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August 10, 2005
Flushing in Brooklyn
The continuing saga of Robert and Karen and Karen and Robert and how Robert fell in love with Karen in fourth grade and Karen had absolutely no idea and they exchanged barely ten words until—okay, it's a long story.
Into the Succah walks Karen's mother. I do a double take. Is this woman Jewish? She looks like the great American actress Lee Remick. I'm talking blond hair, blue eyes, thin as a stalk of wheat. She's stunning. Okay, beauty runs in the family. Karen's mother is gracious, makes small talk and asks after my parents. Pretty soon she's serving me cake and cookies and hmmm, what's that little battle of eyes I see going on between Karen and her mother?
Now, if you've been following my little tale of not too normal behavior, you know that my little psycho trip upstairs to the restroom was really a secret mission to discover Karen's fourth grade outfit.
If you're new to this blog—well, don't ask.
Anyway, I never made it to the restroom. It was occupied and I'm pretty sure that I almost walked in on the devastatingly beautiful Mrs. Singer—which might not have been a very good move for a perspective son-in-law.
So, I'm down in the Succah, being shtupped with cookies and tea and I lean over, embarrassed, and say to Karen in an teensy-weensy voice: "Um, I need to use the restroom..."
Karen looks at me, obviously wondering what's going on because I just came down from the restroom five minutes ago. Is she getting involved with some guy who has, um, bladder issues? So, I quickly, reassuringly add: "It was occupied." Observe my oh-so-delicate use of language. I want to impress Karen as a gentleman.
I didn't know it at the time, but Karen's mother has Super Hearing.
"Oh, I think Dad's in there now, Robert, why don't you use the bathroom downstairs."
My washroom habits are now public. Wonderful.
Karen walks me to the stairs.
"Watch your step, they're kind of tricky."
I make my way to the basement. I feel like Paul Newman as Fast Eddie in The Hustler, all cocky and confident. It's like that great scene where Newman meets Jackie Gleason, Minnesota Fats, for the very first time. Fast Eddie, like yours truly, has no idea that he's on the edge of disaster.
I take a series of deep, cleansing breaths. I gaze at my reflection in the mirror and tell myself: Robert, you got away with the insanity of looking for the fourth grade dress in the closet. You didn't walk in on Karen's mother in the bathroom. You're just about to meet her father, a highly respected and very well known Rav and Talmudic scholar. You love Karen and Karen probably loves you. Just go upstairs, sit down and chat, and try not to start babbling about Akira Kurosawa, or Kenji Mizoguchi. Everything is going to be fine.
I smile at myself.
This is going to be great. I feel wonderful, optimistic. I have not felt this hopeful since, well, since the day I met Karen at the Jewish Street Festival.
I flush the toilet, turn to leave the bathroom.
And then I hear a funny sound. I turn and watch in horror as the water in the bowl rises and rises and—
I run over and cry: "No, don't!"
As if this will halt the coming deluge.
—and the water gently, lazily slips over the lip of the bowl and just keeps flowing and flooding the bathroom and I'm just standing there feeling my shoes get wet. Gee willikers, when is the flush going to stop already?
I'm wondering how I'm going to go upstairs and tell Karen that I just broke the toilet and flooded the bathroom and probably caused, oh, a couple of hundred dollars worth of damage. How am I going to do this and not die of embarrassment?
I'm pretty sure that some truly heinous medieval torture might actually be a preferable fate than going upstairs and saying what I'm going to have to say in a minute or two.
I'm also wondering: is this going to have a negative effect on my relationship with Karen?
To be continued:
Karen adds: Robert never told me that this happened but he surely has a kindred soul in this nightmare. I have recurring dreams of malfunctioning toilets and it doesn't take a psychoanalyst to realize that I fear losing control. But I truly hate lousy plumbing and it did happen often in my childhood house.
Now, as a homeowner, as soon as there is the slightest drip, gurgle, clog, or any loss of pressure I'm speed dialing the plumbers, call it obsessive, that's my illness. I don't know how I ever survived camp, or any camping trip, but believe it or not, I feel grateful every time I take a shower and have gloriously hot water.
When we had the big earthquake of '94 the first thing I checked out after the shaking stopped was whether the toilet flushed, after that, I was calm. All was well in the Avrech abode. I don't take any of these amenities for granted, and Robert and I are fusspots about these little things that have to be just right. I guess that's why we don't travel much, and when we do, guess what we check out first?
FYI: Re the title of this entry, Flushing is a section of Queens which, when I was about six years old, sent me into spasms of laughter, I couldn't believe someone could live in a place called "Flushing." I think it's now called something like "Hillcrest."
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at August 10, 2005 05:08 PM
Comments
Seraphic Secret is private property, that's right, it's an extension of our home, and as such, Karen and I have instituted two Seraphic Rules and we ask commentors to act respectfully.
