Blog Dis
Have plunger, will huckster...
2025-10-21
Take my word for it. If you walk to work every day you will surely experience the microcosm of your world in an entirely different way... than say someone who drives to work. I interact with students, the houseless, business persons, couriers, dog-walkers, street vendors and musicians — all of whom are also making their way to and from their places of employment, or out and about, or merely plying their busker trade in the hopes of earning more than just a few dollars.
One morning, I walked to work carrying a plunger. You see, there was a fire in my apartment building which resulted in my kitchen sink becoming clogged with fire soot and other various forms of black sludge from Hell, that traveled up the pipes from the first floor to my unit on the 3rd floor. Old buildings have old pipes. I can't speak to the architecture of modern buildings but I suspect their pipes are not shared with each unit, above or below each other, such as in the case of kitchen sinks, all being aligned, one unit above the other and so forth. Later I learned the fire wasn't intentional, at least not to lose control of it. Our superintendent admitted it was two college kids who had started the fire in their kitchen sink, on the first floor, and that they had failed to understand the concept of convection, which is the transfer of heat through fluids, i.e. a fire inside a kitchen sink that is connected to pipes and these pipes are not liquid free. In the end, the two knuckleheads were charged with public endangerment for starting a fire. The entire building had filled with smoke, billowing upward to the top floors, and every tenant was evacuated.
But I am taking myself off-track...
I don't own a plunger. I borrowed one from my office and attempted to clear the sink myself. The policy in my building has changed. If your kitchen sink becomes clogged, the property managers will assume you're the cause of it, and will charge each tenant for the cost to hire a plumber. Plumbers as we know don't come cheap. And, personally, I don't really care to shell out $300 an hour of my hard-earned money for an emergency call, so I took it upon myself to unclog my kitchen sink, which didn't go very well. I can't blame it on the plunger which had helped to draw up some of the sludge but the whole job requires the T-valve to be opened, and this required a large wrench to loosen the screw at the bottom of the T-valve, in order that the black sludge, mixed with water, could be emptied into the sink pan I keep underneath. This simple job ended up requiring more effort on my part to first empty what is being stored under the sink, and then thick rubber gloves to provide some grip for me to get to work on opening the screw-cap to the T-valve. The sweat was dripping off my body by the time I had finished.
No wonder plumbers are a special breed of people because their job requires special skills, and a special mindset. They work in some of the slimiest conditions, and situations, all of whom end up being covered in grease, black and thick grunge that gets into the pores of their sin, and underneath their fingernails, because not all plumbers wear rubber gloves. The ones that do will wear nitrile or latex gloves to protect themselves from handling biohazards like sewage. The very word sewage conjures up images of more sludge, waste and nasty smells. I had worn thick, bright yellow rubber gloves that were lined. By the time I finished cleaning out the T-valve, and swearing like a truck-driver, I had to use an unwound coat hangar to pull out the disgusting matter, trapped in the T-valve, after which all of it was tossed into the bin, including the gloves. Yuck! Like I said, a plumber is paid well and anyone who has handled a job like this understands.
When it came time to return the plunger, I walked with my backpack, that held my work laptop, my lunch, glasses, my crossbody slung over my shoulder, and the plunger in one hand. Simple enough. Right? Not so. 😅I didn't notice the people on the street catching sight of my plunger. I was dressed the way I'm typically dressed for work, in clean clothes, leggings, a cami top with a business jacket, on this particular day. The plunger was the odd-item out. I was asked by several persons if I would be willing to give away the plunger to them, to which I politely declined their offer to take it off my hands. "I wish I could," I told them, "But it's not my plunger." Later, one man I see often around town had offered to buy the plunger, for whatever personal reason he didn't say. Again, I delicately pointed out that the plunger was not mine, and that I was in the process of returning it to its rightful owner. I continued walking with a smile. As I stopped at red lights, a smartly dressed business man looked at me, and then down at my plunger. What was he thinking? 😅I can only imagine that he wondered what is this woman doing with a plunger, early in the morning.
