I discovered yesterday, late in the day, that two important birthdays had all but eluded me.
January 27th, the classical station informed me, was the birthdate of the sublime, the celestial, the prolific Mozart. If you lie down feeling pummeled at the end of a long day and this is what you hear on the radio, you have pretty much gone to Heaven:
After a while I revived, only to learn as I made a last check of my inbox that — according to the Roto-Rooter company, which once sent me a flirtatious technician to clear my foundation drain (yes, I know that sounds rude) — yesterday was also the death date of Thomas Crapper.
(Why they chose to commemorate his demise I am not sure, though my old EMT boyfriend used to refer to mortal expiration as “shitting the bed.” That is EMT talk. I only report the news, I don’t make it.)
Apparently Roto-Rooter has a small line in this kind of thing.
Given what we know about Wolfgang Amadeus, he would have loved it.
NSFW, but only if they speak German where you work.