Sweet-Tee!

Today the water shutoff tool worked. I hammered its heavy iron jaws a little, making them a bit narrower in order to get a proper grip on the meter’s valve. Although it was still a bit loose, it held on enough to turn the water off out at the street. The tool cost something less than ten bucks; the water company wanted fifty-five dollars to come out and do the same thing, so I feel that I came out ahead on this one. Also, the water people could not guarantee which day they would stop by, seemed fairly casual about coming to turn the valve back on as well. With the cold weather looming, it’s important for me to have the water stopped before it gets to the house; not doing so would risk bursting the short section of pipe I have where it comes through the basement wall. With the heat not running, the temperatures inside the house can drop to freezing and below.

I wanted to stop by the hardware and tell Lydia, the young store clerk, all about it-- regale her with heroic tales of turning off the water, how I’d had to modify the tool, reminisce about how fun it had been when she accidentally charged me for two of the things. We would re-hash old times. Mostly I would talk, benumbing her young mind with inexplicable stories of water meters, long-handled tools, how I hadn’t shut off the valve completely the first time, had to go back out to the street to try again. I’d realized my mistake when I’d gone down to the basement to turn on the ancient gate valve there, the corroded thing still actually keeping the water at bay. The clear and cold liquid came gurgling and bubbling out, into a little pail I’d put there—just in case. She would no doubt listen with glazed eyes as I breathlessly told her how I went back outside, turned the thing off the rest of the way, and stemmed the flow from the street for good.

Then I would recite a poem I’d written for the occasion:

Auburn-Haired
Hardware clerk
Keeper of the brooms
Mistress of
Tiresome work
Merchant of spring blooms

Knowing not
Always true
Purpose of your tools
Entertain
Albeit
Ogling, monstrous fools

Bags of Mulch
Spongey Mops
Make up your dire realm
Auburn-haired
Youngstress keeps
Steady at the helm

Weary man
Tinkerer
Troubler of old pipes
Cleaver of
Rusted things
Harborer of gripes

Worn-out eyes
Meeting hers
Is that smile for me?
"There you go
Thank you, sir
Don't forget your tee."

I anticipate a smattering of applause there at the checkout, the line of customers wanting mostly to pay for their purchases, their bags of nails, of bug-killer, maybe a large box of trash bags to put the autumn leaves in. They hadn’t really bargained for this.