Rodriac Copen (English version)

Humor - Comedy

The Accidental Plumber

Tito Mansilla liked walking through shopping malls for the same reason some men like to play roulette: because in both cases one can lose dignity, wallet or some teeth... and still return the next day.

That afternoon she walked down the central corridor of a shopping mall in Puerto Madero , hands in her pockets, chin barely raised, and with the expression of someone who hadn't paid rent in months. The mall's lights reflected off the pristine marble and her hairstyle, which had more hairspray than conviction.

That's when he saw her.

A woman walked about twenty meters away, alone, elegant, in a dark dress that looked as if it had been designed by someone who knew how to unsettle men. Her hair fell over her shoulders in sensual, assertive waves. Her heels accentuated her beautiful calves, their clicks echoing against the floor with the authority of a judge who already knew the guilty verdict.

Tito stopped dead in his tracks.

—“No… no… no…”— he murmured, placing a hand on his chest —“I’m already in paradise.”—

By then, Tito had already fallen in love with a cashier, a deli worker, and a window dresser while watching her dress a mannequin in Flores. And in all those cases, witnesses saw the same expression on his face: the look of a man about to make a terrible decision, convinced of his fleeting infatuation.

So Tito started following her.

First, from a safe distance.

Once emboldened, at a ridiculous distance.

At first, the woman looked at shop windows without paying much attention, while Tito improvised the various urban rituals required to face an epic pick-up, which would be added to his collection of improbable love affairs.

—“Excuse me… do you walk like that naturally, or do your hips practice at home to drive me crazy?”—

Not a glance.

Tito smiled, and like a soldier in combat, he continued with his mission and objective.

—“Perfect… difficult personality. I like challenges that increase the likelihood of quitting.”—

She kept moving forward.

Tito sped up the courtship like a lovestruck macaw.

—“Excuse me… if you’re a model, tell me now, so I can save myself the humiliation of looking like an ordinary guy.”—

Nothing.

The woman, seemingly indifferent like a goddess listening to a poet, entered a perfume shop.

Tito, now desperate, followed behind.

A gallant salesman observed them with the experience of a documentary filmmaker who had already filmed several predators.

—“Are you looking for something, sir?”

—“Yes.”— said Tito without taking his eyes off her —“Emotional reciprocity… but if you don’t have any, show me some perfume with a hint of vanilla.”—

The woman gave a barely visible smile.

Tito saw it. And that minimal gesture, a microscopic tremor at the corner of those sensual and desired lips, was the indicator light that the main courtship had begun.

For Tito , the gesture was equivalent to a signed contract.

As the lady left, he followed her with the renewed energy of a congressman consulting favorable polls.

And he caught up with her near a coffee shop.

—“Okay. You smiled. Technically, we already have a story.”— he told her.

For the first time, the woman stopped. And turning slowly, she looked at him.

Tito felt that for two seconds his self-esteem rose so much that he could have seen the Obelisk from inside a shopping mall.

She raised an eyebrow.

—“Are you always this insistent?”—

Tito adjusted his jacket.

—“No… sometimes I’m worse, but today I came light.”— he replied defiantly

She studied him for a few seconds.

Then he smiled with a dangerous mixture of amusement and calculation.

—“Five minutes. A coffee. And then you disappear.”—

Tito placed a hand on his chest.

—“Of course, goddess. In five minutes, not even Napoleon could have achieved what I have.”—

They sat down by a window, while she ordered an espresso.

Tito ordered a double cappuccino because he felt the foam made him look intellectual.

—“My name is Veronica,” she said, crossing her legs with a naturalness that made Tito forget his own last name for two seconds —“Veronica Salvatierra.”—

Tito smiled.

—“Tito Mansilla. Charming professional… and a teacher of life.”—

Veronica let out a brief laugh.

—“And before you start imagining things… I’m married.”—

Tito put the cup down and, while shaking his head in response, said:

—“Well… being married doesn’t mean being happy. There are also people with gym memberships who never go.”—

Veronica looked at him amused as she laughed.

