Plumbing and I Not On Speaking Terms

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Our house is 35 years old. Most of the fixtures are original. Plumbing issues pop up often, especially lately. A thread of consistency links each of these breakdowns. They always occur at night or on weekends. Always. Twice I have been forced to call a plumber on Saturday to clear roots out of a clogged sewer line. That is an unwelcome byproduct of having lots of trees in the yard. It was call a plumber on Saturday morning or stay in a hotel over the weekend. Actually, that might have been cheaper. Two fellows came out and used a giant metal snake to clear out the line. Drop rock salt in the toilet once a week right before going to bed and flush twice, one advised me. It will kill the roots. He also handed me a bill for $300. Double time.

I have been using rock salt regularly since.

Several weeks ago, the P-trap beneath the kitchen sink began leaking. Not much, but enough to require me to take everything out from under the sink and attempt to fix it. P-traps are called that because if you look at one sideways, it looks like that letter. They have a deceptively simple design and come apart quite easily. But P-traps and I have never gotten along, as with all things plumbing-related. I tried tightening the plastic piece that seemed to be leaking. It got worse. Before I was done, the sink drain was also leaking. It was time to call the plumber and write a $130 check.

My life is littered with spectacular plumbing mishaps. In a previous relationship, we had just purchased a nice home in Nacogdoches. I was attempting to hook up the copper pipe to the refrigerator icemaker and managed to break the cutoff valve, which sent water spewing all over the kitchen floor and into the dining room. Since we had moved in just hours later, I had no idea where the main cutoff was. I found it easily enough but my tools were still packed. I went running up the street, knocking on doors, asking if anyone had a t-bar to turn the valve. That’s one way to get quickly acquainted with the neighbors. The plumber arrived to replace the copper cutoff. It was a Saturday.

At another house, a kitchen sink spigot was leaking. I decided to fix it while nobody was home. Inexplicably, I did not turn the water off under the sink before taking apart the spigot. Water shot up in an Old-Faithful-like geyser, hitting the ceiling. I knew there was a cutoff under the sink and contained the damage after about 20 seconds — and a roughly equal number of cusswords. A lot of water can flow in 20 seconds. I managed to put the leaking spigot back together, sop up the water with towels, and get them washed and dried before the peeps returned, none the wiser. I called a plumber. It was a Saturday.

So I have retired from plumbing. I have a brother-in-law who used to be a plumber’s helper and can do most everything required. But he lives 30 miles away. The latest breakdown was my shower valve, which had become increasingly hard to turn off. He planned to come Sunday and help fix this, until the Monday night before I could not turn if off at all. The valve was stripped. I stood there in my birthday suit trying vainly to turn off the water. No luck. So I toweled off, announced the bad news to the peeps. I would have to turn off the water until morning.

I called our latest plumber, a young man hungry for business and very competent. He actually answered his own cell phone at 8 o’clock in the evening. This is unprecedented. He promised to be at my house by 7:30 a.m. I went outside with channel locks and a flashlight to cut off the water, after my Beautiful Mystery Companion filled a few jugs for making coffee and brushing teeth.

I could not budge the cutoff valve outside. A new one was installed last year, made of plastic. I was convinced it was going to break off if I applied too much force. That would have likely shot a plume of water 30 feet in the air and require me to call the city’s emergency number. So I wisely gave up and told my BMC the shower would have to run all night. Being frugal, she fretted over the expense.

I said, just think of it as yet another time I forgot to turn off the water when filling the swimming pool. (I have done that about five times in four years.) She was not mollified but resigned to it. I just shut the doors to the bathroom so the sound of running water was barely audible.

The plumber showed up as promised, and turned off the main valve with one quick twist. I have to work harder on my hand strength. He replaced a valve in the shower. I wrote yet another check, this time for $225. (He had to fix the kitchen faucet as well. It was leaking, and I had no intention of touching it.)

The house goes up for sale soon, as we downsize. None too soon for me.

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