A few weeks ago we realized our sink was leaking. Dean tried his darnedest to fix it, but finally admitted that he wasn’t equipped for major plumbing repair, so he called a plumber (incidentally the day plumbers were taken into the surreal realm).
The plumber arrived early for his 4:30 scheduled appointment. I was working in the attic and didn’t hear the doorbell ring, which turns out to be broken too. Anyway, I ran downstairs and opened the door to John the Plumber. Even though John had done work for us before, I was taken aback when I saw him. I expected a man in a work clothes — perhaps with his name sewn on the pocket. What I opened the door to was a man, impeccably dressed in a button down denim shirt and dress slacks. He didn’t say he was the plumber, but I let him in anyway because I was fairly certain that Adrian Monk was standing in front of me. Granted, this man was dressed casually for Mr. Monk, but in every other respect, he was Adrian Monk.
He took a look at the problem, diagnosed it within seconds (I could almost hear him saying. “Here’s the thing,” and “Here’s what happened.”) His work area was neat and when he left the kitchen was cleaner than before he got there.
I figure that since the TV program, Monk, is on vacation, his character is moonilghting as a plumber. Stranger things have happened.