NUANCES: Sink or Swim

by Catherine Canzani

It was Sunday evening. I had put a beautiful meal on the table, the children had eaten well and we were ready to settle down for a quiet evening. The house was clean, most of the laundry was done, the girls had had their shower and were already in their pyjamas. Not bad for a woman whose husband wasn’t home for a week, I thought to myself. I had made it to day six of seven days and things were still under control.

While filling the kettle for a cup of tea, I noticed that there was a little bit of water in the sink that wasn’t draining. I poured more water into the sink to see if it would run down. It didn’t. “Oh oh,” I told my son, “ the sink is blocked. I’ll just get the plunger and fix it.” I got the dusty old plunger out of the basement and held it over the drain. As I plunged, water came gushing out of the other sink, soaking my counters and floors. “Darn,” I mumbled to myself, “this isn’t working.”

I realized that I would have to block the good sink in order to work on the other one so I put the plug in one sink and began plunging again. The plug keptpopping out so I called my son to come and help me. He held the plug down while I plunged and plunged with all my might. All of a sudden there was a pop as the plunger released from the bottom of the sink and a spray of filthy water splashed right into Miles’s face. “Ugh! Yuck! Disgusting!” he exclaimed. I looked over at him dripping in dirty sink water and tried to bite back a smile but it didn’t work- I burst out laughing. In fact, I laughed until my sides hurt.

“That’s it,” said Miles, “I’m plunging.” I handed over the plunger and leaned over the other sink to plug it. Miles didn’t give me enough time to plug the sink. There was a big sucking sound as he pushed the plunger down and then splash! Out came the water from the other drain and this time it was me who was standing there dripping with sink water. It suddenly wasn’t as funny anymore.

I could feel the aggravation building. I glanced at my watch. It was almost seven. “Time to get ready for bed!” I snapped at the girls who were chasing each other around the living room. “But we need you to tuck us in!” the girls whined. “Do I maybe look a little busy?” I barked, pointing at my wet clothes for extra emphasis. The girls bustled off to brush their teeth.

Miles and I went back to plunging But nothing worked. In fact, it was getting worse by the moment so I called my parents. My mom passed me off to my dad who told me that it was the upward sucking motion that mattered, not the down. My mom added that I should put some boiling water down the sink and let it settle for a bit.

I poured a kettle of boiling water down the drain and waited. Nothing happened. “All right Miles,” I told my son, “Let’s try it again.” Miles got into position, holding down the plug with a cloth. “Just a minute!” he said and raced to his room returning with his King Arthur shield, which he held up against his face. I took one look at him and burst out laughing again. How could I be angry when this ridiculous scene was playing itself out like a slapstick comedy? I began to plunge. Down easy, up hard. Down easy, up hard. “Yow!” howled Miles all of a sudden, “That’s hot!” A geyser of hot water was erupting from his sink. We both began laughing again. Once again, he was soaking wet with water dripping from his hair, his nose and chin. By now I could have wrung out his pyjamas.

Before I knew it, Miles disappeared again. When he came back this time, he was wearing his boarding goggles. He climbed up on the sink, plunger in hand, and began plunging, protected somewhat by his crazy eyewear. Needless to say, this time it was me who got soaked, as well as the salt and pepper shakers, the sugar, counters, knick-knacks, floors, you name it.

In the midst of this my dad called to see how it was going. Miles and I were laughing so hard we could barely talk to him. Twenty minutes later, as we were still labouring over the sink there was a knock on the door. My parents had come with their super special little plunger and were convinced they could fix the problem. After several minutes of more plunging and nothing happening, my dad disappeared under the sink. Before I knew it, he had pulled the elbow off the drain. “Nothing in here,” he said, “that’s a bad sign. Means your blockage is deeper. I wish I had a fish,” he mumbled. I offered him a coat hanger; I was desperate. “Nope, can’t do it without a fish,” he said. He began putting the elbow back in place, only it wouldn’t hold.

The seal had somehow broken and the water from the sink, spilled into my kitchen cupboard, over the onions, the potatoes, the clean pots and pans; everywhere. “Quick! Pass me a pot!” my dad yelled. No matter what he did, the elbow wouldn’t hold. “I just need to support it with something for now,” he said. He propped up an upside-down pot, put a flat tupperware on it and jammed in a cutting board. “That should support it,” he mused. Without a word, I pulled out my phone book and dialled my favourite plumber, Lynn McKenney’s, phone number.

It was much later, when Miles had given up surfing the net to find a way to clean up the small flood, and put the tools away, and make lunches for the next day that it hit me. Somehow, my son had helped me to see the humour in a situation that had gone from bad to worse. I could have yelled, and cursed and cried but where would it have gotten me? I would still have had a mess to clean up, a lost evening, and a plumber’s bill. Instead I had the biggest laugh I’ve had in years and a great story to tell.

Thank you, Miles.