17 March 2018
Open Letter to I Don't Know How to Fix My Sink
Many modern humans know how to handle a minor drip by deftly swapping out a rusty washer, but I write this editorial (today, of course) on behalf of the seventeen hundred and fifty million Americans who don't have the slightest fucking clue how to fix my sink.
I know what many of you will say, this is a first-world problem, I should stop whining and get leprosy myself to see how the other half lives. And that's okay. I'll own that – but I'll press on unperturbed, because I'm a blogger and ignoring your petty quibbles has become second nature. I don't need to go out and get leprosy to prove a point about fixing my sink. Money can't buy you love, man.
As a boy I was never given a chance to learn about sinks. My natural affinity for pipes and plumbing was suppressed in the service of pre-university curriculum focusing on math, science, rhetoric, the visual and plastic arts, with of course many pre-dawn hours set aside for the gymnasium. Kids like me were considered different, stigmatized. Bookhounds, they called us, or 'nerdy-brains' or the particularly cruel 'can't fix a sink-ers'. Sure we could passably bang out a Rothschild concerto, even dominate in the low post on occasion but of what use was that in the face of a commode in overflow? We were supposed to have our revenge later in life when our business and law degrees would boost our earning power so that we would never have to fix anything ourselves again. This was sold to us as freedom, but it is only when we face a busted drain valve on a holiday weekend and realize that all our conference presentations and accolades from management are of no use that we fully understand that what were sold was in fact a false bill of goods.
We needed to know how to fix the sink all along. All by ourselves. At least the basics if not the more advanced techniques. As it is, we don't have the slightest fucking clue where to even start here. And we've seen enough sitcoms to know what a mess you can make by turning the wrong valve down there. We'd probably flood the whole house and reveal for all the world what incompetent oafs we are at bottom. Others might laugh, but how would we be left feeling?
And so, kids, family, get in the car, we're going out for dinner tonight. He may be functionally useless in many important contexts but he does get paid in the currency of the realm, and tonight daddy's gonna make it rain pizza and video games.