Twenty years ago I drove almost two hours to a house in a town called Bridgton because a guy swore his furnace was dead and he needed it that night. I get there and his brother in law is already in the basement with it running, whole place toasty warm. Turns out the guy forgot he even called me and they both just stood there looking at me like I was selling magazines. I got maybe forty bucks for the drive and a cup of coffee that tasted like it had been sitting since morning. I still make people text me a picture of the problem before I roll out. Not the same as a dryer but the feeling walking back to the truck is exactly the same. You just eat the gas and the afternoon and try not to say something you'll regret.