1. No profanity.2. No Israel bashing. We debate, we discuss, we are respectful. You know what Israel bashing is. The world is full of it. Seraphic Secret is one of the few places in the world that will not tolerate this form of anti-Semitism. That's it. Break either of these rules and you will be banned.
Robert, I am doubled over with laughter while reading this. Can't wait to hear how you got yourself out of this one.
Please, Please, Please...make this a movie!!!
(I hear Ben Stiller is looking for work)
Posted by: Randi at August 10, 2005 07:21 PM
Oy. And there was no plunger around?
Posted by: Stacey at August 10, 2005 08:08 PM
Stacey: Plunger? It was kind of late for a plunger, wasn't it? Believe me, they needed a back hoe, copper piping, you know what I'm saying?
Posted by: Robert Avrech at August 10, 2005 11:12 PM
I recall you once writing that the Roto Rooter guy is a frequent "guest" at your house. Now I certainly understand why.
(oh-oh...I feel a bad pun coming on: Robert, you're plumbing the depths of your relationship with Karen, but sometimes your actions are W...A...Y... over the top! Now I'll close the lid on this topic.)
Posted by: Pearl at August 11, 2005 04:54 AM
Wow this is way better than that Ben Stiller movie. Next thing you know you'll be saying you accidentially did something to the family cat.
very much looking forward to the next installment!!!
Rachel :)
Posted by: Rachel at August 11, 2005 08:44 AM
Pearl: There is a guest room in our house with the plumbers name affixed to the doorpost. We treat our plumber like a brain surgeon. Better.
Posted by: Robert Avrech at August 11, 2005 08:52 AM
Rachel: Thank G-d, there was no family cat. For if there was, who knows what disaster would have befallen. As it was, things don't get much better.
Posted by: Robert Avrech at August 11, 2005 08:55 AM
Oy, you are bring back some bad memories. I may have to share them one day. I feel your pain.
Posted by: Jack at August 11, 2005 10:27 AM
That is so funny. I too was thinking of the Ben Stiller scene. I can imagine what must have been going through your mind. awaiting the next installment.
Posted by: Jean at August 11, 2005 10:27 AM
Great title too.
Posted by: Yehudit at August 11, 2005 02:28 PM
Yehudit: You get the Seraphic Secret door prize for taking notice of the title--which was not easy to think up. In fact, I had nothing to do with it. It was Karen all the way.
Posted by: Robert at August 11, 2005 05:10 PM
Karen, I love your title!
About 33 years ago I travelled to Japan, and spent time in a tiny town called Takayama...the public bathrooms were literally a hole in the ground...at least nothing could overflow!
Posted by: randi at August 11, 2005 05:31 PM
Randi: Ditto for my trip to China some dozen years ago. Public washrooms were, what's an apt phrase? The toilets from hell. I still have nightmare about these pits.
Posted by: Robert Avrech at August 11, 2005 08:39 PM
"You get the Seraphic Secret door prize..."
LOL. I was going to make a sly allusion to "Brighton in Queens" but that didn't quite do it. I even got out my Brookyn bus map and looked (it has all the neighborhoods deliniated). There really isn't a Brooklyn equivalent to Flushing.
Posted by: Yehudit at August 12, 2005 02:21 AM
Full body cringe time! This is hilarious. Loving it.
Posted by: Jackie Danicki at August 14, 2005 12:15 PM
Having grown up in Flushing, Queens, i can give you the definitive clarification: Flushing is still called Flushing. In fact, there is a neighborhood known as Flushing. But unofficially, "greater Flushing" includes the Jewish neighborhoods of Hillcrest and Kew Gardens Hills. Still, the postal address is Flushing.
One gets used to it. Like flight paths between LaGuardia and Kennedy.
In any case, I enjoy your clog, er, blog, very much.
Posted by: Dov at August 14, 2005 09:57 PM
Dov:Thanks so much much for the much needed clarification. Our clog, er blog, jjust wants to get it right.
Posted by: Robert at August 15, 2005 07:52 AM
Oddly, "Flushing" is probably the only place in Queens that I and many other non-Americans could name, because the US Open tennis is played there every year and because this is beamed around the world. (This is more true of Australians like me than many other nationalities I suspect, because Australians are such enthusiastic tennis players).
Posted by: Michael Jennings at August 22, 2005 09:59 AM
I just read your thoughts on liberal Democratic Hollywood and loved it. I am neither Republican, Democrat or Jew. I am having trouble with this war and understanding it but, I understand terrorism completely and agree with you 100%. I resent the stupidity of these Hollywood Know-it-alls and feel that if they must exercise their free speech, they should do it on their own time in a separate venue and not at award ceremonies or during interviews which are meant to talk about their acting and movies. This way I could enjoy the entertainment without the abuse. I now avoid all interviews, stories and movies with certain actors who think they have the right to cram their ignorant views down our throats!
Thank you for your honesty and sharing your intelligence-
G
Posted by: Geri at August 25, 2005 12:12 PM