Parrot and the Plumber

 

I thought I’d written this story down years ago; but it isn’t in my files.  Either it was misplaced or filed under a title that didn’t match up with my memory.  The cartoon image posted on Facebook reminded me of something that happened back in 1979 or 1980 soon after joining the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Back then there was a program called Home Teaching, basically ministering to members by assignment in the hope that each would feel connected to the Ward through a monthly visit. I had an elderly woman under my stewardship and learned that she was dating a fellow who was deaf. From what I could figure, she intended to take the relationship to a higher level and perhaps even marriage.

The idea occurred to me that I should take steps toward being able to communicate with this fellow in order to more effectively complete the Home Teaching assignment.  That led me to find out where to take a course in American Sign Language (ASL).  It turned out such a course was offered via the Houston Community College that used the Waltrip High School building for night classes; that was only a couple of miles from our house in Oak Forest where we were living at the time.

I can’t remember if there was a charge to take the course, more than likely; but it must have been nominal or I wouldn’t have gone forward with taking the class.  I showed up at 6:45pm for a class that was scheduled to start at 7:00pm.  Before entering the classroom, I noticed several pink slips stuck to the frame indicating classes which failed to meet the required number of students and would be cancelled.  I didn’t see ASL as one of the cancelled classes and so I went in, finding there were only two other individuals who’d showed up as yet.

I took a seat behind them while continuing to wonder if this was the class for ASL since neither of them seemed to notice my entrance.  I quietly asked, “Is this the class for ASL?”  There was no reaction from either; “Must be” was the thought that came to mind as I let out a soft chuckle.

The ASL class was a hoot from day one.  I learned the alphabet along with a smattering of commonly used signs with each new lesson.  The instructor, make that instructors, since members of the deaf community often gave the lessons that were wonderfully entertaining; almost as if this were a late night television show.  They passed along jokes that could be made along with cautions to avoid making signs near your nose as those often-had sexual implications.

We were encouraged to attend a deaf community’s performance of some Russian play that was put on at a small theater near Washington Avenue.  I’ll admit up front that most of the performance went way over my ability to read their spelling of Russian names that flashed by me eyes so quickly as to be a blur. 

There was a final exam that we needed to take to obtain a passing mark in the class.  We were to stand in front of everyone and give a talk about anything we felt comfortable with, using only those signs we’d learned in class.  I thought about what I could talk about for a few minutes during the week prior to the scheduled exam.  That’s when I remembered a couple of the long-winded jokes my father would drop on us while we were a captive audience driving toward a vacation spot.  Dad could draw out a joke for a very long time, miles and miles of Texas roads to work with gave him all the time in the world to drop a really lame joke on all of us.

Let’s see, which one would be a good fit?  There’s the ‘Beer that made Bill Famous walk me’? No, how about the ‘Cush Maker’? No, even that’s too lame; what about the ‘Parrot and the Plumber’?  Bingo! That one could last at least four minutes.

The night of the exam we found out the judges would all be from the deaf community.  They’d determine if we’d learned enough to pass the course. 

I stood up in front of the classroom and began explaining about the plumber who had to walk up several floors carrying his heavy toolbox to reach the apartment where his customer was waiting.  Upon reaching the top of the stairs and being nearly exhausted, he knocked on the door.

The customer apparently was not in the apartment; however, there was a trained parrot who inquired, “Who is it?” 

“It’s the plumber”, came the response.  Waiting for the customer to open the door and waiting some more since the customer wasn’t in the apartment, the plumber again knocked on the door a bit more forcefully this time.

“Who is it?”  The parrot inquired as the scenario played out time and time again to use up the required number of minutes in front of the deaf community.  I could tell from the positive responses on the judges faces that my dad’s joke was being well received.

Getting to the punch line, the plumber’s frustration culminated in his having a heart attack and dropping to the floor outside the apartment door.  The paramedics arrived to treat the man and were asking if anyone knew who he was.  The parrot quickly responded, “It’s the plumber”.

I passed the test according to the judges from the deaf community.  One of them came over to me expressing his delight in my story about the talking butterfly.  You guessed right, I’d used the wrong sign all through the entire joke.

Oh, in case you were wondering; that dear Sister didn’t continue her relationship with the deaf fellow.  I’d had a lot of fun getting to learn ASL and used those skills only sparingly over the years, to the point of nearly forgetting most of what I may have learned so long ago.