« Wake. Breathe. Repeat. | Main | Hollywood Republicans, Sshh... »
August 16, 2005
Plan 9 From Bensonhurst
The saga of how I met, fell in love and pursued Karen for many, many years. All this before she even knew that I existed.
How I Married Karen — Chapter 22
"Well you see, Rabbi and Mrs. Singer, I flushed the toilet and it kind of overflowed and your basement bathroom is flooded and well..."
And Karen is sitting there, looking at me, confused, disappointed, and I know, I just know that this is a huge disaster.
I'm still in the basement washroom. The toilet has finally stopped flushing, finally stopped overflowing. I've been playing various scenarios in my head and let me tell you, none of them are good. And so I go to Plan 9 From Bensonhurst. (This, by the way, is a very obscure allusion to possibly the worst movie ever made: Plan 9 From Outer Space, directed by the wretched Ed Wood.)
The plan flashes through my mind in a fraction of a second, the sign, I'm afraid, of a true criminal mastermind. There is one plastic cup over the washbasin. I grab it, lean over and yes, start filling it up with the water flooding the floor, and dumping the water down the tiny drain in the corner shower. One small cup after another. It feels like I'm draining the ocean. Why can't I just go upstairs and tell the truth?
For the same reason that I sneaked upstairs, in a mad quest for Karen's fourth grade dress.
Because I'm not too normal.
Because if there's a choice between doing things in a straight line, nice and easy, you can be sure that I'll find the most twisted path.
I have no idea how long I bail but pretty soon the line of water on the floor has actually diminished. I frantically search underneath the sink and find several rolls of paper towels. I start mopping up the excess water. I make a tidy pile of the soaked towels on the edge of the sink. I'm sort of like Norman Bates, in Psycho, cleaning up after his mother murders Marion Crane. He's methodical, thorough, clear-headed, but completely demented.
I am breathing hard and soaked in sweat. I survey the washroom; it looks pretty good; in the dim light you can barely tell that just a few minutes ago there was a massive flood in this room.
I mop up the floor once again, then I shove the sopping paper towels, yup, in my side pockets, my back pockets. I mean, I can't very well flush them down the toilet, now can I? Squish. Squish. Squish. Guh-ross.
I exit the washroom and make my way towards the basement stairs. Oh joy, there's a trash can. I dump in one congealed clump of towels, and cover the mess with a layer of papers. Hmm, looks like some notes Karen's father has made for a speech. He has beautiful handwriting. I never learned to write script. I envy people who can. I still write in big dumb block letters.
Up the stairs, into the kitchen, whoopee! another garbage can. This is a great house: lots of garbage cans. Quickly, I shove the rest of the sopping towels into the trash and cover the mess with foodstuff and empty milk cartons.
I've cleverly disposed of the evidence.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, feeling like a Mossad agent I reenter the Succah and sit down.
"Are you okay," Karen asks.
"Stomach ache," I say with a brave shrug.
I shift in my seat. My pants are thoroughly soaked from the wet towels. I don't know how long I'm going to be able to sit like this. My slacks are starting to chafe in a really bad place. And what happens if somebody uses the washroom in the next few minutes?
Not a pretty thought.
Karen's parents, Rabbi Phillip and Celia Singer, wedding day,
August 1947
And that's when Karen's father, Rabbi Singer, enters. He's an imposing man in a black Borsalino and black suit. He looks at me like he has x-ray vision. I'll bet he knows all about the washroom.
Karen makes the introductions. After cursory small talk, and the basic but oh-so-necessary Jewish geography, Rabbi Singer gets down to business.
"Nu, so what are you learning these days?"
Possible answers:
1. I'm learning to be a plumber.
2. I'm learning Kurosawa.
3. I'm learning the architecture of your daughter's lovely face.
But I have not studied in yeshiva my whole life for nothing. There are certain passages of Talmud I know pretty well and have in reserve just for moments like this.
"Baba Metziya, Daf Tes." I say.
"Ah..." And Rabbi Singer proceeds to quote chapter and verse, including Tosfos, no mean feat, and all I have to do is sit there and nod.
After a few moments, Karen's parents politely withdraw, it's almost time for me to go to shul for Mincha, afternoon prayers.
I wonder if I should confide to Karen about the washroom. This is the woman I love, the woman, presumably I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. Surely I can trust her with this little hiccup. I mean, I should warn the love of my life about the chaos downstairs, right?
Nah.
I'm a coward. And I'm thinking magically. Maybe the pipes will just fix themselves—that does happen, doesn't it?
