The Porcelain Wars

Sunday started off much like any other drizzly, post-santacon Sunday in the city; it was cold, grey, and thoroughly enjoyable, so long as you had a cup of tea and good book - both of which I did.  Lazing on the couch, having returned from a short venture seeking sustenance, I whiled away the morning in a state of contented tranquility.  No hint had I, of the ensuing maelstrom (or lack thereof, as it proved to be), awaiting me in the men’s room.

It was shortly after noon when I encountered one of those nightmares of non-plumbers everywhere: our toilet refused to flush. I can easily imagine a lesser man fainting when confronted with such unexpected hardship in the middle of his day of rest. Or at least placing a desperate call to said plumber.  Not I. I took the porcelains insolence as a declaration of war.

As I surveyed the scene, I took inventory of my considerable advantages over this disobedient appliance; I was armed with a plunger, Youtube videos, superior intellect and a willpower of rivaled by none. Hardly fair odds in my opinion.  After doing the necessary reconnaissance, I confronted my adversary, plunger in hand, and sounded the bugle.

UP! The plunger went! DOWN! The plunger went again. UP! It came once more! CURSES! Uttered the operator! Waves thrashed violently in the bowl below! Sweat poured off my brow as the struggle continued. In my mind, I saw sailors hoisting the anchor with shouts of ‘HEAVE’! On, the battle raged! Finally, in a state of exhaustion, I decided to see if any progress had been made. I depressed the lever. Promising sounds of running water greeted my ears. The water level rose. And ever so slowly receded. I could have thrown stones at a castle and made more progress.

Beaten, but not disheartened, I retreated to regroup and consider my options. One: admit defeat, call a plumber and shell out a considerable amount of hard earned cash. Two: “If a plumber can do it, so can I”. And Three: feign ignorance and let the roommate deal with it. I chose two, and sallied forth into the rain to the nearest hardware store. “Do you sell any tools that can unclog a toilet, and that also are not plungers?” I asked. He led to a vicious looking device that resembled a pipe with a slinky sticking out one end and a handle on the other, that cost only $30. “Insert this, threat the slinky through the pipes and twist the handle with all your might”. This device was the answer to my prayers.

I returned with this formidable weapon and set about at once. I thrust the slinky into the pipe and the battle was on once more! I twisted with all my might and shoved it deeper. Nothing yet, but I could feel my enemy’s will begin to crack. “Aha! I have you now!” I shouted as I felt something give way ever so slightly. I pulled back and tested the lever once more. The water started to spin, but gave up halfway through and threw in the towel. But I knew victory was near. With renewed vigor I attacked again! Spinning as furiously as a drillbit, the auger encountered the obstacle in the pipes, and this time ground it to shreds without hesitation! A mixture of relief, victory and satisfaction swept over me. To verify the victory, the lever was depressed a third time, and as they say, the third time’s the charm. The most beautiful whirlpool I’ve ever seen formed in front of me, was swept away, and replaced with perfectly flat, still water, as if nothing had ever happened.

With my Sunday nearly stolen from me and this traumatic hiccup in the rearview mirror, I was more than glad to return to my tea, my book, and my peaceful way of life. I can only hope the swift and merciless response to the toilet sent a clear message to the other appliances in the apartment, should they get the inkling to misbehave. And with that, I shall again turn to my tea, and bid you a pleasant evening.

The Calm Before the Storm

I've heard, from various and sundry sources, that on Christmas day some year in WWI, the British and German soldiers along the Western Front set aside their weapons and differences and convened for a game of football in the no mans land between the trenches. Whether or not this heartwarming story is true, I cannot say.  The point is that two sides, though far apart in philosophy and negotiation, can temporarily leave acrimony and vitriol on the sidelines and engage in a moment of brotherly love. Thus was the case, Tuesday, eighth of January, twenty thirteen.

I, a mere seedling in the world of business, found myself at a round table, encircled by sixteen grizzled veterans of the power lending industry. Unfamiliarity assaulted my senses; the food was Lebanese, as was the wine, the neighborhood was upper east side, the chandelier was candle lit, and the average age was double my own. To compound the situation, the sixteen accomplices were representatives of opposing sides of a major transaction. Some were lenders, some were borrowers, and none would have been welcome in old Polonius' house. You might have thought there would be a tension, or perhaps just a thickening of the atmosphere, when a debtor of hundreds of millions of dollars is in the company of his creditor. And you would have been wrong. 

Thanks in part to the eagle-eyed waiters watching our wine glasses, a merry time was had by all. Stories abounded, dishes were shared, and a spirit of bon hommery reigned. It was as if chummy college buddies were catching up at a twentieth reunion. After three hours of laughing and back-slapping and stuffing ourselves to the brim with an assortment of lamb, humus, pita and the like, we decided to call it a night, retire to our beds and prepare for the tense day of negotiations to come. A mere 10 hours later, the troops had returned to their trenches, and business was conducted as if it were December 26^th, 1914.

Disclaimer: The above has been dramatized...for dramatic effect.