Columbo: Master Plumber

You remember how Peter Falk as the TV detective Columbo would always set up the guilty party? He'd pester them with visits and queries all through the show. He'd eventually go back to them towards the end of an episode and ask a few more questions before appearing satisfied. Typically he would turn to leave, only to reverse course and say to the perp, "But one more thing..." You knew he was going to ask the crowing question, the one that would seal the deal and show the guy did in fact commit the murder. It became Columbo's catchphrase. I always looked forward to it.

I no longer do. We have our own version of Columbo who comes into the Shop, a plumber who never seems quite finished with us. We dread his arrival, me brother Phil and I, because he'll always start with a couple things for us to do. Then he thinks another, and afterwards typically a third or fourth. Finally he will always actually leave the old barn, to reappear at the door a minute or two later to say, "But one more thing..."

Yeesh. Especially when both my brother and I are there, if he would tell us everything at once we could both attack his repairs (or fill his orders as the case may be) and expedite things. We've even told him that. He will comply on the next trip, maybe, and then go right back to being Columbo the Master Plumber.

The other day was no different. He didn't pull out of the driveway for 90 minutes. After the first 60 he left only to come back in about that one more thing. Then he sat in his van for 15 minutes longer before finally leaving. It was an eternity for me and Phil; we kept expecting one more one more thing.

I would have confessed to murdering the Queen Mother by that point.

Life is Like

I dropped off an order of drain cables yesterday. To my surprise, the customer gave me something in return: a package of chocolates. Plumber's chocolates, you might say.

Before you run too far with that football, they were chocolates shaped like plumbing fixtures and tools. There was a manhole cover, a spigot, a plunger and, yes, a commode. All were individually packaged with the company logo upon the wrapper. 

In America, advertising is everything.

Lack of Planning

I'm not the only one who walks. Me brother Phil affords himself regular constitutionals. Yet unlike me he tends to hike in the late afternoon or early evening. 

One Sunday afternoon a bit after 4, he went out. While getting his exercise he figured to check out the Shop, the old barn where we work, just to see it was secure. 

He was just a bit surprised to see a plumber waiting by the door. "Man, I'm glad to see you Cosgriff. I need my machine worked on."

"Well, you're really lucky to find me. We normally aren't here this time of the week," Phil explained.

The man said, "Oh, I know. I just hoped someone might come around eventually."

So you came late on a Sunday afternoon? Did you intend to wait outside my door until Monday? Still, me brother offered, "Well, since I'm here, let's open up and take a quick look at your snake."

The plumber stammered, "Uh, I don't have it with me."

So you came to the Shop at a time when you didn't think that anyone would be there, and you didn't bring your machine, thought Phil. And, you didn't see a flaw in that plan?

Yet he said, "We'll be here tomorrow morning at 8 then sir."

I don't think we ever actually saw him though. That may he just as well.

Rushing Yards

There's this plumber who regularly comes into the old barn, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who is a nice guy who generally doesn't rush us. Generally.

He brought in a machine last Wednesday for a relatively major repair. I told him to allow about a week. "That's fine, Cosgriff, no rush at all," he said as he left the Shop. "After Thanksgiving is fine even, I ain't going to rush you."

Cloyce came in last Thursday around One O'clock. "I was just passing by, Cosgriff, so I thought I'd stop in. I ain't going to rush you."

He called Friday morning. "How's it look? I ain't rushing you, only touching base." I advised him that it would be Tuesday.

Monday morning he stopped by. "Just in the neighborhood, Cosgriff. I ain't rushing ya." 

I reminded him about Tuesday and he was on his way. As soon as the door hit Cloyce on the way out me brother Phil groused, "I'd hate to see what it's like for him to rush us."

He picked up his machine yesterday, arriving at the Shop within a half hour of my call (and paying cash), so there's that. Still, yes, I do wonder what his idea of rushing us would be.