn't want to accept it out of shyness. His face gave me his answer. I went and got him the water. He smiled and chugged it.
Each time he thanked me, I said, “You're welcome.” Each time I thanked him for something, I got a “you're welcome.” Two products of old-school manners.
I refilled his glass again as he worked and set it on a stepstool so he wouldn't accidentally knock over the water with his shoe.
Once he finished, he started asking shyly if he could use the restroom, and I finished his sentence by noting that I was going to suggest it so he wouldn't get stuck in traffic having to pee after chugging two glasses of water. He smiled and took off for the restroom.
Before he left, I offered him one more glass of water. Same shy smile. He nodded. He chugged it.
As he walked out, the rigidness was gone. His eyes were soft. He repeatedly thanked me for the hospitality, and I wished him safe travels.
He waved from his van before he took off down the alley, younger than he was an hour ago.