Our house is clean. We have good food and nice clothes. We have decent jobs, even if they’re not glamorous. We’ve worked hard at our relationship and have gotten through quite a storm together. And yet, some days are still hard and I just can’t get myself to appreciate what we have. Until something like today happens.
Today, I called a plumber to fix the kitchen sink. The water wouldn’t drain. I had already tried some chemicals and yesterday my husband went the mechanical route, by disassembling the u-bend and using a drain snake. Nothing worked, so time to call in a specialist.
First, the man tried to unclog the sink from the inside, but after half an hour it became apparent he had to open up the sidewalk in front of our house. All in all it took more than two hours to flush the drains at 200bar. He ran out of water and had to use our outside tap. Wow. But, well, this was probably just waiting to happen, from the day we moved into this house we had had some minor issues. A long overdue cleaning of the drainage system then. After two hours the kitchen sink finally made that disgusting sucking noise indicating that the dirt and debris was being removed. Everything works again. What a relief. The whole house feels cleaner, somehow. So naturally, I offered the man a cup of coffee. I feel that’s just something you ought to do when someone comes to do repairs to your house. (A bonus of this mindset is that they’ll take care to clean up properly. That’s not why I do it, I just feel ashamed if I don’t offer at least a cup of coffee, but that makes them feel appreciated is the other side of the coin.)
But of course, that means they start talking. And because so very few people are listened to in their life, the cup of coffee is for many the moment to talk. I didn’t ask him about wife or kids, I just asked about the job. And oh boy, did he have stories. That’s what you get, Diana, for saying something like “You must see a lot”. I never fully realize how much you prime people with your remarks and questions like that, but yes, well, here come the horror stories. Of people who got in the way while he was doing the job and clogged toilets and poop. So much poop. And I’m sitting there, yeah, go figure, this is me lending an ear. He tried to show me pictures. Listening for a few minutes, fine, but pictures, no thank you. Hey, what do you know, I’ve found me some boundaries! When the cup of coffee was finished, he got up, started putting away his tools, closed the pavement of the sidewalk again and left.
And now I’m sitting here going over one of his stories, in my mind. Of a house where the husband opened the door for the plumber and then went back to the couch and lay down with a can of beer in his hands. The backyard full of dog shit, because the dog hadn’t been walked for days. “I had to clean the hose and my tools, there was dog shit everyhere.” Takeaway food and bottles of soda on the floor. The husband leaving to bring the kids to school in an alcoholic stupor. The plumber had looked at me and had said “Those kids grow up with that, you know. That’s their example. They don’t know anything else.” Did he realize who he was telling this story to? Did he, somehow, subconsciously sense that I’ve been one of those kids? I didn’t comment. But I saw, in my mind’s eye, the backyard full of dog shit. And I suddenly realized how far I’ve come in life.