The kindness of others

“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.” 

― Mark Twain

AUBURN — I am seeking revenge against a pair of Samaritans who had the gall to be nice to me.

Can you believe these guys! The nerve of them for being decent and kind people!

I want my pound of flesh (see Shakespeare). And remember, no good deed goes unpunished. 

It was an extraordinary act of generosity committed by two of the finest human beings to walk the planet.

Now I want to pay them back, and the only way I can is to return the favor and be nice to them, too. They won't see it coming, but no doubt they will be looking over their shoulders. They know I am out there, dreaming up some devious plan of my own act of kindness.

The two conspirators are named Mike and Don - two common names for two uncommon men who exude decency and integrity. These are smart guys who give a damn about the right in things in life. These are guys with common sense and believe in the greater good.

They have their heads on straight, which means they will never have a future in American politics. Their reputations are beyond reproach, and I wouldn't get within 10 feet of them if they weren't such wonderful human beings.

Here's what these guys contrived to trigger my tirade.

Don is my neighbor who offered me the heating oil in his tank at no charge to me. He made the wise choice to switch to natural gas, shaking off the shackles of greedy oil companies. He is a great guy who shares his vast knowledge with me, and I of course, can always use a few pointers as a home owner. 

Anyway, his oil tank needed to be removed as well as the oil in it. That's where Mike, a co-conspirator, comes in.

Mike is an adept plumber and another fine example of humanity. This young man served his country in the United State Air Force as a mechanic repairing the feared B-1 bombers in Saudi Arabia for 10 years. Mike's experiences in the Middle East remind me of T.E. Lawrence, who tried to unite the tribes at the conclusion of World War I.

Don needed a plumber and Mike needed work, and the both of them decided to be nice to me. The two also became friends, and like expatriate Rick Blaine and French inspector Louise Renault in "Casablanca," it just might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Well, after Mike transferred the oil to my tank and removed Don's tank from his cellar, my honest plumber and friend knocked on my door to inform me the job was completed. He had quoted me a ridiculously reasonable price to transfer the oil a couple of weeks ago.

"Hey Mike, how much do I owe you," I asked.

"You are all set," he said with a wide smile.

We looked at each other. "C'mon, what do I owe you," I demanded.

"We settled it between ourselves," Mike explained.

That was it; the deal was sealed - without my say in the matter.

That meant I was on the receiving end of about $440.00 worth of free oil thanks to the kindness of two gentlemen. My tank is nearly full because of these thoughtful jokers.

I offered Mike coffee, paying for lunch, frozen vegetables from my garden and the keys to my car.

OK, well three can play at this game as I figure out how to respond to such kindness.

They better keep looking over their shoulders. I am going to get those guys and it will be pretty.

One flush away from insanity

“A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove...but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.”

 Forest E. Witcraft quote

AUBURN — It was the only way I could rebuild my confidence and stop the madness. I refused to turn to anyone else. I decided to go it alone before it ruined our lives.

    Thus, I began my miserable descent into the dark bowels of my leaky toilet.

    Sure, I am handy and somewhat of an artist when it comes to woodworking, but I know I am no Bob Villa. And I am certainly not qualified to join the cast of "This Old House." 

    Those guys make it look oh so easy when they dismantle an old porch and build a 40-foot addition in its place in less than hour. Tearing up sub-flooring in a run-down kitchen and replacing it with fine solid wood is no problem for the "Old House" gang. They get the job done in days. I would be there for weeks, filling my old fu*&%ing house with obscenities which would make my cringing neighbors shut their windows.

    I put all trepidation aside and decided to tackle a plumbing project, knowing all too well I might be in over my head. Still, I figured if I screwed up, and that was certainly not out of the question, I had my go-to plumber on standby. Mike can run rings around the "Old House" bunch. Ever watch this guy replace a faucet? He's like a surgeon, and he can do it in a heartbeat. It was like he was never there.

    He's that good.

    But knowing Mike was waiting in the wings, and that I had another bathroom at my disposal, gave me the courage to plunge my hands into the cold, disgusting waters of my toilet. I had to work fast in this repugnant environment.

    I wiped the sweat from my brow with a facecloth and grimaced as I worked feverishly to remove the culprit — a leaky flap — which caused me to lose sleep each night. Every moment counted. A good night's sleep was riding on my every move.

    Listening to a leaky toilet can drive anyone insane. Running water was a good excuse for Green Peace to pay me a visit with some guy named Rocky.


   Now that I was inside the messy tank, I decided to remove the corroded arm with the broken handle, too. I don't know how I did it, but I unscrewed the nut holding the arm that was attached to the leaky flap.

    Done! I was out in five minutes, with hours to spare.

    That was not a close call, but it sure was gross.

    Once I was inside toilet, there was no going back. It was imperative that the toilet was working again, because living without two bathrooms would be a damn major inconvenience to a family with a strapping teen-age son.

     After the removal of the dirty rotten flap, I made an urgent call to my local hardware store. Those guys really understand a frantic homeowner. They told me they had the goods and gave me the support I needed to finish this stressful job.

    I raced down Minot Ave, hoping I would find the right flap or it could be curtains for my beloved toilet.

    The hardware salesman knew his plumbing products and I was relieved to find both parts for my toilet. It helped that I brought the dirty, rotten flap with me to find the right piece.

   

    I raced back to the bathroom, read the directions carefully and began attaching the flap. This was a delicate procedure that took a minute or two, but I was too far along to quit. With the flap in place, my apprehension eased. Now came the new arm and the attachment of the chain to the flap. Everything fell into place, including the new flap.

    I stepped back and sighed. I turned the water back on and watched the rushing waters engulf the new flap. All I could do was wait as the water filled the tank. I stood there in silence, listening for any leaking. The minutes seemed like hours. Failure was not an option.

I decided to give the new arm a test run. I flushed the toilet again and again, and still there was no leaking.

    Bravo! The leaking had stopped and I felt good about myself and looking forward to a good night's sleep, knowing I would not have to replace the entire toilet.

    After all, it is still the best seat in the house!