Some things I have no desire to see. Top of the list: my building superintendent – the guy who sends “the guys” up to my apartment to unclog sinks and fix smoke alarms – getting his nails done.
Sure enough it happened. I was drying after a pedicure at my local nail salon when who plops down next to me no other than Manny, the good-looking, “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it” super. It was comparable to the time I discovered my pious Catholic father sneaking a Playboy. Really, dad?
The world just felt safer when I believed that those Alpha men who roam the halls in work boots and with greasy tools in hand were Lord of the Cracks, Wires and Pipes.
My discovery begs the question what to do should one of the alligators that lives in the NY sewers break loose and make its way up into my toilet. Do I still call “the guys?”