What do a second-hand dishwasher, a leaky faucet, a problem with water pressure, and an Italian plumber named Mario all have in common? In two words – this reporter.

They know that Monday is my busiest day of the week. They have vowed to not disturb their youngest daughter on her most high pressure deadline day. In fact, I’ve often heard them boasting (even in the aisles of the Italian church), that they are not the type of parents that would ever even consider, for one second, to interrupt, impose, or interfere with their daughters’ lives. I’d love to know what the repercussions are when one blatantly lies while standing smacked dab in the centre aisle of the Italian Church?

Surely there are those that believe in past lives. On that note, perhaps in another life, I was a controlling, medaling, guilt-inducing Italian mother, and this time around, the universe is laughing as I get my “just desserts.”

So onto this plumber situation - his name is Mario, and although my parents have run into him and his wife in the Italian grocer from time to time, they assume that I have their telephone number somewhere in my personal telephone directory. Telling me that this plumber’s wife always orders 300 grams of hot salami does not help my investigation. A last name would come in handy, as would an up-to-date passport and a one-way ticket to Botswana at a time like this.

When I try to explain that I would really love to help, but this is such a high-pressure day for me, and perhaps one of my many uncle’s could be of more assistance, I fall into the “we came to this country for a better life” story. I listened until she got to the part about Halifax Harbor and that was enough. I interrupted and agreed to locate this Italian plumber named Mario, if it was the last thing I did on this, my busiest day of the week. Afterall, how many Italian plumbers named Mario could there be in Ottawa?

Two hours later, I am still on the telephone and have spoken to some 13 Italian plumbers named Mario – none of whom are married to a short, brunette woman who orders 300 grams of hot Calabrese salami from the Italian grocer.

As a last resort, I call in one of my two lifelines – the sibling in pecking order above me. Apparently, she has heard of an Italian plumber named Mario, and believes he may have once been the landlord of the sister in the pecking order above her. Down to my last life line, I ring sister number one up at her place of employment, and blatantly lie to the receptionist that, “this is indeed, a family emergency.”

Fortunately, this unknown couple and their salami habit match the description of a landlord couple the sister rented from sometime during the late l970’s. Now that I have a last name, I ring directory assistance and within seconds, I am on the line speaking Italian with a complete stranger. All I know about this woman is that her husband has a penchant for hot Italian salami, and perhaps a cholesterol problem. What are the odds of this reporter finding a needle in a haystack? Turns out, I located the illusive plumber, and left a message with his kind wife, who has invited my entire family over for lunch this Sunday.

I wish my parents could have been as excited as I was when I called them to deliver the great news. Apparently, my father does not believe in leaving messages, answering machines, or going to lunch at the home of complete strangers. He now refuses to leave the house until he hears back from the plumber, and it is all “my fault”.

Patience, humility, compassion - the quest for a simpler life continues.

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