The Return of Kaptain Kombinować
I made a rare sighting of Kaptain Kombinować today. Kaptain Kombinować is Poland's only superhero. He is the secret identity of every Polish male over the age of 35. Unlike Batman or Superman, Kaptain Kombinować does not fight crime, he fights entropy. Whenever something breaks down or falls apart because it is too old, Kaptain Kombinować appears in a blinding white light and fixes it with a large hammer and some tape. It doesn't matter if it's a fridge or a nuclear power station—Kaptain K has no fear.
I first met Kaptain Kombinować a few months ago when my electricity meter had to be replaced. For reasons that are too complicated to explain, and probably illegal, my landlord decided this was a job he should do himself. He nipped into the bathroom and emerged seconds later as Kaptain Kombinować. I was impressed. His uniform consisted of tracksuit bottoms that only came halfway down his calves and an inside-out Limahl T-shirt. In his hand he grasped the mighty Hammer of Kombinować.
Twenty minutes later the old meter was gone and a shiny new one was in its place. It seemed Kaptain Kombinować had triumphed again—the meter showed no signs of falling off the wall and nobody important had been electrocuted. Actually turning on anything electrical was a bigger problem. Flipping a switch of any kind, or even going near a plug, caused the electrical supply to the entire building to fail in a blue flash that was probably visible in China. Adjustments were made with a bent screwdriver to no avail. I began to mentally list the advantages of living without the evils of modern electrical appliances.
After long and mighty efforts with the Hammer of Kombinować, electricity was restored for lights, but nothing else. By consulting with his underground network of superhero chums, Kaptain K learned that a secret code had to be programmed into the meter before it would allow the vast wattages required by rare and powerful appliances such as super hadron colliders and toasters. The code was 20 digits long. I was skeptical. Military-grade encryption is not the kind of thing you can circumvent with a large hammer, no matter how hard you kombinować it.
Several days later, much of which had been taken up with phone calls consisting of 20-digit numbers, the situation was only slightly improved. Kaptain K decided to try a new tactic. I needed a new water heater, he insisted. I have no idea why this was supposed to help, but at least it had the advantage of sidelining the crypto-mathematics and bringing the hammer back into play. The Kaptain appeared the next day with a 60-litre water heater across his shoulders. Trailing wires and clumps of plaster showed that it had only recently been liberated from duties elsewhere.
Water heaters are heavy things, especially when filled with 60 litres of water. Fortunately, one of Kaptain K’s superpowers is the ability to negate gravity. At least I assume this is the case because the tiny screws he was intending to attach is to the wall with would have been about as effective as dried spit. I never did get to see how a water heater can be attached to a plasterboard wall with 4-centimetre screws, because the Kaptain was called away on another emergency. A dam collapsed in Chile the following day, but I’m sure this was just a coincidence.
Today was the first time I have see Kaptain K in months. The moustache was different and the T-shirt featured Budka Suflera, but it was definitely the legend himself. He was heading upstairs with a very familiar water heater. If Poland goes dark in the next few hours, you will know why.
Jamie Stokes