—“My husband’s name is Osvaldo Salvatierra.”—

As she clarified the details, the tone of her voice had changed barely… but enough.

—“Uh-huh…” said Tito , still smiling —“And what does Mr. Osvaldo do for a living?”

Veronica stirred the coffee with a hauntingly sensual slowness.

—“He’s a debt collector for a cigarette company.”—

—“Well, nothing serious...”—

—“He’s armed. He’s a former soldier.”—

Tito blinked briefly and fleetingly. He thought Veronica was " testing " him.

—“...Are you armed like 'wears a leather jacket' or armed like 'forensic ballistics'?”—

Veronica looked up.

—“Revolver. And a large caliber one.”—

Tito put down the cup too quickly and splashed his hand.

—“Ah.”—

—“He wears it because they’ve tried to rob him several times.”—

—“Well… that happens.”—

—“And he’s already been shot at three times.”—

Tito remained motionless, like a statue built with hair gel and bad decisions.

Veronica took a sip.

—“Once he hit a motorcycle tire from thirty meters away.”—

Tito swallowed hard.

—“Thirty meters… amazing.”—

—“With the left hand.”—

Silence.

Finally, Tito smiled again, though now with the ease of a man signing a will. In this game, the risks were known.

—“Well… what a coincidence.”—

-"What thing?"-

—“Just today… I started to value friendship so much more.”—

What Tito didn't know was that Verónica Salvatierra had a dangerous virtue: she could suggest something stupid in the same tone that other women used to ask for sugar.

And he did it two days after that coffee, while they were talking on the phone and Veronica was sending him some photos… somewhat compromising.

—“My husband is traveling to Olavarría tomorrow.”—

Tito was lying in his armchair, looking at the photos of the goddess. And as he lost himself in the dangerous curves of her legs, he sat up suddenly, intrigued.

—“Uh-huh...”—

—“She leaves early, you know? And she comes back at night… very late. I’m going to be all alone…” —

Silence.

-"Veronica..."-

-"Yeah."-

—“I’m trying to decide if this is an invitation… or a criminal case.”—

She let out a small laugh.

—“Come home at eleven.”—

Tito stood up, adjusting his clothes, although Veronica couldn't see him.

—“Look, I’m very professional about these things.”—

-"I know."-

—“What do you know?”—

—“You lie with great confidence.”—

And she hung up with a crystal-clear laugh.

Tito spent the rest of the night preparing clothes, perfume, and a smile that looked like it had been designed by an unscrupulous publicist.

The next morning, Osvaldo Salvatierra left before seven o'clock.

Heavy boots, a leather jacket. And the face of a man who ate burnt toast with black coffee for breakfast.

Veronica accompanied him to the door.

—“Come back early.”—

Osvaldo adjusted the weapon under his jacket.

—“If the weather is nice, I’ll come back at night.”—

-"Take care of yourself."-

-"Always."-

He gave her a quick kiss, went downstairs and disappeared into the street with the elegance of an industrial refrigerator.

At eleven o'clock sharp, Tito rang the doorbell.

Veronica opened the door.

And Tito stopped breathing for about two and a half seconds.

She wore a light negligee, her hair was barely damp, and she had an expression of absolute tranquility, as if inviting other men over while her armed husband was miles away was part of her skincare routine.

Tito adjusted his shirt.

—“Well… I knew it was worth persisting, but this is the reward for perseverance. ”

Veronica smiled and stepped aside.

—“Come in, Casanova.”—

They went into the living room and kissed.

Tito had barely had time to admire the armchair, the curtains, and the dangerous lack of common sense of both of them... when a clap of thunder shook the windows.

Then another. And another one.

The rain began to tap against the glass with the gentleness of a disgruntled debt collector.

Tito looked outside.

—“Perfect weather for making bad decisions.”—

At that same moment, the sound of a key entering the lock was heard.

They both froze.

Tito blinked.

—“My husband!”— Veronica whispered urgently .

The door opened. And Osvaldo appeared .

Soaked. Giant.

