“Hey Bob, I put a little grease on mine.”

Marty’s elbow digs into the ridge of Bob’s ribcage, causing him to look down and scowl. He focuses on Marty’s front belt loop, where the gray, Vaseline-looking grease has already turned the denim a sickly blue.

“It’ll make the belt come off easier,” he explains to only himself.

Bob sucks in and snarls out of the side of his mouth.

“Will you shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ prick.”

Marty looks wounded, like a kid who just got an F on a drawing he thought was masterpiece material.

“Geez, why do you have to be so mean?”

“Because I’m standing next to a fuckin’ re… err idiot who just greased his own pants.”

A couple plumbers down the line snicker, one of them whispering, “Dumbass.”

Then thunk thunk thunk as heavy boots hit the floor on the main stage.

All at once, the plumbing apprentices stiffen to attention. Tools clank against thighs, buttons pop against bulging bellies, and hands find the leather of their belts that they’ll be wearing for perhaps the last time. The crowd erupts as the head plumber takes the podium, scans the crowd, then turns to the line of plumbers behind him.

“Men… the past twelve months of apprenticeship school have led you to this moment.”

Marty sneaks a look at Bob, searching for approval, but Bob’s too busy clenching his jaw, getting ready for the moment where he officially becomes a man.

“We told you to find tools that didn’t exist. Remember the left-handed hacksaw?” A ripple of snickers passes through the crowd.

“We made you feel guilty based on the type of lunch you packed. Now you know why you shouldn’t bring forks to a job site.”

A few of the plumbers shake their heads grimacing at the ground.

“We taught you how to string customers along, show up late, promise one thing and deliver another.”

He pauses, leaning forward, his voice dropping lower.

“And more importantly… we taught you the path of the plunger.”

A hush falls over the crowd.

Bob glances at his shoes, noticing the scuff marks and dried grout stains, while Marty scans the bleachers until he spots his mom waving two fists in the air, and his dad filming with a camcorder that still takes tapes.

“And today,” the head plumber continues, “is the day you officially lose your belts.”

His voice echoes in the auditorium.

“Belts as you know are used to hold things up.”

He speaks with absolute certainty.

“But plumbing, at its core is about letting things flow.”

A few gasps come from the crowd followed by some head nods.

“This is the reason plumbers don’t wear belts and today you’ve proven to me. … No… you’ve proven to yourself that you’re ready to let things flow.”

A few plumbers clear their nose.

The headmaster eyes the men, nods, then gestures toward the front of the hall, where a giant ceremonial plunger stands. Its rubber head shines under the fluorescent lights, the handle wrapped in gold duct tape.

“Gentlemen, when I walk past, I want you to toss your belt into the ceremonial plunger. Are you ready?”

All at once the plumbers grab the front of their belts and yell, “Yes, Headmaster.”

The headmaster marches down the line as, one by one, belts are ripped off and flung into the gaping rubber.

He approaches Marty and Bob.

Marty’s belt slides off like butter and he tosses it in with a grin.

“See, Bob? I told you it would work,” he says, elbowing Bob.

“Shut the fuck up, Marty,” Bob growls, wrestling his own belt before yanking it free and throwing it so hard it smacks the rim before dropping in.

The head plumber pivots, face scrunched like he just caught a whiff of sewage. For a second, the whole room freezes. Then he straightens, stomps back to the podium, and grips it tight.

He coughs into the microphone.
“Men, it gives me great pleasure to say this: you are now officially plumbers.”

A few tears streak down Marty’s face.

“Congrats, guys.”

The room erupts. Someone yells, “Flush it!” Another whistles.

The newest class of plumbers beams, beltless and proud hoisting their pants with one hand and their futures with the other.

That’s life in between the pipes.

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