| December 2005 |
The Move Three years ago, I relocated to Arizona just 90 minutes from my boyhood home. When I told my parents I was coming “home” after living in Texas and Oklahoma for 11 years, they were “verklempt”. My mom cried and dad said, “Now we can visit all the time!” I love my folks but I had grown to love my “buffer zone”.
Not long after my arrival, they visited. The greetings were followed by dinner then “conversation” which means that my mom would pepper me with questions until my dad decided to insert a completely irrelevant comment. For example, my mom might ask, “tell me about your latest research project” to which I would respond with an answer carefully crafted to minimize follow-up questions. Somewhere in the middle of my answer, my father would interject something like “Mr. Guerrero died” or “I can’t eat tomatoes anymore”.
Things went pretty much as usual until my dad excused himself to use the restroom and returned with this disturbing interjection “your toilet is clogged”. I replied with mock suspicion, “but dad, it wasn’t clogged when you got here” to which HE replied “well it IS now and you better get your plunger.” Now NOBODY moves a toilet plunger halfway across the country, which meant… that’s right… I was going to the store at 10 pm in search of one.
The nice people at Target apparently decided that the ubiquitous toilet plunger was the type of item that the typical consumer would pursue all the way to the back of the store. The walk back was easy but the LONG trek to the front clutching a toilet plunger was torture. I tried moving in stealth mode but it didn’t work. I tried concealing my purchase but where are you gonna hide a toilet plunger? The shoppers who spotted me seemed sympathetic but their eyes danced with amusement. After all, there is only one reason why one would buy a toilet plunger at 10 pm.
Thankfully, I found an aisle with no waiting so, I plunked the plunger on the checkout treadmill with stoic resignation. The polite cashier did her best to suppress a giggle until I quipped, “my father is visiting from out of town” whereupon we both erupted in laughter.
While I was in the act of plunging, my father felt compelled to holler detailed instructions on the proper use of the toilet plunger from my living room. It was a bit like being instructed on oral hygiene by Estelle Castanza from 300 feet away. I assured him that I was perfectly competent with a toilet plunger but he persisted. He finally stopped when I told him that I had completed an entire course on toilet plunger hydrodynamics in college.
There is no lesson except that tragedy plus time equals comedy. May you all have a resilient new year!
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