Adventures in plumbing and other details about the end of my week
So as we'll all remember, my sink exploded a couple weeks back. It was bad. Since the nice plumberman, Jim, came that first time and assessed the situation (and turned off the water because apparently I'm too stupid to have thought of that one myself), I've been spraying the floor under the sink with Clorox in hopes of killing the icky mold that grew in the swamp. I also bought a new faucet. Yesterday afternoon I called Jim back to schedule a time for him to come and replace the old faucet. That time was this morning.
A bit (more) context. I emailed my coworkers to let them know I'd be in late. My appointment was at 8, so I figured I'd be in by 10. After all, it's a simple job, right? Right. One boss immediately puts a $50 bet down that the plumber will be late. I accepted his bet.
7:45 a.m. Jim rings the bell. Or tries, but the intercom system on this frakking ancient building I own 1/16th of is broken. So he calls me instead, and I buzz him up. He dives in.
7:50: Jim manages to fold most of his 6-foot frame under my sink. It is not a big space, and yet there he went. Polite, moderated cursing begins; he'd torn his pants open on a nailhead that was sticking up from where I tore out the old cupboard bottom.
7:55: Pipes are apart. I run the U-bend thingie to the bathroom to dump the gross standing water. The bolt/washer at the top of that joint is rusted through. No wonder I had a swamp under my sink.
8:00: Jim takes me up on my offer to hand him stuff, and is immediately impressed when I hand him the correct tool. What I didn't tell him is that I had no idea what tool he asked for--I took a guess based on the context of what he was trying to do, and picked the thing that looked like it might do that. Good guess. My dad would be proud.
8: 15: Old sink is out. Installation of new sink begins. Handing over of tools still accurate and timely.
8:20: Realization that new sink's hoses and stuff aren't the same length as old sink's. Jim exits the undersink swamp to go on hardware store run. We are both relieved to confirm that it was only the hip pocket of his jeans that tore, not the whole seat, and that--I'm quoting here "You can't see my underwear." I manage to resist the urge to make plumberbutt jokes and reassure him that his undies are safe from me. He gives himself an assessing look and bemoans the fact that, despite not having his ass hanging out his jeans, he does look like he peed his pants. Which, sadly, is exactly what it looked like had happened. Jim braces himself for mocking and heads out to local hardware store.
8:35: Return of Jim. Frakking intercom still doesn't work. Jim folds self under sink again. I hand him stuff and hold new faucet steady while he tightens various things. Project progresses nicely.
8:45: Water test. We are a go.
8:50: Various hoses attached. Faucet test. Huh. Faucet leaks from a weird place on the top of the nozzle thingie (technical term). We take nozzle thingie apart. Small white plastic thingie literally leaps out of the faucet's guts and flies across kitchen. That can't be a good sign. We muck around with faucet and its guts for a good 15 minutes before Jim declares it broken.
9:05: After some debate over strategy, Jim departs for Home Depot with broken faucet nozzle thingie and my original receipt. His mission is to find an identical faucet and make the Home Depot people swap out the defective thingie for a working thingie. He looks even weirder, as the front of his jeans are still soaked, but now he has a faucet in his pocket. I call work and tell them there's no way in hell I'll be in by 10, and I may have to just abandon hope and take a personal day. However, I assert, Dick still owes me $50 because the bet was when the plumber would show up, not when he'd be done.
To pass the time, I sweep and vacuum and generally pick up.
9:50: Re-Return of Jim, bearing entire new faucet. He's a tricksy one! They wouldn't break the package to give him a new nozzle thingie, so he bought a whole new one, and we now swap out the old one ourselves, so he'll have a complete defective set to return for a full refund. New nozzle thingie goes on like a dream and doesn't leak even a little. Great pressure, too.
