Click on ImageThe following is a true story.
Thursday September 6, 2007. The time is 7:02 PM. I’m inspecting every room in our house for leaks. I’m trying to make sure that I’m not about to relive what I just went through during the last two hours of my life. The plumbers will hopefully be gone soon. The kitchen floor is drying and warping. Water is still squirting out around my sliding glass door in the kitchen. My daughter has finally stopped crying as a result of witnessing me lose my mind for a full 20 minutes. We just had over 600 square feet of plumbing torn out and replaced because we were unfortunate enough to buy a house with polybutylene plumbing. On Sunday we had a very bad leak. On Monday I got one of those huge-phone-book add plumbers to come out and “take a look”. The rest is history.
Thursday September 6, 2007. The time is 7:04 PM. My chest hurts enough that I probably should consider a visit to the emergency room, just to be sure. I don’t think I’m quite dying yet, but I’m not ruling it out yet either. You need to know that over the last two hours, I’ve cried three times, lost my temper worse than I ever have in my entire life and said some of the most horrible things I’ve ever said to another human being (living or dead). The phone rings. I storm over and pick it up ready to take on whomever it might be:
DENNIS: HELLO!!!
VOICE: Yes. Is this Mr. Tkon to whom I’m speaking?
DENNIS: YES! YES IT IS!
VOICE: Mr. Tkon, I’m calling on behalf of the American Federation of Homeless and Disenfranchised Persons and . . .
DENNIS: Well guess what pal? My house looks like a fucking water park amusement ride right now with water shooting everywhere, and the god-damn plumber fell through my attic ceiling all the way to my second floor landing. You should see the size of the god-damn hole in my ceiling!!! And you know what else . . .
VOICE: Oh! I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Perhaps now might not be such a . . .
DENNIS: You’re god-damn fucking right now is not such a good time. Unless you’re looking for a good right-hook to the nose. I’m feeling pretty generous with those at the moment. How’d ya like one of those? Huh?
VOICE: Dial tone . . . . . .
DENNIS: YEAH? FUCK YOU MR. CHARITY! (grumbling – when did the homeless get a union anyway?).
I pick up my note pad and storm off into the girls’ bathroom. I turn on the faucet to the tub. It seems to work. I pull the little thingy to make the shower run and the shower head falls off and water starts shooting everywhere like in a three-stooges movie.
DENNIS: (at 120 decibels) FUUUUUUUUUK!!!!!!!!
Thursday September 6, 2007. The time is 7:07 PM.
PHONE: RING RING RING RING
DENNIS: (dripping wet) WHAT!
VOICE: Hello? I’m sorry, but is this Mrs. Tkon? I was looking for . . .
DENNIS: NO! Who’s this!!!
VOICE: Mr. Tkon? Hello and how ARE you this evening? My name is Beverly and I’m calling from the cancer federation. I just wanted to let you know that our truck is going to be in your neighborhood this weekend and . . .
DENNIS: Beverly? Can I ask you a personal question?
BEVERLY: Um . . . Well sure, I guess. What is it?
DENNIS: Have you ever had a fucking plumber fall through your god-damn ceiling and turn your fucking kitchen into a water-park all in the same day?
BEVERLY: Um . . . (silence).
DENNIS: See Bev, because if you haven’t, then you have abso-fucking-lutely no clue what-so-ever as to just how fucking mad I am at the moment. And if by chance you did, you’d completely understand that I could give a rat’s ass that your fucking-cancer-mobile is making the rounds, in my neighborhood, this weekend, because I JUST DON’T GIVE A GOOD-GOD-DAMN!!!!! (pause) Beverly? Hello?
DENNIS: (Slams phone down, pulls it out of the wall, and throws it across the room and smashes it against the wall that needed repainting anyway.)
At this point, I’m feeling completely out of control. It’s not a question of am I going to drink, it’s a question of am I ever going to stop (or at least so it seems at the moment).
I pick up my pad of paper and continue making notes about the plumbing deficiencies that remain to be fixed. And yes. The phone rings again for the 3rd time in less than 10 minutes.
PHONE: RING RING RING
DENNIS: (Screaming) HELLO!!!!
VOICE: I’m sorry, is this . . . I was trying to reach a Mr. Dennis Tkon.
DENNIS: WELL YOU GOT HIM!!! HAPPY?!
VOICE: Um . . . Sir. If this isn’t a good time, I could call back perhaps.
DENNIS: No. I’d rather you annoy the shit out of me right now while my mood absolutely blows. I think that would be much better than you running the risk of fucking up one of my good moods. So tell, just what can I do for you?
VOICE: Well, if now’s a good time sir.
DENNIS: I’m listening.
VOICE: Well, you may not be aware, but if you’re showering in or drinking plain tap water, you’re exposing yourself to millions of unwanted microbes and foreign particles which are unhealthful and suspended in the very water you drink.
DENNIS: Can I ask you your name please?
VOICE: Um, yes. My name is Sandjeep.
DENNIS: Listen Sandjeep. Right now I’m exposed to a whole fucking house full of unwanted microbes and foreign particles because they’re pouring through my light fixtures in my kitchen, computer room and bathroom. Microbes in my water is least of my god-damn troubles at the moment. I’ve got more water than I know what to do with. Plus, I’ve got a wounded plumber lying on my second floor landing waiting for medical assistance. You got any fucking products that can get rid of klutzy plumbers with shitty balance? Does your fucking product stop microbe-laden water from streaming through every orifice in my god-damn house? Because if it doesn’t Sandjeep, then I’m not interested!
SANDJEEP: Yes, Yes. Well, I’m very sorry to hear that of course Mr. Tkon. However, our product will definitely reduce your microbe problem most definitely. Now if you can just give me a date sometime next week when I can have a representative . . .
DENNIS: >CLICK< (Hangs up) Stay tuned. Somewhere there’s a bottle with my name on it and it’s calling me. . .
