The Clogged Toilet And The Lady
Almost everyone is in favor of recycling; there seems to be a difference of opinion in how, what, when and where.
# 11 Real Estate Man
Esther G was an 18 year old University of Pennsylvania incoming freshman. That afternoon she was in Real Estate Man’s office with her parents. It it will be Esther’s first apartment. Her parents were with her because Real Estate Man requires a co-signer for all renters under 21 years old.
What made Esther unique is that both her mother and father were psychiatrists. Esther’s intended course of study will be premed.
The lease was signed by all parties and everything went well with Esther’s move in on August 1st.
Real Estate Man’s story:
About a month into the school year I received a panicked call from Esther’s mother. Calling for Esther, her mother told me that Esther’s toilet was not functioning properly. Normally, always the life coach, I tell the parent to have the kid handle this type of business on her own. However, I’m on shaky ground with an aggrieved psychiatrist. I played the attentive Real Estate Man.
After expressing sympathy, I dispatched my plumber, Bob S. Because of the urgency of the situation, Bob promised to have someone work on the toilet that afternoon.
Just before I was ready to knock off for the day the phone rang.
Plumber Bob: “Hey, Real Estate Man, never guess what I fished out of Ester’s toilet?”
Normally, this was not the routine process on a plumbing service call. Usually it was; problem reported, plumber dispatched, problem rectified, plumbing bill received and paid about a week later.
This apparently was special.
Me (feigning interest): “No Bob, what did you fish out of the toilet?”
Plumber Bob: “CHICKEN BONES!!!!!”
Me (interest peaked): “Chicken bones? That’s a new one.”
Plumber Bob: “Makes my Plumbing Hall of Fame”
I thought about Bob’s revaluation on the commute home, during dinner, the 6:30 news, I even woke up at 2:30 AM and rolled it around my mind till around 4:00 when I finally fell back to sleep. I made the decision to talk with Esther that morning.
After leaving a voicemail message on Esther’s cell, I received a callback later that afternoon.
Esther: “Thanks for fixing my toilet Real Estate Man.”
Me: “Glad you’re happy. One thing though; Esther — how did the chicken bones get in your toilet line?”
Esther (impatient with me and showing her possible extreme naivety) “They’re not metal or plastic. They’re not trash. Where else should I get rid of them?”
Me ( ever the life coach):“In the trash can?”
Further pondering the state affairs ….I had an epiphany. There was a Wings To Go franchise about a block away from Esther’s apartment. “Esther…..do you ever get chicken wings at Wings To Go?”
Esther (losing all pretense of being the grateful tenant; reading my mind much the physiatrist her parents always hoped she will become) “I DO NOT EAT WINGS WHEN I’M SHITTING!!!”
Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.
I agree with Shakespeare.