By David Himmel

This morning, I had the most incredible customer service experience I can recall. Not just a customer service experience, even, but perhaps the most incredible experience that involved running an errand.

Let me first tell you how much I hate running errands. It’s not due to laziness. Because I’m a guy who thrives off of immediate gratification. It’s why I enjoy vacuuming, ironing, cutting the grass, and taking shots of whiskey. Where there was once dirt, wrinkles, unruly flora, and sad feelings, a quick push of the domestic tool and gulp with the throat changes that. You can see the difference as you go, you can feel it.

Running errands, in theory should also provide that dopamine rush of immediate gratification. Grocery store—get food—check. Dry cleaners—drop off clothes—check. UPS store—drop off the Amazon product you accidentally broke opening the package but report it came damaged—check. This is rarely the case. The grocery store is often out of an item I need. The ride to the dry cleaner is riddled with abhorrent traffic. The UPS store is understaffed and there’s a line of slow people in front of me. And now I’m hungry, so I’m getting cranky. Most of the time, when I set out to run errands, I’m met with little annoyances at every turn. Little bricks build a big house just as little annoyances break my will to ever leave that big house again.

But this morning was the exception.

When my ex moved out of the house, she took with her a lamp she’d had for years before we met. I liked that lamp. Had a good mid-century modern aesthetic and its illumination provided the perfect mood for the evening hours. It sat on the corner of the long shelf—also of MCM style—used to hold records, the record player, a few books and toys for the kids. I knew she was taking it before she left, so I hopped on Facebook Marketplace to find a new, old MCM lamp to fill the dark hole its absence I knew would otherwise leave behind. And I found it.

Bought it for $100 from a cool writer and wallpaper artist in Wicker Park. When I arrived at her house to claim it, it was already plugged in and turned on. I didn’t bother to test it. It was on. It worked. Good enough for me. What I discovered after setting it up when I got home was that it had a wiring problem. Its switch is on the power cord, and when I turned it on then set the switch/cord back down, the light would sometimes go out. I’d have to jiggle it a bit to get the light back on. It wasn’t a major hassle, so I let it be. Eventually, I plugged it into the timer, so it would switch on automatically and never again was there a time when the light would go out. Problem solved.

Then, the other night, after spending the dinner hours at a friend’s house, I returned home to a dark house. I checked the switch, clicking it on and off. Nothing. I checked the timer; all things looked good there. I unplugged it to bring it to a different outlet. Still now light. I swapped out the lightbulb. Nope. Different bulb and a third outlet test. Nada. So, whatever was the problem when I first got it had metastasized.

The next morning, I Googled “Chicago lamp repair” and found A Lamp & Fixture Corp, a small business just a smidge over two miles from my place. Fifty years in the business. Specialize in vintage lamps. No appointments necessary. They open at 9 a.m.

So, this morning, after my workout, I carefully placed the lamp in my car and headed out. Traffic was agreeable. The radio played three bangers in a row (“Lodi” by CCR, “Somebody’s Baby” by Jackson Browne, and, on a different channel, “Love Don’t” by Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats.) There was a parking spot right in front of the door just waiting for me. I brought the lamp in and was greeted by a guy who looked like he could also be the manager of a smug record store. I dug it. I put the lamp on the counter and explained the situation to him. He nodded along like he’d heard this one a million times. He wasn’t rude at all, more eager to fix it and get me on my way. He tested the switch, a few different bulbs, then said, “It’s probably the switch. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure do. Do your thing.”

He took the lamp to the back and I wondered through the store checking out the vintage lamps and stacks of lampshades and chandeliers and detailed lamp hardware they had for sale in their small, charmingly disheveled but perfectly organized space. Maybe five minutes passed and just as I was finishing my walkabout and heading to the repairs counter, my guy was approaching it from the other side, lamp in hand.

“Yep. It was the switch. Got a new one on there for you. And your bulb was dead. Not broken, so you wouldn’t hear it rattling, just burned out. I recommend an LED bulb.” He plugged it in, gave the switch a flick and the light shone through. “It’s fifteen bucks.”

I was expecting I’d have to leave it. I was expecting it would cost nothing short of fifty bucks. I was delighted. I reached into my wallet and found a ten and five dollar bill—because they prefer cash—and said, “Perfect change. Almost like I planned this.”

He smirked and thanked me. I thanked him, and off I went. Back to the car. Traffic, again, was wonderful. I opted to listen to the media player in the car, which was playing The Get Up Kids’ greatest album, Something to Write Home About.

Got home, put the new bulb in, put the lamp in its place, and plugged it in. Perfect. It’s back on the timer and I’m truly excited for 6:55 to hit tonight when the lamp will automatically switch on.

Easy errands rarely happen with me. I don’t know why. Maybe I need to be more patient. Maybe I shouldn’t save everything for the last minute all at once. Maybe God likes pushing my buttons. Whatever the reason, today was the exception. An exceptional exception.

We all need little wins in our lives. Gotta find the good when it presents itself to you. Gotta bring a little light to a life and a home that for too long has felt a bit too dark.