Everyday Grace

Last autumn, I woke up one Saturday morning to discover that the pipes under my kitchen sink had burst. Well, technically the pipes did not "burst" as that implies some sort of action. Perhaps more accurately I should say that the pipes failed to exist in such a way that would allow liquids to run through them.

The pipes failed to exist because years of rust and corrosion had eaten away at the metallic properties that make pipes pipes.

Obviously, the situation needed some attention. A wise person would have picked up the phone and called a plumber. But, then a wise person would have to pay for the services of a plumber...something that I did not wish to do.

In an instant it was decided that I would repair and replace the pipes myself.

At this point, anyone who has spent more than thirty seconds in my presence should know that this scenario does not bode well.

As a child I was frequently in the midst of my dad fixing something around our homestead. While I don't explicitly remember him giving concrete tutorials on "do-it-your-self" jobs, I am sure he spread his wisdom to his children in some fashion.

Despite being cognizant of the fact that someday I would be an adult and would some day have to "fend for myself", including doing some of the same repairs, I apparently assumed that as an adult, should something need to be fixed I would be wealthy enough to pick up a phone and call someone to fix the problem.

Alas, this was not the case...

I searched to find some sort of "wrenching apparatus" that would let me disassemble the bad piping. Then I would have to go to a hardware store and hopefully find the correct replacement parts. Plus, if that hardware store also had a plumbing apprentice program that could bring me up to speed on how to adequately replace pipes that would be swell too, as it goes without saying that I did not technically have the skills to complete this project.

Heading to the hardware store I decided that I needed to just slightly pretend that I knew what I was doing when interacting with the customer service reps. so as to 1) not be sold some things that I did not need, yet would run up my tab and 2) not to embarrass myself as a male in his extremely late thirties who did not know how to replace a metal pipe.

After getting the run-around from 3 or 4 of my local hardware purveyors (didn't have the right parts, couldn't offer any surreptious assistance in the project, etc. etc.) it was suggested that I visit Garber Hardware.

It had been years since I had been to this place and if memory served me correctly, it was a place I did not want to go. My memory said it was one of those stores where you could cut the testosterone with a knife. A place where burly men talked in burly voices about burly things. Not exactly my desired "scene". Not a place where I could bluff my way through a home improvement project.



Nonetheless, I entered the doors reluctantly. My only hope was to beg for mercy, admit my ineptitude and hope they could help.

As I approached the counter I verbally let it all out..."I didn't have a clue what I was doing"..."I've never replaced a pipe before"...ad infinitum.

I prepared for a lashing. "How could a grown-ass adult creature with X and Y chromosomes not know how to do this?" I envisioned the man saying.

After my soul-baring acknowlegement of idiocy I was met with nothing but kindness and concern. The man behind the counter seemed non-plussed with my inexperience. He answered a million of my basic-level questions, offered valuble insight on the project and generally made me feel a sense of confidence that I hadn't entered the store with.

I was expecting belittlement and instead I was met with grace and patience. Instead of feeling small, I felt empowered...my faith in humanity restored with simple acts of decency.