[This is another repeat about plumbing from July 2020. It’s mid-afternoon and I’m still tinkering with the troublesome garbage disposal.]
I’ve got a bigly jumbo butterfly Bow Tie o’ the Day for y’all this morning. I will definitely remove my Face Mask o’ the Day before drinking from my infamous potty cup. I just had to fit this toilet cup in my selfie, since the post’s topic is plumbing.
In my last post, I mentioned the plumber had been to the house last week to conquer a few issues. But I forgot to tell you about two groovy things that happened during the plumber’s time here. At some point the plumber said to me, “My hearing aid battery is about out of juice, so if you need to get my attention, you’ll need to yell.” Of course, I am a wearer o’ hearing aids myself, so I yelled, “312 batteries?” And he said in astonishment, “Yes!” So I handed him a 312 hearing aid battery from my stash. Hearing accomplished. I did not present him with a bill for my services.
My favorite moment was when he came downstairs to do his paperwork—tablet work, really. He promptly said, “With all the ties and sewing machines I’m seeing around the house, I’m betting you make ties for a living.” I explained to him that the sewing machines belonged to the crafty, sew-y Suzanne and had nothing whatsoever to do with me. And by the time I finished regaling the man with my quirky love for ties and bow ties, and how I have a tblog so I can show off my neckwear and tell stories—well, the plumber was shell-shocked, to say the least. He stood all amazed. But I enjoyed it. I always love instances when I can go into my what-do-you-know-about-bow-ties-and-would-you-like-to -know-more pitch.
My all-time fave experience with a plumbing problem and the plumber who fixed it occurred a decade ago. We still lived in Ogden at the time, but also had the Delta house. I was at my desk in Ogden when I got a call from someone at the Delta City office. Apparently, the outside water at my Delta house had sprung a very leaky leak underground, and my water meter was racking up the gallons at full speed—lickety-split enough that my water usage had caught the attention of an astute water-watcher in the city office. I was 175 miles away from Delta at the time. What to do?
I herded the dogs into my car, and off we hauled to Delta. In the car, I immediately called a Delta plumber, of course. I had his number already in my phone, because the Delta house was an old house, and plumbing problems had occurred previously. I got his voicemail. I left a message: “Hey, Kelly. I know you’re busy, but Delta City called me and said I have a major outside leak at my place—possibly inside,too—but I’m not in town right now. Could you please go over to my place and check it out ASAP? I’ll be there in 3 hours. Mom has a key to my house, so I’ll call her now and have her unlock my doors. Feel free to go in and out as you need to. Go ahead and do whatever you think needs to be done.” I was only slightly worried on my drive from Ogden to Delta. I was confident the problem would be properly dealt with. When I finally pulled up to the Delta house that day, my yard was torn up and gutted where the pipes were. The plumbing crew was already hard at work fixing my water problem. The leaky water situation was under control.
Mom was at my waterlogged-grass house, too. She was sitting like usual—like a queen—on my front porch in her wild socks, supervising the plumbing crew’s work and promising them a batch of her homemade cookies for their help. I immediately noticed she also had her usual huge, fountain Pepsi-with-mostly-ice from Cardwell clutched in her arthritic right hand. Mom clasped her drink so tightly it looked like a prosthetic that would forever be attached to her real hand. And wouldn’t she love to have a Pepsi-with-mostly-ice permanently attached to her paw, if it could be made a reality! Mom is so cool. Cool learns its cool-osity from Mom. I love her, and I love my small town.
