… for the handyman to come and fix our shower. There’s this massive crack on the base, and we suspect water might come into it and make a mess. It’s not our property, but I guess…it’s important? Also, our landlady is nice and problem-solving, which in this economy is something to milk treasure. This is the second handyman who has come into our flat in two weeks to look at the shower. The first one arrived an hour and a half too late, and he didn’t even take his jacket off. People who come into places and don’t take their outerwear off…what’s their deal?

Every time I go into a restaurant WITH DECENT TEMPERATURE, and I see someone EATING AND WITH THEIR JACKET/COAT ON…man, I go insane. A therapist would say that seeing someone with their jacket on implies that the person is not going to stay for long, which might trigger some abandonment issues that I might or might not have. I mean, I’m no Freud, but I guess that’s what they would say? To me, seeing someone with outerwear in a space where they are not supposed to wear it anymore is the visual equivalent of the sound of nails scratching a blackboard.

Anyway. Never Taking My Jacket Off Handyman arrived and didn’t apologise for doing so an hour and a half later, and ruining what I had planned to be a fantastic morning outside. The audacity. All I wanted for my day off was to be out and about and get angry about buying a £4.50 almond latte that weighs nothing when it gets handed to you, and then you open it, and it’s only half-filled, and what do you do then? You complain? Do you really want to be the person who complains about their almond latte? Do you?? No. You say nothing, remain angry and betrayed for the next 3 hours, and then do it again next week.

I’m always ready to get hurt again when it comes to my expectations about overpriced coffee. I never learn. Anyway. - So you need a new shower, yes? - said the handyman, in the thickest Polish accent known to man. - No, it’s just that there is a crack, I think - I said, pointing at…well, the crack. It’s important to note, for accuracy, that this whole conversation was taking place OUTSIDE of the bathroom. I was trying to get us both into the bathroom to take a proper look at the shower. I was signalling with my awkward body language some sort of “Hey, wow, that’s the bathroom we’re just talking about! 

Wouldn’t it be super cool to actually get in so you can look at the issue, perhaps? No worries if not! Haha” He did not get in.

He remained at the door of the bathroom. I tried to think if I had taken a shit that morning - was it the remains of my human compost aroma preventing him from getting any further? No, I hadn’t had my morning poo yet. And still, there he was, at the door of the bathroom. With his jacket on, which at this point was grating on me more than when people FaceTime on public transport with no headphones.

But what do you say? As a young married woman alone in her flat, I can’t say, “Aren’t you going to take that jacket off?” to the strong middle-aged man who just came into my flat to check the pipes without hearing the Brazzers intro into my head immediately after. I guess the internet has damaged us all. - I don’t see any crack. Have you put silicone? - he said. To avoid replying: Maybe you would see the cracks if you weren’t 3 kilometres away from the shower, lolz!, but I went with the second-best option.

No, it’s just that my partner did put some white tape on top of those cracks in the meantime, so we could shower. But this only confused him even more. - So what do I do? - he said, confusing me. I thought of handymen as mythical figures able to fix anything. No job too small. A depository of knowledge, passed from generation to generation.

But I’m no stranger to seemingly paternal figures disappointing me, so I didn’t cry this time. - I don’t know, man…you’re the handyman. He seemed confused about this statement, too, which sent me into a mini horror spiral, thinking that perhaps I had just let some random bloke into the flat and the next thing those shower cracks would see would be my blood and intestines.

Look, is this a priority for you? - he finally said. - We’re quite fond of showering in this household, yes. - Is it leaking? - Mmm… not that I know. But what if it’s about to leak? What if water is accumulating? - I tried to imbue my words with a sense of urgency. I tried to make him feel like he had to take that stupid jacket off, roll up his sleeves, and say “Not on my watch!” - I’ll send message to landlady.

And so he and his sudden choice of not using articles in a sentence left. He left me with visions of our shower collapsing over our neighbours downstairs, us saying to the local newspapers:

“It wasn’t a priority for him at the moment, and we trusted his judgement. He seemed to know what he was talking about; he wasn’t messing around. He always kept his jacket on.”

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