The Gas Line
Today we celebrated Julian’s birthday. As far as I know, there aren’t any laws about having three Taurus’s in the house. Maybe there should be.
We –my wife, my son, and I–share birthdays only a few days apart. I don’t follow astrology, but I know the reputation of the bull. It’s true, we’re not gentle people. We can overwhelm you with our rightness. Julian already seems a bit obdurate for a three-year-old. Titanium is more flexible. Stone more malleable.
But for me, I’m feeling older. I feel grayer, not just in the hair, but in the face. Adult life is plagued with dull problems of consequence.Today I discovered a gas leak which needed immediate attention. This is the latest turn in the drama I’m not writing called “The Gas Line.”
Last month, some men showed up and told me my gas line was not up to code. It zig-zagged beneath my yard instead of heading straight out to the main. I told them it was a gas line after my own heart. The worker stared blankly with a cigarette hanging from his lip.
Actually, the gas leak was only a secondary concern for me. It’s the water leak that bothers me more. In a heavy rain the other morning, I went downstairs to watch water coming in through the wall. It was only a trickle, but I felt like an extra in Das Boot. I started yelling in German and sucking lemons by the dozen.
So once again I called the contractor to complain. (I won’t name the company, but I will tell you it is prominent on the East Coast and sounds exactly like a porn name.) Once again, he promised to send one or two guys to come look at it. I told him, “Listen, these guys don’t want to work. They hate this job. And when you send one guy to the site with a shovel, it’s almost like he’s being punished or something. How can he stay motivated? The last thing a person wants to do is dig a six-foot hole all alone. ”
I really felt like I was telling him something. But then he kindly reminded me “All we do is dig holes.” And I admit, he’s probably right.
See, not all Taurus’s are inflexible.
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