Last week, my machine jammed up. I finally got it to the shop today. The place I take it is owned and operated by an older gentleman I'll call "Mr. C." Mr. C is amazing. He's old enough to be my grandpa, and he totes sewing machines around like nobody's business and can sew even more impressively. This is my conversation with Mr. C:
Me: I think I broke my machine, or slightly less likely (gesturing to my toddler), she broke it while I wasn't looking.
Mr. C: Well, let's take a look.
(Mr. C sets up my machine, threads it, and sews a perfect stitch.)
Me: I guess it's like going to the mechanic for your car. It's going to work just fine for you, isn't it.
Mr. C: Well, I don't see anything wrong with it. Maybe you were threading it wrong.
Me: Let me try while I'm here.
(I sit down, thread the machine and then it jams up again.)
Mr. C: Hmmm. I'll look at it again.
(Another perfect round of stitching.)
Mr. C: Yep, you must be threading it wrong, but I can't say I see what you did wrong.
Me: Let me do again.
(I start threading the machine, slowly this time.)
Mr. C: Now, did you hook the thread here? (Gesturing at a never before seen hook by the needle.)
Me: No, should I?
Mr. C: Well, it won't work if you don't.
Me: I guess that was the problem, then.
Mr. C: It sure looks that way. Can I help you carry the machine back out to the car?
Problem solved. The new mystery is how I got it to work for three weeks without ever noticing that hook.