The Marriage Plumber

Joe O’Malley, the 38-year-old plumber, pulled his van up to the curb at 632 Glen Meadows drive in Medfield, which was nestled in the Charles River watershed. The two-story blue colonial was like any other house in his territory. White, upper middle-class professionals would spend their evenings and weekends in their little oasis far enough away from their workday hustle and bustle in downtown Boston. Tall fescue grass was perfectly mowed, while the early summer weather brought out the vibrant colors of the various flowerbeds that peppered each yard.

“That’s great,” he said softly to himself as he looked at his job sheet, “absolutely no notes from the intake specialist. Not like I might need anything special for the job.”

He walked over the front lawn, still dewy from the automatic sprinklers. He’d normally avoid the grass, but the driveway was jammed up with three large SUVs. Besides, nobody ever yelled at the plumber when he was coming to fix leaky and broken things.

Joe rang the doorbell, which set off a frenzy of jumping and barks from the three Golden Retriever occupants of the home. A deep male voice could be heard calming down the pups, and at one point yelling “could you get up and help!” After several moments, the maroon door finally cracked open.

“Hi! You must be from All the Way plumbing!” the short, stocky owner said with a big grin on his face.

“Yes Sir, I’m Joe here to help!” the much taller and heavier technician replied.

“Well come on in! I’m Tim the owner!” Tim welcomed with enthusiasm, “can I get you anything to drink?”

“No thank you sir,” Joe replied, “I understand you’re having some problems.”

“Yep!” said Tim, “and I am so glad to see you! I asked for you specifically. I remember when you helped us with the upstairs toilet leak a couple of years ago.”

“All right,” replied Joe, “want to show me where it is?”

“Sure come on!” Tim replied.

Joe followed Tim down the hallway and into the living room. A wall-mounted flatscreen sat perched above the brick fireplace, both sides bracketed by built-in bookshelves lined with family photos and various trinkets and decorations.

“Here she is,” said Tim, gesturing his hand, “been going on for two weeks, ever since my parents came to visit. At first I thought it was something simple, but nothing I’m doing seems to work.”

Joe glanced over the scene, confusedly. He carefully looked around the hardwood floor for any puddles or damage. A short, dark-haired woman sat on the leather recliner, quietly working on a crossword puzzle with her Air Pods on. She was unfazed by the two men.

“All right,” said Joe, “do you have a leak here or something?”

“Uhhhh, no, not that I know of,” answered Tim.

“So,” continued Joe, “what’s your specific problem?”

“She hasn’t talked to me for two weeks. It’s like I’m not even here. I’ve tried everything!” Tim replied.

Joe took a deep breath in and out of his nose.

“Wait,” the plumber said, “you brought me here because your wife isn’t talking with you?”

Tim slightly shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head before giving out a “mmmm hmmmmm.”

“Is this a joke?” Joe asked.

“No not at all,” Tim replied.

Joe started to grin slightly. “Oh my God, is this Mack getting back at me for the prank I pulled on him in Walpole?”

“Uh, I don’t know Mack and this isn’t a prank.” Tim answered.

“Okay well, this is a little weird for me. I’m a plumber, not a marriage counselor. And we’re so backed up right now, I don’t appreciate being called here for nonsense,” Joe complained before turning around to walk out the door.

“Wait, wait,” said Tim, “I can explain. I know this is weird, but hear me out!”

“Give me one good reason to trust you,” Joe demanded.

Tim reached into his pocket, grabbing his brown leather wallet.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how much do they pay you an hour?” Tim asked.

“$55 an hour,” Joe confessed.

“Okay, I expect this to be an hour, here’s double that,” Tim said as handed a crisp $100 and $10 bill, “is this a good enough reason?”

Joe took the two bills, closely examining them.

“Okay, you have two minutes to explain what I’m going to do with your wife problem,” Joe said.

“Look, I’m um, I’m an engineer. And I’m a man. My mind sort of works a certain way. We’ve been going to couple’s therapies over the years, and I just don’t buy into the concepts. In fact, almost every single lesson seems to involve me just nodding my head and saying I’m sorry to her for things she’s mad at. The problem is she gets mad all the time,” explained Tim.

“Okay, that’s one minute, what does a plumber have to do with it?” Joe asked.

Tim looked at Joe square in the eyes.

“Remember coming here when the toilet overflowed above the living room” Tim asked.

“Vaguely,” replied Joe.

“Anyway, in that process, you explained everything to me in a way I understood. I knew exactly where our problems were, you gave me options, and helped me make an informed decision. You have a great way of explaining things to people like me. And I remember from last time you talking about your wife Amanda and three kids. So you’ve got experience.” Tim pleaded.

Joe stood and stared blankly for several moments.

“Okay, but it’s going to be $200 an hour,” Joe said, “and I put no guarantees on it.”

“Man you got me in desperation mode, but consider it a deal!” Tim replied.

“Okay, but I need it up front,” Joe replied before Tim handed him a $50 and two $20 bills.

Joe approached the wife, circling around her recliner as she meticulously filled out her puzzle.

“How old is she?” Joe asked.

“48 last month,” Tim answered.

“Hmmm,” said Joe, “what you have is a later model Gen Xer.”

“Is that a problem?” asked Tim.

