I’m at my desk in my room preparing to write a post about the misery that was 2016, when the doorbell rings.
Who could that be?
The voices come up the stairs–my wife talking to Willie, the plumber.
What’s he doing here? He was just here. He fixed the leak under the kitchen sink. I talked to him about the Blackhawks.
“Just go upstairs,” my wife says.
I didn’t know he was coming. My wife doesn’t tell me when she calls repairmen. Probably cause it would take her too much time and energy to explain what needs to be done.
I hear him thumping up the stairs and entering the second-floor bathroom. I think about coming downstairs to say hello. He’s a gregarious, baby-faced guy. Figure I might as well wish him Happy New Years.
But, no, I have a blog to write about…
I hear him drop his tools on the floor. It sounds like heavy metal crashing.
I try to concentrate on the great events of the year–Bowie, Prince, Ali…The plumbers…
Crash! Bam! Boom! It sounds like Willie’s jumping up and down. Then…
“Goddamn, motherfuckin’ cheap ass…”
“Piece of shit, cocksucking…”
Oh, my goodness–this is a side of Willie I’ve never seen. Or heard.
“Fuckin’, motherfuckin’, son of a bitch…”
I mean, he’s really going to town.
It sounds like he’s fighting with someone.
“Shit. Fuck. Shit…”
Then silence. Is he okay?
I sneak downstairs, past the bathroom. The door’s shut. I head into the kitchen where my wife’s at the sink.
“Willie’s here,” I say.
“What’s he doing?”
“Rodding out the drain.”
“Why?” she asks.
I walk back up the stairs. The bathroom door’s open. Willie’s loading his tools into his work bag. Thank goodness, he’s okay.
A few minutes later my wife comes into my room looking for the checkbook.
“Willie’s a great guy,” she says.
Should I tell her?
Nah. Like anyone else, plumbers should have their secrets.
One Response to “Benny Jay: The Plumber Curse”
Leave a Reply:
Comments subject to approval--if we don't like it, we won't post it.