9:55: Drain test. Sink fills, then drains. Sounds good, but there's a steady drip. Death in his eyes, Jim goes back under the sink. Unscrews joints, applies Teflon tape to joints, rescrews joints. I helped! The crap contractors who originally did my sink didn't put in any support for the main pipes, so they pull down heavily, which makes it really hard to attach things. I tried holding up the big pipes while Jim tightened, but I couldn't reach the pipes without getting engaged to him. So he held the pipes up and I tightened the washers until my girlitude was exposed and he had to take over. (Technically, this should be "further exposed;" he'd seen my girly hammer and laughed at me. For the record, I do have a real hammer. This one was just on top. Plus, my sainted dead father gave me this one when I was six, which is why it's so little and girly!)
10:15: Drain test the second. Success! Dry as a bone! Rejoicing! Jim crawls out for the last time, shooting eye daggers at the underneath of my sink.
10:20: Attempt at replacing the flapper thingie on my toilet, which has the flakiest flush habits ever--very annoying. Easy swap out, but sadly the flapper thingie he had was the wrong side. Pregnant pause. Seeing the death in his eyes, I reassure him that having seen how the thing goes together, I can buy a new flapper thingie and install it on my own.
10:30: Signing of the check, which was for $70 more than I was quoted, but which I expected and was fine with, seeing as how the poor man tore and wet his pants and made two equipment runs. He gives me his card on the way out, and I thank him profusely for his help, adding that I'll be sure to call him if anything like this ever happens again. Death reappears in the eyes of Jim, and I quickly take it back.
My other news isn't really news. It's just that I had this weird intense dream that totally crossed the line from fangirl fantasy into confusing real-life dream. Short version: Epic (but in a very domestic way) love story about me and This Guy who was at once Tim, Chief Tryol, Aaron Douglas, the actor who plays Chief. There were trees and kissing and a baby in a baby carriage and everything. And at the very end, when we were all (I say "all" because This Guy sort of changed faces/characters throughout in a confusing way) lounging about on a lawn by a beach and cooing over the baby (it was his, by a first wife-tragically dead to us now) and being all domestic, the baby turned into Minou and woke me up purring because I was petting her face in my sleep.
Oh. And my mother and aunt have reservations in the nearby motel for their April trip. My sister's staying with me. We seem to be having a slumber party Friday night, because there are no rooms to be found in town that weekend. Five adult female products of my gene pool in one one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment. I'll let you know how that goes. We also have our summer tickets to France! Yay! The number of gene pool products increases, it's true, but there will be more space for us to splash around.
ETA: Amazing what one little closing > will change about an entry...
A bit (more) context. I emailed my coworkers to let them know I'd be in late. My appointment was at 8, so I figured I'd be in by 10. After all, it's a simple job, right? Right. One boss immediately puts a $50 bet down that the plumber will be late. I accepted his bet.
7:45 a.m. Jim rings the bell. Or tries, but the intercom system on this frakking ancient building I own 1/16th of is broken. So he calls me instead, and I buzz him up. He dives in.
7:50: Jim manages to fold most of his 6-foot frame under my sink. It is not a big space, and yet there he went. Polite, moderated cursing begins; he'd torn his pants open on a nailhead that was sticking up from where I tore out the old cupboard bottom.
7:55: Pipes are apart. I run the U-bend thingie to the bathroom to dump the gross standing water. The bolt/washer at the top of that joint is rusted through. No wonder I had a swamp under my sink.
8:00: Jim takes me up on my offer to hand him stuff, and is immediately impressed when I hand him the correct tool. What I didn't tell him is that I had no idea what tool he asked for--I took a guess based on the context of what he was trying to do, and picked the thing that looked like it might do that. Good guess. My dad would be proud.
8: 15: Old sink is out. Installation of new sink begins. Handing over of tools still accurate and timely.
8:20: Realization that new sink's hoses and stuff aren't the same length as old sink's. Jim exits the undersink swamp to go on hardware store run. We are both relieved to confirm that it was only the hip pocket of his jeans that tore, not the whole seat, and that--I'm quoting here "You can't see my underwear." I manage to resist the urge to make plumberbutt jokes and reassure him that his undies are safe from me. He gives himself an assessing look and bemoans the fact that, despite not having his ass hanging out his jeans, he does look like he peed his pants. Which, sadly, is exactly what it looked like had happened. Jim braces himself for mocking and heads out to local hardware store.
