good lord. i've just seen my plumber. he's visiting the kind old man upstairs, who has a lovely voice. i can say this because the walls here are so thin, i can hear him singing old timey tunes in the shower. but enough about him, this is about my plumber. AND this is a good-bad one.
a few months ago, my kitchen faucet was experiencing very low water pressure. it was so painfully low, that it literally took me 30 minutes to hand wash a typically 10 minute zen-ish chore. i called the management company for a plumber and they sent the same guy that always comes. only this time, i was in for an especially special treat.
"hey, what's up?" he said, one hand casually leaning into the door frame. i kid you not. he must be in his mid twenties, looks like curly from the three stooges but goofier and stouter, if that's possible.
"hi. how are you?" i replied as i let him in. "it's my kitchen faucet. the pressure is low like a motherfucker."
he put down his tools, fiddled with the tap, and nodded knowingly. "ok, let me take a look." and so i did. i retreated into the living room. oprah was on, afterall.
10 minutes later, he called me over. "yeah, i see what's wrong." i got up from the couch, walked over to the kitchen, and found him lying on his back, knees apart, head under the opened sink cabinets. normal. EXCEPT for 2/4 things: the giant 6" tear in the crotch of his navy dickies, and the fact that he had zero underwear on whatsoever, therefore pushing out a set of enormous, very pink and surely suffocated balls. you know that shock you get when you swallow gulps of icy coke slurpy on a hot summer's day? well, this was brainfreeze for my soul, and it was hurting.
"um?" was all i could muster, but my inner monologue had some words. "dude, your child bride doesn't know how to sew?" or, "my name isn't debbie, ya jerk" or, "you have a gaping hole in your crotch. and you're not wearing underwear. get outta my house. hold on, tell me what's wrong with my faucet first. then get the fuck out of my house."
he closed his knees together, confirming that he knew very well what was going on below the belt. he explained the faucet needed to be replaced, then very very quickly, got up, gathered his gear, and said he'd call the management company and order a new faucet. and then he was gone.
when the replacement faucet came to be installed, 2 other plumbers came and did the job. totally professional. it wasn't until today that i've seen him again. and, once again, i got the same calling card: "hey, what's up." only this time, thankfully, it was minus a set of balls. visual-image hymen intact.