Categories: Opinion

Popeye needs his spinach

A day later as I splashed over extra black bags in the passage I had to admit: Houston, we have a problem. This drip is not a mere hole in the roof.

With no “leave-it-to-me” man in my life, I did the next best thing: desperate for a hot bath after two days of power tripping despite no more rain, I decided it must be the geyser. I find Popeye’s number in my little black book. He came highly recommended by a friend three months ago when the geyser first acted up and didn’t cost me an arm and a leg. Wait a minute?

Didn’t I have to phone him the very next month and nearly bought a totally unnecessary thermostat? Not that I’m an expert but surely the thermostat you put in last month must have some guarantee? We agreed to disagree and I just bought a new trip switch that cost me an arm and a leg.

No, leave it to a professional… First surprise: I didn’t have to go and pick up a Popeye; the two arrived in a marked bakkie with their own ladder and tools. Within 10 minutes and a lot of head-shaking I know I will probably have to apply for a revolving credit on my home bond – oops, can’t, I took a payment holiday and it’s not up to date – “but you’re right, it’s the geyser”.

A leaking pipe is first patched, then “let me rather replace it, just to make sure”. There’s talk about a pressure valve and my blood runs icy. Two hours later I pay the bill with a heavy heart. But my heart actually sings: for the first time in six years my water runs properly. No gurgles and splatters, not only hot water streaming in.

I can regulate my bath temperature to perfection – quietly. And that’s what you pay for: a professional who can do the job properly. How I love the real-deal plumbers now, cracks and all. So much, in fact, that I’m volunteering to raise funds for a derelict old technical school in my neighbourhood to be revived.

One resident tells me it still has all the work benches, even some tools laying around. Call it community spirit. I don’t. I just want professionals in my life – and I’m sending Popeye there.

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By Carine Hartman
Read more on these topics: Columns