There was absolutely nothing wrong with him—he was perfect
in all respects: he did his work efficiently, he was pleasant, he was
completely fluent in one language, and then (after some significant chatting)
he went away. What more could anyone want from a plumber?
Well, he never showed up.
At least, that’s how I figured it, since he didn’t arrive on
Friday, promised to come on Saturday but couldn’t, was off doing something else
on Monday, and—in theory—spent two hours looking for parking in Old San Juan on
Wednesday. Oh, and another day? Well, it was raining—and we all know how
plumbers feel about water!
So we didn’t have a sink but a slop bucket, and guess who
got to lug that all the way down the hall to the bathroom? Well, my right arm
now could be mistaken for Schwarzenegger’s, and I’m walking with a pronounced
list to the right, as well, but no worries! Hasn’t changed my politics!
So I called the company yesterday, and they assured me that
they were panting, almost drooling to do business with me, but the parking in
Old San Juan. Impossible, as we all know, since it’s never good and especially
now, since it’s Christmas. And did I mention that a couple of days ago, there
were three huge cruise ships in the harbor, and so the streets and especially
the sidewalks were clogged with tourists, all of them very much on vacation
time, which meant that they tended to move at half anyone’s normal pace for ten
feet, and then stop, to call out hellos to other people they knew from the
cruise. And since two of them were Carnival cruises, the tourists tended to
be….
Has anybody every written about classicism and cruise lines?
Because anybody in Old San Juan will tell you: you don’t have to run down to
the harbor, a simple look outside on the sidewalk will tell you. If you see
silver-haired, white, trim, sixty-year old guys wearing the latest in Polo and
accompanied by a slender, beautiful, thirty year old blond woman, you’ll know
that the Silver Spirit is in town. And their website? It’s so exclusive that
they decline to allow me to download a picture of their cruise ship so that I
can upload it to you. They did permit me, however, to copy the paragraph
describing their best
accommodation. Enjoy!
The name Owners Suite says it all. A stylish apartment.
Prestigious and classic. For those whose standards are higher than most on a
cruise. Available as a one-bedroom configuration or as two-bedrooms (as
illustrated) by adjoining with a Vista Suite.
Naturally, this doesn’t come cheap for “those whose
standards….” So what’s the tab? Well, I really can’t tell you, because unlike
any other website, they decline to dirty themselves with electronic pricing.
Instead, they ask you to provide contact information, and assure you that a
“representative” will call you in the next business day. That gives them
time—presumably—to look you up on Forbes 500 richest list.
OK—that’s Silver Spirit. What about Carnival? It’s the exact
opposite.
So anybody can see that my plumber and his company were
completely justified in declining to come to San Juan unless…
“Yes,” I asked.
I provided parking.
OK—it was a day when my behavior was a bit more tropical
than Nordic. Or was it that I was speaking Spanish? Because I hit the roof.
“Look,” I said, “we’ve been using you guys for twenty years,
and never once have we had to provide parking. Nobody in San Juan
provides parking! There’s no city in the world…”
So this morning, I was waiting for Juan, and fiddling around
on my computer, since any serious writing was impossible, because what if Juan
came as the muse was crooning in my ear? What would she do, if I told her that
a mere plumber was of greater interest to me than she? Would she desert me for
the guy at the next table? Would she ever come back?
So Juan called just as I was absorbing the interesting fact
that…well, here it is: in 1928,
Edgar made the first direct Pittsburgh to Paris telephone call to enquire about
a designer dress.
Edgar being E. J. Kaufmann, the guy who commissioned Frank
Lloyd Wright to build Fall Water. Right—always good to know about the first
direct call from Pittsburgh to Paris—but Juan’s call, when it came, was a
trifle more interesting. And guess what! He was here, but he couldn’t find…parking!
I sputtered, I fumed, I provided the list of three parking
lots that could accommodate a pickup truck, I spoke so loudly that I woke up
Taí, who came out of a profound sleep to enquire whether there was a bull fight
going on. Then I went back to reading about Falling Water—and did you know that
Mrs. Kaufmann could read in three languages: English, French and German?
Wow—that’s class.
So I was making coffee—not that my stomach needed it, since
it was rough seas down there, but just because it was the one thing I could
do—when Juan arrived. Taí and I instantly got down to our knees and kissed his
feet and hands, since the Stockholm Effect had taken hold, and we begged him to
grace our kitchen. Oh, and we gave him coffee.
Well, this company has the interesting habit—though
lucrative, for some—of coming (after repeated pleas and promises) fixing
something, and then breaking something! Quite a business model—since the last
time, Freddy the plumber broke two very beautiful and quite expensive faucet
handles, and then pointed out that it was a very good thing, since who would
want things so difficult to replace? So now we’re wonderfully happy with Home
Depot’s cheapest, and Freddy was good enough to take away the remaining two
pristine—and stupidly expensive—handles! Now that’s service!
So Juan had come, fixed the clog, and then broke the canasta of the sink—though it was
probably our fault, since we had used Drano—horrors!—and that might have made
the plastic brittle. So there he was, after having tested our love and devotion
over the past week to see if we really wanted him.
Right—so then it was the work of ten minutes to fix the
problem, after which I took Juan firmly be the hand and lead him to the morning
room, where he could do no further damage. Juan then told me the entire history
of his life, as well as the complete chronology of interesting events in his
hometown, and I now can tell you that I know more about Juan than I do about
Mr. and Mrs. Kaufmann. So I paid him a hundred buck—no charge for the history!—and
went off to the café, where I discovered…
…toilet’s broken!