Karen walks me to the door.
"I had a good time," she says.
"Me too."
We look at each other for a long moment.
"See you back in Manhattan, " she says.
I can't hold myself back any longer. I recognized certain looks back in the house. Looks between Karen and her mother. Between Karen and her father. Between Karen's mother and Karen's father.
"Karen, did your parents know I was coming over?"
"Not really."
I walk home and I wonder: why didn't Karen tell them? Isn't she serious about me? If she is serious, wouldn't she have said something to her parents about yours truly ?
Conclusion: maybe she really isn't as serious as I think she is.
Great, something to drive me crazy. Another relationship clue with which to torture myself. Gee-willikers, I told my parents I was going over to see Karen.
Is there no justice in this universe?
To be continued.
Karen answers: Robert says he was a coward, well I was a coward in another way. I didn't know how to tell my parents about Robert without their pressuring me, without their blowing the relationship out of the water with questions about how serious we were, and Robert's "intentions." I wanted to keep the relationship so to speak, on my court, under my control, without anyone else calling the shots, calling foul, or calling "game."
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at August 16, 2005 07:22 AM
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.
Hysterical laughter can be heard throughout TorontoPearl's house as she reads this: the mopping up and stuffing wads in your back pocket is priceless, Robert!
My memory of Baba Metziah is faint, but you certainly did "find something" -- Karen, and a most appreciative reading audience.
Posted by: Pearl at August 16, 2005 04:11 PM
Oh, this is pricelss! When did you finally come clean to Karen about this toilet incident?
Posted by: Stacey at August 16, 2005 07:54 PM
Robert, a book called, "He's Just Not That Into You" was recently published as a guide for single women to know if a man is really interested. But, what you've got here is sure to be a N.Y.Times Bestseller:
"He's JUST that into You".
Chapter 1: If he's been stalking you since you're 10 years old: He's just that into you.
Chapter 2: If he has you to his apartment and turns green and twitches: He's just that into you.
Chapter 3: If he invites you over and his parents, sister, and aunt are there to grill you: He's just that into you.
Chapter 4: If you catch him in your closet, trying on your plaid skirt and peterpan collared blouse: He's just that into you.
Chapter 5: If he sits in your succah and his pants are suspiciously soaking wet: He's just that into you.
Thanks, Robert...no doubt single women everywhere, will be stampeding the book stores for this "can't live without" guide.
Posted by: Randi at August 16, 2005 08:23 PM
Your idea for a book "He's Really Into You" is hysterical, Randi. I don't know how many chapters we could generate though.
Posted by: Karen Avrech at August 16, 2005 09:49 PM
Ok, the whole toilet business makes me laugh hysterically. But that in large part is because I have a dysfunctional digestive system and have far too many stories that are somewhat similar in nature.
Classic.
Posted by: Jack at August 16, 2005 11:43 PM
this story almost has the feel of the spinning plates guy on the Ed Sullivan Show....oy, what else can go wrong?
as usual you always keep us in suspense!
all the best!
Rachel :)
Posted by: Rachel at August 17, 2005 04:59 AM
I need to stop reading your blog at work, or else get an office where nobody can see or hear me... today, because I'm hiccuping with laughter.
Posted by: Abby at August 17, 2005 07:36 AM
Stacey: When did I come clean about this experience? A day before I published the blog, I sat Karen down and said, "I think I should tell you what happened at your house few years ago, and what I'm thinking about publishing on Seraphic Secret." After the telling, Karen was convulsed in laughter, saying, "Welcome to my life, that toilet was always breaking!" I realized that I should have confessed a few years earlier. Waiting 27 years might have been just a few years too long.
Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at August 17, 2005 08:08 AM
"Karen was convulsed in laughter . . . I should have confessed a few years earlier."
No, I'm glad you confessed now. I am so glad to hear that Karen had a good laugh.
Posted by: Sarah at August 17, 2005 09:01 AM
Sarah: Actually, Karen hasn't stopped laughing.
Posted by: Robert Avrech at August 17, 2005 09:38 AM
"Great, something to drive me crazy. Another relationship clue to torture myself with."
Robert...and I thought only women tortured themselves with such thoughts...thanks for letting us know the male mind is just as vulnerable and twisted as the female mind!
Posted by: Randi at August 17, 2005 09:59 AM
Oy, keep it up, keep it up! Thanks so much for continuing to brighten all your readers' days.
Nowadays, it's so seldom that I read anything that makes me laugh out loud. I think I'll remember those soaking wads in your pocket for many years - and giggle at the image each time it comes back to me.
