Еntitlеd Ноmеоwnеrs Rеfusеd tо Раy My Рlumbеr Dаd – Тhеy Тhоught Тhеy Wеrе thе Smаrtеst, but Не Наd thе Lаst Lаugh
Dad’s eyes glinted mischievously. “Well, I tried to reason with ’em at first. But they weren’t having any of it. Mr. Carlyle, he gets all puffed up and says, ‘Just finish the job and GET LOST, Pete. We’re not paying a penny more.’”
I could feel my blood boiling. “That’s not fair! You worked so hard!”
Dad patted my hand. “Now, now, Pippi. Don’t you worry! Your old man had a trick up his sleeve.”
“What did you do?” I leaned in, eager to hear more.
Dad’s grin widened. “Oh, I finished the job alright. But instead of using water for the grout…”
“…I mixed it with sugar and honey,” Dad finished, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
I blinked, trying to process what I’d just heard. “Sugar and honey? In the grout? But why?”
Dad leaned back, taking a long drag on his cigar. “Just you wait and see, Pippi. Just you wait and see.” He went on to explain how he’d packed up his tools, pocketed half the pay, and left with a smile, knowing full well what was coming next.
“But Dad,” I interrupted, “wouldn’t they notice something was off with the grout?”
He shook his head, chuckling. “Nah, not right away. It looked just fine when it dried. But a few weeks later…”
I leaned in, hanging on his every word. “What happened a few weeks later?”
