“Cole! The sink drain is clogged and about to flood the floor!”
“What?” I jump to my feet. “Shit.” I run past him and head into the kitchen, where a prep sink is full of produce floating in green-tinged water. This happens every few weeks. The main drain to the sewage line is partially obstructed by tree roots, and it will take about fifteen thousand dollars to clear it out and replace the pipe. Fifteen thousand I obviously don’t have, so I’m making this sucker limp along as long as I can.
“What happened?” I ask to anyone listening.
“The new kid shoved a bunch of shit down the disposal,” Mac, my fry cook, says in disgust. “He thought running the water after it got clogged would somehow magically solve the problem.”
In this instance, I suspect the p-trap is likely clogged, so I get the new kid, Aaron, to start pulling water out of the sink and dumping it into another sink. Aaron is barely sixteen and just started as dishwasher a few weeks ago. He looks scared to death.
It takes several minutes to get most of the water and produce out, and during the process, Brandy, one of my other bartenders, comes back and tells me there’s a woman out front who says she’s supposed to see me.
Shit.
“Yeah,” I say, absently as I reach into the garbage disposal to see if anything is clogging it on this side. “Just send her up to my apartment and tell her I’ll be up in about ten minutes. She can get started without me.”
Mac snickers.
“She’s setting up a computer for Jane,” I say dryly. “And I don’t bring women to my apartment.”
“You just screw them everywhere else,” he says, shaking his head.
Which is true, or rather itwastrue. I had my run as a man whore for a few years after Millie died, but I haven’t slept with a woman in months.
Brandy is still standing behind me.
Groaning, I look back at her. “Her name is Holly, and she built a computer for Jane so she can code at home. Just tell her I’ll be up when I’m done here.”
She heads back to the front, and I find two large bowls to put underneath the sink.
“I’m really sorry, Cole,” Aaron says, standing to the side. He looks like a puppy that’s been kicked.
“Mistakes happen, so don’t worry. You’re not fired. But next time let someone know if the sink gets clogged, okay? It happens from time to time.”
Relief floods his face. “Yeah, sure, Cole.”
“Okay, now go grab some towels and be ready to hand them to me when I ask for them.”
“Okay.”
I get down on the floor and crawl under the sink to set the bowl under the U-shaped pipe. Once I’m in position, I tug on the plastic piece holding the pipe in place, but the last person who cleaned the drain used a lot of muscle to attach it. I give it a good twist, and the U-shaped connection comes partially loose. Drainage water sprays all over my face and shirt.
I cough and sputter as I try to get the piece of pipe free to drain into the bowl, but more of the liquid splashes onto my arms and jeans before it drains into the bowl.
“Cole!” Aaron shouts in panic.
“It’s okay,” I say, reaching out a hand. “Towel, please.”
He hands me a towel, and I wipe my face so I can see what’s causing the clog.
The U-shaped pipe is full of some kind of vegetable shavings, so I dump it out into the bowl and make sure the other two ends of the sewage line are free before I reconnect it all.
I get up and hand the bowl full of rancid water to Aaron.
He’s staring at me in horror and takes a step back, likely because I now smell disgusting. “I’mreallysorry, Cole.”
I give him a grim smile. “Like I said, just tell us next time.”
He nods like a bobble head as I walk past him toward the hall that leads to my office and the staircase to my apartment. The kitchen staff watch me in silence.