I stepped into a drugstore along my route to the office, with the plunger held underneath my arm pit, while I paid for my purchases, to which the cashier offered, "I'm sure eventually we'll start to carry hardware items, too, like plungers." She thought my plunger was a nice-looking plunger, and this, too, made me smile. "It's really not my plunger." Who'd have figured that a plunger could inspire unknowns persons to engage in a brief exchange about plungers. I wouldn't have thought that a plunger could make an attractive, out-of-the-ordinary sight. Or, maybe I'm missing something here, and I should be thinking this way: with every copy sold of my seventh novel, Portals of Middle-Vision (POM), I could throw in a free plunger. A novel plus a plunger! Now this is what I call a variation on ramping up the game of huckstering.
I hate huckstering, incidentally, because it's the one aspect about being a novelist that makes my teeth grind in the night when I sleep. I loathe the act of huckstering, from my feet to the top of my head. Yet, I recognize that huckstering is a necessary evil, that goes hand in hand with the art of writing. No doubt, every plumber could tell you the worst tales of their trade; what they like about their job or what they despise about it. Writing is no different than being a plumber. A writer plumbs the depths of imagination, more often than not, laying down a first draft - what I call 'primordial' ooze, nothing but pure black sludge that is dredged up from the bottom of the sink. Yet, a writer has to write the story, the article, the book, just like some plumber has to face the worst elements of their role. The only discernible difference that I can see is a plumber is paid a plum wage, while an author is paid nothing, until the work is complete, perfected, re-shaped, re-written after an editor hacks it to pieces.
Speak with a superintendent, if ever you're given the opportunity. They are the jack-of-all-trades, and must be equipped with the knowledge to handle all manner of issues in a tenant building. My last superintendent told me about his early days working as an elevator repairman, and how it's considered one of the most dangerous jobs, given that they work all day in an elevator shaft. He admitted that the stress was too much for him, and he walked away from the role. One slip, and they plummet to their death. No doubt, this explains the high salary vs a writer who isn't expected to deal with this level of risk. I wouldn't look at an elevator repairman with envy, any more than I would a plumber.
The moral of this wee story is that when your sink is clogged, plungers come in dandy handy to unclog the black sludge. In the event you've never been made aware, however, plungers make wonderful conversation pieces between strangers or potential tools to help huckster your novels. 😊
Know your plunger! The left is a 'flange plunger', to be used on toilets vs the right, which is a 'Cup' plunger, meant for flat surfaces like sinks and drains.
One morning, I walked to work carrying a plunger. You see, there was a fire in my apartment building which resulted in my kitchen sink becoming clogged with fire soot and other various forms of black sludge from Hell, that traveled up the pipes from the first floor to my unit on the 3rd floor. Old buildings have old pipes. I can't speak to the architecture of modern buildings but I suspect their pipes are not shared with each unit, above or below each other, such as in the case of kitchen sinks, all being aligned, one unit above the other and so forth. Later I learned the fire wasn't intentional, at least not to lose control of it. Our superintendent admitted it was two college kids who had started the fire in their kitchen sink, on the first floor, and that they had failed to understand the concept of convection, which is the transfer of heat through fluids, i.e. a fire inside a kitchen sink that is connected to pipes and these pipes are not liquid free. In the end, the two knuckleheads were charged with public endangerment for starting a fire. The entire building had filled with smoke, billowing upward to the top floors, and every tenant was evacuated.
But I am taking myself off-track...
I don't own a plunger. I borrowed one from my office and attempted to clear the sink myself. The policy in my building has changed. If your kitchen sink becomes clogged, the property managers will assume you're the cause of it, and will charge each tenant for the cost to hire a plumber. Plumbers as we know don't come cheap. And, personally, I don't really care to shell out $300 an hour of my hard-earned money for an emergency call, so I took it upon myself to unclog my kitchen sink, which didn't go very well. I can't blame it on the plunger which had helped to draw up some of the sludge but the whole job requires the T-valve to be opened, and this required a large wrench to loosen the screw at the bottom of the T-valve, in order that the black sludge, mixed with water, could be emptied into the sink pan I keep underneath. This simple job ended up requiring more effort on my part to first empty what is being stored under the sink, and then thick rubber gloves to provide some grip for me to get to work on opening the screw-cap to the T-valve. The sweat was dripping off my body by the time I had finished.
