Chim Chim Charoo

A few nights ago, we discovered our fireplace. It has been apparently just sitting in the living room and no one noticed.

Well that's not true. A possum noticed. It not only noticed, it did it's best imitation of the Grinch Santa and crawled down, only to get caught a few times. Now, aren't possums the critters who when scared, play dead? Isn't that where 'play possum' comes from? Because this possum didn't play dead at all. It freaked out like Robert Pattinson in a Wisconsin mall. It flailed around, slammed it's little possum head against the bricks, scratched, clawed and tapped danced it's way up and out after three hours.

Well, after a few days, when the chairs with additional furniture stockpiled upon it to block the opening were removed, we realized that a fire would be good. We knew the odds of smoking a possum, but decided to live an adventure. All went well (read: no crispy critter), but I thought this would be a good time for a chimney sweep. Once the company was called, it was a matter of just waiting for the sooty man in the top hat to arrive.

Today, he arrived, on time and ready, sans top hat and black clothes with the slightly too short pants. He was covered in soot. In fact, he look exactly like Sock on Reaper. A transplant from Boston, this appeared to be the natural job for him. He's a musician. As he did know what he was doing, describing in detail the procedure, he mentioned that he had been doing this for about a year. There is a high turnaround for Chimney Sweeps (all the soot make the doctors tend not to believe that they don't smoke 17 packs a day), but no shortage of musicians to take the torch from the previous employee. It was disappointing until he brought out from the truck the long chimney sweep brush. Once there, I applauded and beamed. He knew I was waiting for it, as everyone waits for that. That is why he didn't bring it out of the truck until 30 minutes later. This brought out the awkward disclosure that seems mandated by the company: he doesn't sing the song. You know the song, and he doesn't sing it. I noted the irony (musician who doesn't sing) and we got passed that moment.

When I explained that I owned a record company in Boston in the late 80's, he broke character and told me that he was thinking about learning the words to the song, to see how many additional clients he could get, as well as extra tips. I told him that I would purposely send him to people's houses if he did, even if they don't have a chimney. He pondered this, and then said he just may. I'm hoping he did. While he was up in the chimney, I could have sworn I hear the song. Slightly humming progressed into a light Coldplay style singing. Creepy and kooky.

I tipped $20 extra (I knew I would write about it) and even sootier, he was off. Sock knew when the job is done, you exit, before Scary Mary enters the scene.