Well here we are, mere days into the New Year and I’ve already broken my resolution to “stop faking laryngitis so I won’t have to make awkward small talk with Lou, the condo maintenance man.”
In my defense, I lasted four and a half days. Now that may not sound like much, but keep in mind it’s longer than 25% of Hollywood marriages.
Besides, I did the best I could — especially given the circumstances. You see, Lou is not your traditional conversationalist. He’s more the Lecture-type; a trivia buff whose expertise is limited to three topics: toilets, didjaknow?, and boobs. I first met Lou last September when he came to my apartment to repair a leak in the ceiling.
“After I get done fixing this, I’ll tackle your toilet. It sounds funny,” he called from the bathroom.
“Okay,” I called back. And that, RIGHT THERE, was my first crucial mistake: I had responded.
“Hey, didjaknow that every thirty seconds in this country, a toilet overflows? Trick is to catch it before it happens. By the way, that Kelly Ripa’s got nice boobs.”
Lou went on and on. So did the leak. Ditto for the toilet — which incidentally, had never given me a moment of trouble but was now flushing itself every five minutes. Because of these – and other constantly arising – problems, Lou became a regular visitor to my apartment.
“You know what your toilet’s problem is, Bob?” He always called me Bob. “It’s for kids. You need what I use, the XT-Throne 3000. Now THERE'S a man’s toilet! Didjaknow it’s got a built-in seat warmer? Oh that reminds me, that Susan Sarandon’s got some nice boobs.”
The commentary was relentless. And as the hours passed and Lou gave his personal critique of each Desperate Housewife (“perky”, “pleasant enough”, “niiiiice”, “A-OK!”), I made my second crucial mistake: I pretended to care.
Looking back, I should’ve just let Lou be Lou while I went about my daily regimen of deleting e-mails about male enhancers. But instead, with a few fake smiles and forced laughs, I’d somehow convinced him that I was interested. Oh boy.
Lou began to confide in me, sharing tales about his childhood (“I just couldn’t wait to use the toilet so I potty-trained myself!”), hobbies (“Didjaknow I collect shirts from the Hard Rock Café? I’ve got over forty!”), even his ex-wife (“Whatta rack!”).
Finally, after three days of steady talk therapy (and the occasional repair), Lou completed the work and left my apartment — but not before giving his thoughts on furry toilet seat covers, proper flushing technique, and Geena Davis.
In the weeks that followed, I dreaded the thought of running into Lou. Whenever I’d see him in the building, I’d call out “I’m really late for something” and run past him. But unfortunately one day, Lou and I were in the elevator together and I had nowhere to run.
“Bob! Didjaknow that I upgraded to the XT-Throne 3001?”
There I was, stuck between a Lou and a hard place with…NO…WAY…OUT.
So naturally, I did what any mature adult would do: I pretended to have laryngitis.
“Huh?” Lou shouted.
I repeated my condition to Lou, this time pointing to my throat — the universal sign for “I’ve got laryngitis,” and the more common “I’ve swallowed my tongue.”
“Bummer,” Lou said.
SUCKER! From that day on, I never worried about seeing Lou. Whenever we crossed paths, I simply played the laryngitis card. It was amazing!
ANNCR: Rob, you’ve discovered the magical formula to effectively rid the world of useless small talk! What are you gonna do?
ME:
ANNCR: What’s that?
ME:
ANNCR: Oh, right. Laryngitis.
It seemed like the perfect solution…and then New Year’s Eve happened. That was the night I drunkenly became “all introspective” and made a startling discovery — well two discoveries if you count my realization that Jack Daniels was a very, very bad man.
My other realization, however, concerned Lou. I realized that I’d been acting childish; that Lou really was a decent guy and the very least I could do was indulge him in a little conversation. And with that, I made a full laryngeal recovery.
The next day, I looked around my apartment and surveyed the various leaks, holes, and breaks that had accumulated since Lou’s last visit. I called the manager and within an hour, Lou was in my apartment.
Three days later, he was still in my apartment, gabbing away about the latest fads in flushing. Then on day four, when Lou got overly excited in describing the flushing power of the XT-Throne 3001 (“careful or it’ll swallow you whole!”), he accidentally swung a sledgehammer through the kitchen wall. The wall broke. So did my resolution.
“No worries, I can fix that up in four, five days. Six tops. How’s that sound, Bob? What’s that? Again?!? Bummer. Hey that reminds me…"
© 2006 robbloom.com.
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