8:35: Return of Jim. Frakking intercom still doesn't work. Jim folds self under sink again. I hand him stuff and hold new faucet steady while he tightens various things. Project progresses nicely.
8:45: Water test. We are a go.
8:50: Various hoses attached. Faucet test. Huh. Faucet leaks from a weird place on the top of the nozzle thingie (technical term). We take nozzle thingie apart. Small white plastic thingie literally leaps out of the faucet's guts and flies across kitchen. That can't be a good sign. We muck around with faucet and its guts for a good 15 minutes before Jim declares it broken.
9:05: After some debate over strategy, Jim departs for Home Depot with broken faucet nozzle thingie and my original receipt. His mission is to find an identical faucet and make the Home Depot people swap out the defective thingie for a working thingie. He looks even weirder, as the front of his jeans are still soaked, but now he has a faucet in his pocket. I call work and tell them there's no way in hell I'll be in by 10, and I may have to just abandon hope and take a personal day. However, I assert, Dick still owes me $50 because the bet was when the plumber would show up, not when he'd be done.
To pass the time, I sweep and vacuum and generally pick up.
9:50: Re-Return of Jim, bearing entire new faucet. He's a tricksy one! They wouldn't break the package to give him a new nozzle thingie, so he bought a whole new one, and we now swap out the old one ourselves, so he'll have a complete defective set to return for a full refund. New nozzle thingie goes on like a dream and doesn't leak even a little. Great pressure, too.
9:55: Drain test. Sink fills, then drains. Sounds good, but there's a steady drip. Death in his eyes, Jim goes back under the sink. Unscrews joints, applies Teflon tape to joints, rescrews joints. I helped! The crap contractors who originally did my sink didn't put in any support for the main pipes, so they pull down heavily, which makes it really hard to attach things. I tried holding up the big pipes while Jim tightened, but I couldn't reach the pipes without getting engaged to him. So he held the pipes up and I tightened the washers until my girlitude was exposed and he had to take over. (Technically, this should be "further exposed;" he'd seen my girly hammer and laughed at me. For the record, I do have a real hammer. This one was just on top. Plus, my sainted dead father gave me this one when I was six, which is why it's so little and girly!)
10:15: Drain test the second. Success! Dry as a bone! Rejoicing! Jim crawls out for the last time, shooting eye daggers at the underneath of my sink.
10:20: Attempt at replacing the flapper thingie on my toilet, which has the flakiest flush habits ever--very annoying. Easy swap out, but sadly the flapper thingie he had was the wrong side. Pregnant pause. Seeing the death in his eyes, I reassure him that having seen how the thing goes together, I can buy a new flapper thingie and install it on my own.
10:30: Signing of the check, which was for $70 more than I was quoted, but which I expected and was fine with, seeing as how the poor man tore and wet his pants and made two equipment runs. He gives me his card on the way out, and I thank him profusely for his help, adding that I'll be sure to call him if anything like this ever happens again. Death reappears in the eyes of Jim, and I quickly take it back.
My other news isn't really news. It's just that I had this weird intense dream that totally crossed the line from fangirl fantasy into confusing real-life dream. Short version: Epic (but in a very domestic way) love story about me and This Guy who was at once Tim, Chief Tryol, Aaron Douglas, the actor who plays Chief. There were trees and kissing and a baby in a baby carriage and everything. And at the very end, when we were all (I say "all" because This Guy sort of changed faces/characters throughout in a confusing way) lounging about on a lawn by a beach and cooing over the baby (it was his, by a first wife-tragically dead to us now) and being all domestic, the baby turned into Minou and woke me up purring because I was petting her face in my sleep.
Oh. And my mother and aunt have reservations in the nearby motel for their April trip. My sister's staying with me. We seem to be having a slumber party Friday night, because there are no rooms to be found in town that weekend. Five adult female products of my gene pool in one one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment. I'll let you know how that goes. We also have our summer tickets to France! Yay! The number of gene pool products increases, it's true, but there will be more space for us to splash around.
ETA: Amazing what one little closing > will change about an entry...