Saturday, May 17, 2008
This Kentucky Derby experience cost more than expected
As legend has it, there was once a sportswriter for a large Western Virginia daily newspaper who had a fondness for gambling. Football was his primary betting focus, but boxing, golf and horse racing also held a wagering interest for him. Truth was, he'd lay a bet on anything in which the ultimate outcome was in doubt.
Being in a low-wage occupation such as newspapering, in addition to having other financial obligations, the guy was occasionally short on cash. During such times, visitors often would appear at the newspaper sports office asking to see him.
These "guests" were unfailingly polite in a gruff sort of way, but their too-shiny suits, two-toned shoes and oiled hair suggested they were in a line of work that included giving nervous sorts business offers impossible for them to refuse.
If the scribe wasn't in the office, they'd scribble a phone number and leave it with somebody, suggesting that it would be better for all concerned that the call be returned promptly.
Guys like that are one reason I don't gamble. Not one dime has ever left my hand to so much as purchase a lottery ticket. To me, laying off the point spread is based on practical rather than moral concerns.
Practical reasons are also at the heart of my dislike of and avoidance of the science and art of plumbing. All I know is hot on the left, cold on the right and nothing flows uphill. Beyond that, I call in the experts.
What, you wonder, do gambling and plumbing have to do with each other? Patience, please. All will be revealed by and by how a horse race and a plumbing emergency simultaneously cost me more than I ever thought I'd spend.
Even though I don't wager, I still love watching the ponies run, and often we play host to friends and family for the annual stampede known as the Kentucky Derby.
Such an occasion was a couple of weeks ago when a well-dressed crowd gathered at our house to graze and drink whisky with weeds in it as the colorfully attired jockeys led their horses to the starting gates. In the spirit of the event, the female party attendees wore elegant hats.
The party worked out well and much fun was had although the guests went home amid somber circumstances as mourning for the terrible loss of the brave filly was commencing.
The next evening, I was flipping back and forth between the NBA playoffs and the Stanley Cup tournament on the tube when an anguished cry came from somewhere in the basement.
"Come quick," said the lady of the house, "something is leaking in the tool room."
As I said before, I know as much about plumbing as I do gall bladder surgery, but I nevertheless dutifully went to take a look. Sure enough, a slow drip was coming through the cracks in the floorboards above and a substantial puddle was forming.
Even though I know little of plumbing, I do know that leaking water often involves pipes, and having lived in the same house 27 years, thought I knew there were no pipes anywhere near the leak in the tool room. Where was that water coming from?
Stumped, I observed to the alarmed Mrs. Cox that water has a way of finding its way down obscure paths to seemingly unlikely locations.
"We must call Allen the Plumber," I said.
Reached on his cellphone, Allen the Plumber said he was swamped and couldn't get there until the next morning.
Before we went to bed, I placed a 5-gallon bucket to catch what it could of the overflow.
The next day, we went to work, making sure the door was left unlocked for Allen the Plumber's appointed arrival.
That night, we arrived home to find an invoice on the kitchen counter. Under the business motto "quality counts" at the top of the invoice was the following:
"Description: Check for leak into basement. Found beer cooler leaking in dining room @ corner cupboard. Set cooler outside. Drank beer. No more leak. Repaired C.W. faucet in upstairs bathroom. Got drunk. Must go ... "
The last couple of words ended with a squiggly line indicating the writer might have lost consciousness before he could finish.
Now I wish I'd gambled on the blasted horse race. Maybe then I would have had plenty for the $60 service call and to replace the beverages left over from the party that were included in the fee.