Sara
Posted by: With Love at August 17, 2005 12:47 PM
Robert,
You are certainly very funny and talented. I also think I will get fired because I laughed out loud when I read your blog. I am very happy to see that Karin had such a good laugh too. She needs it.
Rabbi Singer is a very special man. My husband knows him. The apple does not fall far from the tree.
Surie
Posted by: Hermom at August 17, 2005 02:12 PM
Abby, Surie: Please don't get fired because of Seraphic Secret. Remember, the operative word is: secret.
Posted by: Robert at August 17, 2005 04:47 PM
Thanks, Surie, for the paternal compliment. The irony is that nothing is secret any more.
Posted by: Karen Avrech at August 17, 2005 06:41 PM
"...nothing is secret anymore."
Interesting how things develop, Robert & Karen.
You, normally two very private people -- your life has seemingly become "an open BLOG"...
Posted by: Pearl at August 17, 2005 07:29 PM
Pearl: except for what we don't reveal.
Posted by: Robert Avrech at August 17, 2005 08:55 PM
Robert,
I admire all the people who reveal so much about their private lives on your blogs. You use your name but other people, who don't, give enough details that anyone who knows them can guess their identity. One of your Seraphic Secret friends recently told me that that's just what happened, and I was not surprised.
Karin, my daughter says that I am not one to give compliments easily; therefore you can be sure I meant what I said about your family.
Keep on writing, both of you. We, your friends at Seraphic Secret, anxiously wait for every word the two of you write about Ariel, each other, politics, guns, etc.
As far as my getting fired, they don't fire you very easily after 23 years. If they do, I will stay home, play with my grandchildren, improve Rochelly's kitchen, come to visit you and my cousins more often (I am sorry I missed Ariel's Memorial), and take better care of my parents and 97 year old mother-in-law. However, even though you hooked me on blogs, I still do my job first. I think I am here to stay till I want to retire.
Posted by: Hermom at August 18, 2005 08:21 AM
Hermom: Relieved to hear that you're not in danger of getting fired because of Seraphic Secret. That would be too much guilt for this blog to bear.
Posted by: Robert at August 18, 2005 08:26 AM
Robert J. Avrech
"....except for what we don't reveal."
DearRobert:
Your bathroom story at Rabbi Singer's home,shows how one often hesitates...fearful of revealing much of one's "inner" self...almost an echo of the SUNSHINE film story...with a yarmulka, a beard, becoming more hidden within with each passing generation...almost terminating with little or no persoanl identity.,,,until one again decides to become, like our ancestors, with Emes, and restore the name SONENSCHEIN.
The forces between one's internal and external identity..sometimes, if not always, are in polar conflict, and usually ( if we are mazal-dik) comes to resolution in a "CRISIS".
It is a Jewish story, filled with being in a similar "box"...our numerous "secret" attempts to either walk straight or to contort ourselves in order to be accepted, by a "sigificant" other
is our biography.
The reason why I write to you, is simple....but, I hesitate...
Can I continue on this BLOG site or is it better for me to write to you via e-mail ?....
Please le me know...
Thank You. George Moskowitz MD
yehduazev@aol.com
Posted by: George Moskowitz at August 18, 2005 08:48 AM
Hmmm...
That same plugged up toilet thing happened to me. I thought all prospective in-laws did that.
Are you sure it isn't some kind of character test?
Posted by: psychotoddler at August 21, 2005 03:37 PM
Something about the overflowing toilet and you're not telling reminds me of another:
Merv Griffin, a"h, once told on his talk show of a date 35 years before that he, a not-yet-anybody, had finally been able to wrangle with a budding NY (& eventually Hollywood) actress that he had had a crush on for many years. When he arrived to pick her up at her high-rise apartment, she wasn't quite ready yet. He decided to play with her beloved dog while waiting. He was tossing a ball which the dog would catch and return. At one point, Merv tossed the ball which bounced onto a balcony and over the side of the building with the pooch jumping after it. :(
The actress appeared and was ready to go. Merv was in shock and shaking at the knees, but he didn't mention what had just happenend to her dog. They went out. He couldn't put two sentences together. They had an awful time and he was so ashamed of being the cause of killing her dog, he couldn't face her again.
That story, and his embarassment in telling it 35 years later, was quite memorable.
I'm glad you stuck with Karen and didn't abscond out the bathroom window... ...
Wait... ...
It was in the basement.
Well, anyway I'm glad you continued your relationship, whatever the reason.
Posted by: Janet at August 27, 2008 10:54 AM