Where’s a Plumber When You Need One?



A while back I had to call a plumber and it was not a pleasant experience.  Today I had lunch with two plumbers and things went much better.

I turned 61 this week and my cousin Dori wanted to take me to lunch.  Mortified Daughter joined us at a Japanese restaurant.  I’d never been to one and was delighted to eat off the hibachi menu.  The chef treated us to a good show and I give his food a rating of four out of four Pavlov’s dogs.  If I ever become a food blogger, that’s the rating system I’m going to use.

Maybe even better than the food were the plumbers sharing our table.  Rudy and Anthony were interesting conversationalists and appeared to be genuinely nice guys.

Rudy lamented the lack of civility and good manners these days, especially from young people.  I pointed out that I had to be at least 30 years older than him so I considered him young.  We discussed cell phones and their overuse and how nobody seems to have manners anymore.  After working retail for 11 years, I could have mentioned that the cell phones also apply to people older than me.  A major pet peeve of mine is when they take a call while I’m waiting on them.  And don’t get me started on how many of the geriatric crew appear to think that wrinkles give them carte blanche to be utter assholes.

Which brings me to the last five presidential elections.

Dori and I stood outside the restaurant discussing the results of the 2016 election for over an hour.  (For the record, Universe…shitty birthday present.)

I vowed years ago to never write anything political again.  The rancor Americans feel toward each other is sickening to me and while I’m not immune to it, I keep my screaming and bile-spewing to the confines of my own home, if for no other reason than I have good manners.  But a friend pointed out that she knows I’ll keep up the fight, so I’ve been satire-shamed into diving back into the cesspool that is our political system.

Just look at these t-shirts from this election.






There were t-shirts much more vile, but I chose not to display them.

Lyndon Baines Johnson could be an asshole, but this is one of his campaign buttons.


I doubt if LBJ would have approved of buttons slurring Barry Goldwater for being of Jewish descent.  As Americans, we’ve come a long way, baby.

I have no idea who Anthony and Rudy voted for this year, or if they even voted.  This is Texas so the assumption would have to be for Trump.  If this assumption is wrong, that’s great, because I genuinely liked these two strangers with whom I shared a table for less than an hour.  If it’s right, I can’t let it matter.  I’d have to start hating many of my friends and family if I’m going to be that way.  (For the record, I’ve been called a Communist more than once.  This notion is hilarious to me because I had a junior high teacher tell us the Russians would nuke San Antonio and we’d all die from the fallout.  So for the next 20 years I was scared shitless of the Soviet Union.  Progressive liberal does not equate with Communism.)

The people of this country need to realize that we can’t keep doing this.  We need to stop ranting about the other side and remember we’re all Americans. It’s been a pretty good experiment for 240 years.  If we continue to make ourselves enemies of each other this country isn’t going to survive.

Let’s not fuck it up, people.  Talk to the man wearing the Trump t-shirt and find out he runs an animal shelter.  Say hello to the woman defiantly wearing the I’m With Her t-shirt and discover that she served three tours in Afghanistan.

Say please, thank you and you’re welcome.  Realize we’re all in this together.

Buy your plumber lunch.  After all, if it weren’t for him or her, you’d have shit on your floor.


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