“Not really,” said Joe, “does she have a hard time believing you on things?”

“All the time,” replied Tim, “about a month ago, one of our dogs got into her fresh whoopie pies. She was convinced I had knocked the plate of them over.”

“Mmmm hmmmm,” Joe sounded, “she involved in pickleball or Mahjong?

“Oh Marjjong yes,” Tim replied, “no pickleball yet, but she’s been talking about it. In fact she had Googled pickleball leagues last week.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe said, “Irish Catholic?”

“On her father’s side,” said Tim, “mother’s side is Jewish.”

“Oh wow,” Joe said, “I haven’t seen that combo in about ten years.”

“Yeah, I’ve always preferred Jewish women,” confessed Tim, “but my mother always wanted me to marry a Catholic girl, so I kind of got the best of both worlds.”

“Yeah, you get the best but remember you get the worst of those worlds as well. In fact, now that interfaith and interracial marriages are become normalized, we’re seeing a lot of cultural issues coming up.” Joe advised, “have you tried talking with her?”

“Yeah, multiple times,” Tim said, “Nothing works.”

“What’s her name?” Joe asked.

“Margaret,” Tim replied.

“Hello Margaret?” Joe prodded, “Margaret? Are you able to talk?”

Margaret continued her puzzle, still unfazed by the men.

“What line of work?” asked Joe.

“Nurse,” said Tim.

“RN or LPN?” asked Joe.

“Uhhhhhh,” began Tim, “I’m not really sure.”

“Okay then, where’s your Wall of Fame?” Joe asked.

“Huh? What do you mean?” a perplexed Tim inquired.

“Usually it’s in the front office area, sometimes the bedroom. You have an office?” asked Joe.

“Right down the hallway to the left,” Tim replied.

Joe walked down the hallway, checking the walls before disappearing into the office for several moments before coming back.

“Mr. Donnelly,” Joe called out, “can you come here?”

Tim walked down the hallway, trailing Joe.

“You see this right here?” Joe asked, pointing to a framed diploma from the University of New Hampshire, “that’s a Bachelor of Science Degree she has right there, that’ll make her an RN.”

“Is that a problem?” asked a concerned Tim.

“Uhhhhhh, it all depends,” answered Joe, “does she have a tendency to diagnose you with medical problems?”

“Oh my gosh, all the time!” Tim excitedly said, “but they’re all psychological disorders she said I got from my parents.”

“But no real medical problems, like headaches, sinusitis, erectile disfunction, etc?” asked Joe.

“Nope,” Tim answered.

“So, what happened with the in-laws?” Joe asked.

“Well, you see,” said Tim, “my mother isn’t the most tactful woman in the world.”

“Uh huh,” mumbled Joe as he inspected the recliner.

“And uh,” Tim continued, “you see Margaret quit her job at the hospital because all the new hired nurses were making $5 more per hour, and when she asked for a raise, she was denied.”

“Okay,” Joe acknowledged, “understandable.”

“Well, instead of jumping right back into work, we agreed that she’d stay home because things are getting a little chaotic with the kids’ schedule and our oldest has really been struggling with school,” explained Tim.

“Did your mother say something about it?” asked Joe.

“Well,” Tim said with a deep breath, “we brought them out to eat. At one point, Margaret had mentioned how high the prices were for the kids meals. My mother agreed, and said ‘I know and you’re not even working right now!”

“Okay,” mused Joe as he put his hand to his chin, “and what did you do after this?”

“Nothing, I didn’t even hear her say it. Margaret told me about it after we dropped them at their hotel,” explained Tim.

“But what did you do to address this after she told you?” Joe asked.

“Uh,” Tim replied, “I told her that I was sorry and I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that.”

“Ohhhh,” Joe exclaimed, “that explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tim.

“You allowed a slight of your wife and you didn’t take action immediately,” Joe said, “it’s like having a clog in the toilet and not flushing.”

“So, what is there to do?” asked Tim.

“Welp,” Joe said, “you can get a new one, but it’s super expensive and many customers report that they end up with the same results. I don’t recommend that. You could also keep doing what you’re doing. Eventually, she’ll probably start talking to you again. But this event will haunt you even more with that approach. What you’ll probably want to do is call your mother and tell her to write a note to Margaret apologizing.”

“But you’ve never met my mother..” Tim said before being interrupted.

“Look,” Joe said emphatically, “I’m just giving you options.”

“I know, I know,” said Tim.

“Look, I understand that it isn’t the easiest answer I could give you, but I’ve got to make a professional assessment.” Joe said.

“How much for you to do it?” asked Tim.

“Uhhhhh,” Joe mused, “$400 for the call, assuming it takes 20 minutes. $100 for each additional minute thereafter.”

“Welp,” Tim replied, “I guess I have no choice!”

“Okay then,” Joe replied, “let me go out to my van and I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Tim led Joe to the front door, pleased that his problems would soon be solved. As Joe walked down the front stairs, a tall, skinny man walked toward the front door. He carried with him a clipboard with his iPhone on top.

“This Margaret’s residence?” the man asked.

“Yes, I’m her husband,” Tim replied.

“Okay, I’m Johnny from Mike’s Pest Control,” he said, “she tell me she’s been having a problem with pests for the last 2 weeks.”