With the face of a man who had argued with the storm... and the storm hadn't apologized.

There was such an awkward silence that even the wall clock stopped working.

Osvaldo looked at Veronica in her negligee. Then at Tito . And back at Veronica again .

—“...What the hell is this?”— he snorted like a raging bull…

Veronica , without blinking and pale-faced, stepped forward.

-"Nothing." -

Osvaldo narrowed his eyes.

—“What do you mean, nothing? You’re half-naked!”—

He looked at Tito .

—“And this idiot acts like a TV presenter in my living room.”—

Tito raised a hand.

—“First… thanks for noticing the hairstyle.”—

Veronica spoke quickly.

—“I was going to take a bath.” —

-"AND?"-

—“A pipe burst.”—

Osvaldo turned slowly towards Tito .

—“One what?” —

—“A pipe.”— Veronica repeated, a little calmer now, as she made up a lie —“He’s a new plumber. I called him urgently. He came as a favor after I insisted a lot.”—

Tito looked at her.

Then he looked at Osvaldo .

Then he looked at her again.

—“...Do you take me for an idiot?”—

Veronica gave Tito a murderous look.

Tito understood. And he smiled.

—“Yes, of course. Tito Mansilla. Complete plumbing, leaks, seepage... and marital crises, apparently.” — he tried to joke.

Osvaldo didn't move.

—“And your tools, plumber?”—

Tito blinked.

—“...How…?”— he stammered, trembling.

—“The tools, plumber.” — Osvaldo dropped the bag to the floor.

And he moved forward.

The first pineapple passed so close to Tito that it ruffled his ego.

—“Stop it, champ! I fix losses, I don’t box!”

The second one hit him on the shoulder and made him fall onto a coffee table, which died with a dignified creak.

—“The decoration shell!” — Tito shouted from the floor.

Osvaldo went for him.

Tito dodged as a lamp fell. A vase exploded.

While the two were exchanging blows, insults, and furniture, Veronica ran out to the bathroom.

He grabbed a hammer and, looking at the pipe, said:

—“I have to get out of this…!”—

*CLANG* One hit. * CRACK* Another.

On the third try, the pipe burst.

A jet of water shot out furiously. Veronica ran back.

—“Stop! Both of you stop!”—

Osvaldo had Tito by the neck.

-"What's happening?"-

Veronica pointed to the hallway.

—“The bathroom is flooding!”—

There was silence. The men stared into the distance.

And a second later, a wave of water appeared, advancing down the corridor as if the department had decided to become independent of civil engineering.

Tito , still holding onto his neck, swallowed hard.

-"Well..."-

He looked at Osvaldo .

—“Now they really need me.”

The three of them ran down the corridor.

Well... “they ran” is an optimistic way of describing Osvaldo , who moved with the subtlety of a moving truck, Verónica , who advanced barefoot without losing her dignity, and Tito , who followed behind with the expression of a man who had improvised too far.

When they got to the bathroom, the scene had something of a Greek tragedy financed by a hardware store.

The water gushed from the wall with an almost personal violence.

It didn't look like a loss. It was more like a flood.

A jet of water shot directly from the broken pipe, bounced off the mirror, and turned the bathroom into a mixture of spa, domestic crime, and unionized water park.

Osvaldo froze. He blinked.

Then he looked at Tito .

And for the first time since they met, she lowered her voice a little.

—“...Che.”—

Tito , with one eye starting to turn purple, raised an eyebrow.

-"That?"-

Osvaldo cleared his throat, uncomfortable.

-"Sorry."-

Tito stared at him.

-"As?"-

—“Maybe I acted too hastily.”—

Tito adjusted his wet shirt with theatrical dignity.

-"Able?"-

Osvaldo sighed.

—“Well… yes, I acted rashly.”—

Tito nodded slowly, like a surgeon accepting an apology from a patient who had hit him with a chair.

—“That’s fine. These things happen. Prejudice is the dampness of the soul.”—

Osvaldo didn't understand a single word, but he nodded anyway.

Tito cleared his throat.

