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| SR. FIX-IT | |||||||||||||||||||
| By E.G. Brady | |||||||||||||||||||
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“Remember, if the women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy”…Red Green “Inutil” is a disparaging word which Mexican senoras frequently use to refer to their husbands when they are vexed with them. It means “non-utile,” or (this hurts), “useless.” I hear this word frequently when little things malfunction around the house. I plead guilty with an explanation: everything is different down here. Back in Washington State, I was a regular handyman, chopping firewood, mowing lawns, slapping a new set of points in the old Chevy and all kinds of useful things. But now, when Sra Brady announces that the tinaco switch is rusting out, I don’t have a clue as to what to do. I mean, what’s a tinaco? Fortunately, I am surrounded by know-it-all in-laws who are always glad to point out whatever I’m doing wrong. So our little home manages to survive any crisis, though my self esteem is in shreds. What remained of it took a real beating when I ignored her warning about the tinaco switch. We live high on a rural ridge top, and every drop of water that makes it up to the rooftop water tank known as a tinaco represents a lot of work. One day I glanced out the window to see the nice neig-hbor lady out in the street with buckets, collecting some of the torrent of precious water that was overflowing out of the tinaco on our roof. Hemingway defined courage as grace under pressure, and keeping this in mind I calmly walked out on the porch |
shouting my wife’s name.
She came running up from the duck pen, shrewdly analyzed the situation,
then shut off the power to the entire house and called the plomero/electrecista.
Back home, a house call by a plumber or electrician would cost me a couple
days’ pay in dollars, but fortunately here it’s only a couple days’ pay
in pesos. It’s really not my fault that I wasn’t born knowing all the
finer points of Mexican construction techniques in general and plumbing
in particular. Up in the rainforests, we always had enough water pressure
to spray the bugs right off the windshields, whereas here it’s more like
Reagan-omics, operating on the trickle down theory. And it’s not just
plumbing, everything is foreign to me. Instead of building sheetrock and
fiberglass sandwiches with asphalt shingles on top, here they build houses
like brick pillboxes. It takes me half an hour of anger and ridicule to
drive a nail into the wall to hang a picture, and then it falls down.
OK, so I have a lot to learn. But I’ll get even one day when we all go
up to the land of three pronged sockets and wood-stoves. When Sra Brady
is mystified by the control panel on the dishwasher, when she is startled
by the sound of a vacuum cleaner, when she tries to light the electric
range, when I have to keep reminding her to leave the faucet dripping
on cold nights so the pipes don’t freeze up again, then we’ll see who’s
calling who “inutil.” egbrady@pacificpearl.com
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