It all started with a funky smell and a washer that just wouldn’t drain right. Enter Brian, our self-proclaimed handyman, armed with confidence and a screwdriver. His mission? Investigate the problem. His permission? Nonexistent.
Fast-forward a week: the washer still wasn’t working—because now it wasn’t even a washer anymore. It was a collection of parts scattered across the laundry room floor. The Executive Director was the first to get the report. When she walked into the laundry room, she didn’t find a washer problem—she found a parts explosion. Panels, wires, and mystery components were everywhere like a mechanical crime scene.
She whispered a prayer: “Lord, help me.” And then, like any seasoned leader in distress, she called her Superman—her husband, Kyle Fitzgerald, Vice Chair Extraordinaire. His mission? Put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Spoiler alert: even Kyle couldn’t resurrect the washer. The stress level? Off the charts. The Executive Director had a grant report due, Kyle had a looming twelve-hour shift, and now they were knee-deep in a mechanical mystery.
Meanwhile, Brian—the self-proclaimed handyman—had vanished, leaving behind his interpretation of “helping.” According to him, helping meant starting the job. According to the Executive Director, helping means seeing it through and solving the problem—not quitting halfway and leaving me to finish your science experiment. Her definition was clear: if your help costs the shelter money, it’s not help—it’s sabotage with good intentions.
And the original problem?
Brace yourself. It wasn’t the washer at all. It was the water. Specifically, iron-heavy water because someone (identity withheld to protect the guilty) managed to lose three 50-pound bags of water softener salt. That’s 150 pounds of salt gone without a trace. We’re calling it the work of a Salt Burglar. How do you misplace something heavier than a small horse? We may never know.
Just when despair set in, the Executive Director’s whispered prayer was answered. A brand-new washer was donated—like magic. No purchase order, no budget hit, just grace in the form of a shiny appliance. And that, friends, is the lifeblood that keeps us going: community generosity and a little divine intervention.
Lesson learned: Before dismantling the spin cycle, check for missing salt. And if you’re going to help, remember—help means finishing the job, not creating a new one.
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