So I just got off the phone with my plumber because the zero degrees nuked our pump, and by “my” I don’t mean I own him or command him in any way; I inherited him from my long dead dad and he is a man I honor and respect.
Get this. He actually expressed sympathy about the fact that our pump blew up when the space heaters thawed it. Water all over the garage floor. How many times over the years has he heard this story? When he answered the phone I suggested he might be busy and he said, “Just a little.”
But he sailed right into the problem. “I’ll be out there this afternoon.” He also didn’t cushion the blow. “It could be Tuesday before a replacement pump is available.” Did I forget to tell you, he told me immediately the pump we have probably could not be saved?
I love this guy. He always comes sooner than he promises. He starts work whether you’re there or not. We once pulled back a cover from some plumbing fixture to find a snake wrapped around it and looked at one another. He said, “It’s the kind of place snakes like.” Then we finished uncovering the fixture. The snake discreetly departed the scene.
Part of me says he’s too old for what he’s doing. Another part of me says, please, please, don’t ever stop.
You think plumbers aren’t heroes? You probably think Bonnie Tyler is from West Virginia. Guess what. She’s Welsh. From WALES.
My plumber is from heaven.
UPDATE. He came early, of course, and we just now shooed him back to his wife. He’s not sure if the pump is dead. Trying to find a bad wire. Trying too long. It’s snowing like crazy and we’d rather have him in future than water today. How things are in our neck of the woods. He met Raebert. And the Scotty. They all nodded at one another. Hopefully he’s home by now. He’ll be back first thing tomorrow, you can be sure. Life as we used to live it. The grace of confidence among men.