The Plumber

I discussed in an earlier post my ineptitude regarding home repairs. There is no need to reiterate said prostration. Today, I needed a plumber. There is one chap I prefer, we will call him “N.” I spoke with N two days ago and  set a tentative appointment for Monday morning. Monday morning comes and goes, no N. I call into play the rules of i-s-h (review an earlier posting for detailed discussion). Tuesday morning, N appears tools in hand ready to roll.

I discuss with him in rather graphic anatomical detail that my continued manhood is at risk if this problem is not resolved prior to my wife’s arrival Friday. He nods in consummate understanding. Now N is somewhat unique, even in Yelapa, in that he neither carries nor owns a cell phone. He is only available through his home number, a land line. If he has departed for the day, then one must leave a message. It is both a simplistic and simultaneously brilliant strategy. He cannot be disturbed once he departs the open portal of his front door. 

N sets to work at the defined task. Nikki growls disenchantment from her boxed captivity. I work on the computer. Numerous sighs, groans, and inaudible words escape from my bathroom. N emerges, alerts me to his departure and disappears for nearly an hour. He reappears, mood slightly elevated and returns to the identified arena. Ten minutes later he beckons. In detail, I am alerted to the fact that the commode has been totally and incorrectly installed. (This isn’t starting off well). He discloses two options: 1) create a concrete lip and base upon which the commode will now sit—hopefully this will seal the leak; 2) extract the tile from the wall behind and move the toilet back the requisite distance. I choose option number one. He reacts and departs roughly a half hour later. As he leaves, almost Lone Ranger style, he is heard to say “I’ll return between five and six this evening to check on things.” I respond “ok.”

Siesta time arrives and is observed. I arise. Five o’clock ticks away, followed by five thirty. At 5:59pm exactly, there is a knock on my front door. N enters; passes to the area of concern; grunts approval and declares “todo bien” (all is well). My bill for an hour’s work, plus a return trip amounted to 200pesos ($17.50 USD). I love Yelapa.

My wife will never know—unless she reads this blog before departing San Diego. N departed stating that my manhood should remain intact. I expressed my sincere appreciation.