Dawyne, you're treasure, but we got reality to deal with.
Joe the Plummer, Oakland version...(a fantasy)
Big assed Black guy in blue overalls, hands the size of hams, hard hat, because he has a big commerical project and works for a big contractor with a dozen plummers, all union, all to code, all under the gun of the building contractor foreman down five stories in a trailor complex next to the building they are plumming.
There are miles of pipe, big castings, mostly the old fashioned looking cast iron and galvanized kind, running up a central corridor, with feeder systems in light weight copper threating its way through the complex of floors and labrynthns of partitions that will become offices for some Dot Com bullshit. They have been months on the job and nearing the end.
Every morning Joe shows up after a long freeway drive to the job site, already worn out by the tension of just getting to work without an accident or big stall. He has the usual trouble getting a parking place, carrying his lunch caddy, the size of a small suitcase, a plastic thing with a rocker top, and a couple of dry ice plastic bricks on the bottom. Inside are some cold left overs, some tasty delights of cold cuts, bbq chicken, a soda, and other odds and ends to munch on. His lunch caddy is stowed in the plummer's shack, a make shift shed that also houses the plans table, their subcontract foreman, and some specialized tools the company has to supply. Joe makes his way to the outside cage elevator and rides to the floor they are working on today. The fire sprinkler system is already done, so they are working on plumming the bathrooms. These are all copper tubing running through the galvinized tin 2 x 4 partitions that will later be covered in sheet rock by some other guys. The carpenters have already fire blocked the partition system so Joe and his workmates have to drill through the blocking, run the light cooper tubing and then solder it all up. It is tidious work. A hand tubing cutter, a pipe de-burring tool, some steel wool, soldering flux paste, and a light propane torch, with a coil of lead solder. Tools of the trade.
Joe has been doing this work for so many years, it all comes naturally. He works mostly on his knees to save his back. Another crew is working on the waste water system. Drill along the chalked line, run the tubing through, pull the box of joints over, fit one, fit another, place it, then go back, clean and flux the ends, and solder the joints. The measurements are critical, and that's where the experience and skill come it. Getting it right the first time, smooth, simple, done like clock work. Like union work. Like commercial grade.
Joe is getting too old for this work pace, his knees are gone, his back is gone, his wrists and elbows are gone, his shoulders are gone, he dreams about getting his boat out on the bay and fishing for striped bass and smoking the fillets in the small backyard. His wife is a school bus driver, his kids are mostly grown and gone.
They never did get that place up at Clear Lake. Gramms is still living down below Fruitvale Avenue living in the same old house he and his brothers grew up in back in the day. God dam those were some times. Shit, Darion, the youngest got to college. Smart ass little motherfucker, lives in Sacramento, teaches economics at city college.
What are we going to do about moms? She still slops around the house, fixing enough food for her boys that don't live there any more. I am sure glad JC moved in with her to go to Laney. That was a great idea. Keeps him clean, keeps her busy with her favorite grandson. She can fix him all the food he can eat, and that boy eats.
His youngest is going to be alright. He thinks about him constantly. His old mother caring as she did long ago for him, that's something to be proud of, admirable, good.
God damn, when is the lunch bell? And who the hell was this Republican, this fucking white jerk ass motherfucker? I keep hearing about this motherfucker on white boy radio. Works in a plumming store? Shit, man, get it right. You ain't no plummer. You a counter boy. Come on down here and get on your knees and start sweating some joints for me, boy. Let's see you run a pressure test on the sprinkler system feeds, peckerwood. Shit runs down hill, son, that's all you gotta know. That stupid mofo wouldn't last a month as an apprentice on this job.
Joe considers. You know the plummers were not such an easy union to bust. I got in back when the Panthers were raising hell with City Hall...
[As for Obama and McCain's Joe the Plummer, fuck you buddy. You never spent a day in your miserable white peckerwood life on the job---if you know what I mean. Well, and of course you don't know what I mean... Yeah, well rust me, everbody who has run out those long days, knows you are a jerk off slime bag motherfucker---with no respect at all. From one working man to another, kiss my ass. So go down Joe, go down hard.]