—“Well… I’ll send you the budget later.”—

And he turned around, ready to leave.

But Osvaldo put a hand on his shoulder.

A hand that weighed about the same as a bicycle.

-"No."-

Tito froze in terror.

-"...No?"-

—“You can’t just leave like this.”—

Tito smiled nervously.

—“But… I don’t have the tools.”—

Osvaldo shook his head.

—“No. You fix it now. I’ll pay you whatever you ask.”—

He bent down, opened a cupboard, and took out a metal toolbox that looked like it had survived three civil wars.

He left her on the floor with a thud.

—“Use what you need.”—

Tito looked at the box. Then at the bathroom and the break.

Then came Veronica , who smiled with such false innocence that even the tiles seemed indignant.

—“...I'm going to kill you”— he muttered through gritted teeth.

—“Later, if you want.”— she replied softly.

Tito opened the box, which had everything in it.

Adjustable wrenches. Pliers. Screwdrivers. Electrical tape. Taps and dies. And a mason's level that seemed to insult him.

—“Well…” said Tito, rolling up his sleeves with feigned authority —“The important thing in these cases is to remain calm.”

He knelt in front of the tap and reached in to turn a valve. The water came out with twice the pressure.

—“That wasn't it.”—

Osvaldo frowned, doubtful.

—“Are you sure you’re a plumber?”—

Tito smiled, soaked to the bone.

—“Of course. But I’m an innovator.”—

He tried another tap. A pipe vibrated and a crack was heard in the wall . Another stream of water began to gush.

Veronica opened her eyes.

—“Oh no...”—

Tito started to sweat.

—“Well… that wasn’t it either.”—

Within five minutes, half the house was flooded.

The rugs were floating. One of Osvaldo 's shoes drifted by, heading towards the kitchen.

The neighbor's dog barked from the balcony as if narrating the disaster. And Tito , completely soaked, continued struggling with the installation.

—“Give me light!”— Tito implored the sky.

Veronica , without thinking, took it literally and plugged in a portable lamp.

Tito turned just as the cable touched the water. For a second, the entire bathroom lit up.

Tito arched his back:

—"AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!" —

A flash… an explosion. And the unmistakable smell of burnt hair.

When the " plumber " fell on his back, his hair was sticking out in three different directions. And his face was smeared with plaster.

An expression of a man of faith who had seen God... and God had laughed.

Osvaldo looked at him… very slowly. And squinting.

Then something clicked in her head. She looked at Tito sprawled out. At the half-naked Veronica in the transparent negligee.

And he looked at Tito again .

—“Stop.”— he said, closing his lips in an angry gesture —“You’re not a plumber. ”

Tito stood still. Veronica was terrified.

Osvaldo began to breathe more heavily.

—“YOU'RE NOT A PLUMBER!”—

And that's when Tito made the wisest decision of his entire romantic career.

He didn't say another word. Because that couldn't be solved with smooth talk. He ran like he never had before.

She came out of the bathroom. She slipped, taking a coat rack with her. She crossed the living room. And somehow, she opened a window.

—“TITO!”— shouted Veronica .

—“It was a pleasure, goddess!”—

And he jumped into the garden, bouncing off a bush.

He landed on the sidewalk soaked, scorched, covered in plaster, and with his dignity sustained by sheer habit.

As he limped down the street...

Veronica leaned out the window and shouted:

—“Tito!... You forgot the budget!”—

Tito , without stopping running, raised a hand.

—“THE INSURANCE WILL CHARGE YOU FOR IT, QUEEN!”—

At that moment Osvaldo appeared behind her... with an enormous wrench.

And a second later he jumped into the garden too.

—“MANSILLAAAAAA!!”— he shouted furiously, brandishing the key.

And Tito , running in the rain, smiled with his pride intact.

—“Yes…”— he said to himself.

He spat out a little water.

—“They definitely miss me.” —

END

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Sunday, May 10, 2026

Short Story: "The Accidental Plumber (Humor - Comedy )"

Thursday, March 16, 2023

Humor - Comedy: "The Accidental Plumber"