No wonder plumbers are a special breed of people because their job requires special skills, and a special mindset. They work in some of the slimiest conditions, and situations, all of whom end up being covered in grease, black and thick grunge that gets into the pores of their sin, and underneath their fingernails, because not all plumbers wear rubber gloves. The ones that do will wear nitrile or latex gloves to protect themselves from handling biohazards like sewage. The very word sewage conjures up images of more sludge, waste and nasty smells. I had worn thick, bright yellow rubber gloves that were lined. By the time I finished cleaning out the T-valve, and swearing like a truck-driver, I had to use an unwound coat hangar to pull out the disgusting matter, trapped in the T-valve, after which all of it was tossed into the bin, including the gloves. Yuck! Like I said, a plumber is paid well and anyone who has handled a job like this understands.
When it came time to return the plunger, I walked with my backpack, that held my work laptop, my lunch, glasses, my crossbody slung over my shoulder, and the plunger in one hand. Simple enough. Right? Not so. 😅I didn't notice the people on the street catching sight of my plunger. I was dressed the way I'm typically dressed for work, in clean clothes, leggings, a cami top with a business jacket, on this particular day. The plunger was the odd-item out. I was asked by several persons if I would be willing to give away the plunger to them, to which I politely declined their offer to take it off my hands. "I wish I could," I told them, "But it's not my plunger." Later, one man I see often around town had offered to buy the plunger, for whatever personal reason he didn't say. Again, I delicately pointed out that the plunger was not mine, and that I was in the process of returning it to its rightful owner. I continued walking with a smile. As I stopped at red lights, a smartly dressed business man looked at me, and then down at my plunger. What was he thinking? 😅I can only imagine that he wondered what is this woman doing with a plunger, early in the morning.
I stepped into a drugstore along my route to the office, with the plunger held underneath my arm pit, while I paid for my purchases, to which the cashier offered, "I'm sure eventually we'll start to carry hardware items, too, like plungers." She thought my plunger was a nice-looking plunger, and this, too, made me smile. "It's really not my plunger." Who'd have figured that a plunger could inspire unknowns persons to engage in a brief exchange about plungers. I wouldn't have thought that a plunger could make an attractive, out-of-the-ordinary sight. Or, maybe I'm missing something here, and I should be thinking this way: with every copy sold of my seventh novel, Portals of Middle-Vision (POM), I could throw in a free plunger. A novel plus a plunger! Now this is what I call a variation on ramping up the game of huckstering.
I hate huckstering, incidentally, because it's the one aspect about being a novelist that makes my teeth grind in the night when I sleep. I loathe the act of huckstering, from my feet to the top of my head. Yet, I recognize that huckstering is a necessary evil, that goes hand in hand with the art of writing. No doubt, every plumber could tell you the worst tales of their trade; what they like about their job or what they despise about it. Writing is no different than being a plumber. A writer plumbs the depths of imagination, more often than not, laying down a first draft - what I call 'primordial' ooze, nothing but pure black sludge that is dredged up from the bottom of the sink. Yet, a writer has to write the story, the article, the book, just like some plumber has to face the worst elements of their role. The only discernible difference that I can see is a plumber is paid a plum wage, while an author is paid nothing, until the work is complete, perfected, re-shaped, re-written after an editor hacks it to pieces.
Speak with a superintendent, if ever you're given the opportunity. They are the jack-of-all-trades, and must be equipped with the knowledge to handle all manner of issues in a tenant building. My last superintendent told me about his early days working as an elevator repairman, and how it's considered one of the most dangerous jobs, given that they work all day in an elevator shaft. He admitted that the stress was too much for him, and he walked away from the role. One slip, and they plummet to their death. No doubt, this explains the high salary vs a writer who isn't expected to deal with this level of risk. I wouldn't look at an elevator repairman with envy, any more than I would a plumber.
The moral of this wee story is that when your sink is clogged, plungers come in dandy handy to unclog the black sludge. In the event you've never been made aware, however, plungers make wonderful conversation pieces between strangers or potential tools to help huckster your novels. 😊
Know your plunger! The left is a 'flange plunger', to be used on toilets vs the right, which is a 'Cup' plunger, meant for flat surfaces like sinks and drains.
