THE SINK ODYSSEY
I don’t mind calling Ulises every day because he’s just so darn cheerful.
“I’ll bet you’re wondering whether I’ve found your lost sink yet,” he’ll say to me as soon as I identify myself on the phone. And then, before I have a chance to aver, “Nope! Not yet!”
All the bathroom fixtures have been delivered, except for the sink basin. It’s a pedestal sink and it comes in two pieces. We received the pedestal. Only.
“That’s an interesting way to spell Ulises,” I had said to him when he’d handed me his business card in the showroom. He looked at me quizzically, as if no one had ever mentioned that before. “I’m used to seeing it with a Y,” I’d said.
“Oh, you’re talking about the old way. My spelling is the newer, more modern way.” He delivers every sentence with a broad, beaming grin. He has that sunny disposition of a man who has sex often and to capacity.
The fixtures delivery arrived over a week ago, and still there is no sign of the sink basin. Ulises has asked me several times to go out to the garage and check again to see if it’s there.
“Not here,” I tell him.
This seems to amuse him no end. “Where could a sink basin go to?” he says, laughing. The prospect of a missing sink just cracks him up.
I usually don’t go in for people like this who view each of life’s calamities as yet another source of amusement. But this guy is perfect for his job. Selling bathroom fixtures. Getting them where they need to go. Or not. But all so very happily.
Meanwhile, I have every confidence that Ulises will track down my sink basin. An act that may end up being (dare I say) nothing short of heroic.