"I'll stay in Poland. Come and visit!" My plumber is a good Frenchman from the Loire Valley, but I don't care where he comes from if he just shows up fast
For the past three days I have been in crisis mode, because the kitchen sink has been completely blocked since Sunday morning, and I am expecting a bunch of people, both my family here in the house, and as guests for Thanksgiving dinner and afterwards. Just as when you hurt some part of your body you'd never noticed much before, I had never realized how important it is to a kitchen to have water. It's quite hard to have to carry pots and pans, glasses and plates and silverware to a bathroom sink to wash them, or to have to dump every liquid into a toilet in another room instead of the sink.
Paris does not have enough plumbers. Everyone knows this and it is the reason that when the E.U. opened the doors to workers from other European nations, the French were happy to hire Polish and other eastern European plumbers, who usually had training as good as the French ones and were often a lot cheaper and more importantly, a lot more available. Because let's face it, when you call the plumber, you don't usually want to have to wait two weeks. Polish plumbers were a cause célebre for a while.
Starting Sunday morning, everyone we called either didn't answer or was not available, not available, not available, or said "Friday" (after Thanksgiving), next week or later. But finally the concierge reached a plumber who works nearby and is considerably more expensive than the building's usual plumber.
The heroic plumber came at my plea that Thanksgiving "is like Christmas, but without presents," and within an hour he had solved the problem enough so that the water in the kitchen, and the dishwasher, should run at least until next week, when I'll have more time. I say heroic because he had actually been heading off to the hospital, where he is spending the night to have a contrôle of his heart, after having a heart attack last year on the job.
The plumber was in a good mood when the water began to flow again. "No more grease down the drain!" he said. "Use a paper towel or pour it into a bag and throw it away!" Not that I put grease down the drain, but I'm not the only one who lives here.... you guys!
"Every year, I had the same lady who called me en urgence," he went on. "It was when she made jam. You know you make jam with paraffin, and when she was finished, she poured it down the drain. As soon as it cooled, it would block the drain. I told her to pour it into a bottle, and she could use the paraffin again. But instead, every year at the same time of year, I would get the call. It was pretty funny."
I gave him a big tip and told him he had saved Thanksgiving. As he left, he said, "Joyeuses fêtes!"
