ACROSS THE STREET: Entering 'No (Wo)man's Land'

I spent the better part of a week staring at the corroded old aluminum faucet head I had removed from the galley area. It had been leaking water onto the countertop for over a year and the delight I felt after plucking it free felt similar to that of tweezing an unwanted hair. But this excitement had tapered away slowly in the days since, as I anticipated taking it across the street to the land of the same intimidating aluminumworkers that waved to me every morning on the way to the bathroom.

Finally I could wait no longer; I mustered the courage and wandered over. Standing meekly in a corner near the entrance to the wide garage door, I held out my dinky little piece like I hoped it would do the talking for me. A few men stopped what they were doing and just stared. I opened my mouth, but only a few squeaks came out, so I just smiled instead. Finally a tall, mustached man came to rescue me from my muteness. I explained (in French) what it was that I needed. He motioned me back into the dim depths of the warehouse.

Stepping inside the building, time seemed to freeze. The place went silent and I felt the eyes of all the other men track the rare female intruder all the way to the back where we stopped at a rack of aluminum tubing to find the matching diameter. We found what we needed and turned to face the audience behind us. My mustached friend motioned to the biggest man in the room. He lumbered slowly in our direction. I could have fit comfortably inside one of his pantlegs. His brow squished down towards his bulging cheeks and one eye wandered a bit to the left. Despite my instinct to run, I smiled up at him. He transformed from King Kong to King Kind, and with a slowly rising grin he leaned in to reach for the long piece of tubing that would soon be my new faucet. He set it horizontally in between two spaced, vertical posts and leaned his bulk against one end, bending it into a perfect arc to match the old one. With the same grin, he handed it back to Mustache Man, who lopped off the excess with a hack saw and handed me the shiny new piece.

"Combien? (How much?)" I asked, amazed that it could be that easy.

He pointed across the warehouse to a brown door at the entrance to a loft office. It looked so far away. By then I had almost forgotten about herd behind me. Despite another urge to sprint, I turned made slowly for the loft, greeting each of the men I passed on the way. I ascended the stairwell, knocked gently, and entered. A man sat bent over a newspaper. I held out my new faucethead.
"Grande travaille (Big work)!?" He joked.
"Oui" I agreed with a laugh.
"Just buy the guys who helped you a Coke." he said (in French, but I am terrible at writing French) and went back to reading his paper. I thanked him sincerely, descended, and slid four 100-franc coins into the slot of the machine. Two icy Cokes dumped out below. I tossed one to Mustache Man and the other to King Kind, spread a big goodbye around the warehouse, and finally got to satisfy my impulse to dash back to my side of the street.

And so Swell has a shiny new faucet for the saltwater footpump.