The plumber and I are the two most over-socialized people I know.
He was just here last week, to replace the washers in my shower faucet (One hundred dollars in labor to replace two washers). Everything's dandy for a few days, until Thursday night when I notice a leak from the cold water knob.
Even though I have a sneaking suspicion that the stem is completely worn out, which would mean that the faucet must be replaced, it being unlikely that I will find a replacement stem, I call up the plumber anyway and cling to the hope that perhaps the money I spent last week could go towards what is sure to be an expensive operation on my shower. I am delusional.
The plumber arrives and takes a look. He identifies the problem as a bad stem and, sure enough, my choices are either to replace the faucet or live with the leak. While I'm not the most handy homeowner around, I do know that leaks are not something one lives with. The rough estimate for replacing the faucet is high enough to give me the vapors. Okay. Not only do I have to buy a new faucet (the plumber happens to have one out on his truck), there will be some extra labor expenses because there is no access panel to get at the old faucet to remove it. A hole must be cut in my bedroom wall. I'm beginning to see why it's called the "master bath": it's going to take over my life, or at least my bank account. Okay. I decide to go ahead with it and then the fun begins.
I try to spend as much time as possible in my sitting room, working on my electronic devices homework, but I make little progress because of the alarming sounds coming from the next room.
First, some sawing and then "Oh!"
I go in and look. The large square hole cut in my wall, at a position that will be only partially covered by the mirror I have hanging on that wall, reveals the back end of the current faucet which has been entwined with two-by-fours in an unnatural manner which is probably illegal in this state.
"Oh," I say brightly. "That's where the stud is in that wall. When we were trying hang that mirror, we couldn't find it."
In fact, two studs run down vertically between the hot and cold sides of the faucet. One of the studs runs between the faucet and the drywall installed behind the shower. A few inches below the valves are crosswise studs which have had holes made in them for the pipes to run through. No cut-off valves were installed. Obviously when they installed my shower, they put in the shower, then dry wall and some studs, then the faucet and more studs, and then more drywall, leaving no access panel and no need for cut-off valves because there was no way to get at them.
The plumber and I exchange horrified expressions. I figure he's thinking, "Oh shit! I'm going to fucking be here for fucking hours!" Likewise, I am thinking "Oh shit! He's going to fucking be here for fucking hours at fucking $100 per hour!"
For posterity, I take some pictures of the whole mess. They didn't come out because my little camera lacks a flash and so the picture looks pretty much like a black hole to hell.
And so it is. I return to my sitting room and try and concentrate while the plumber keeps at it. My studies are constantly interrupted by outcries (Oh! Augh! Eeh! Err!), sounds of sawing, sounds of hammering. The only sounds that I never hear all afternoon are the word "oops" or any profanity. I occasionally go in and look and see what new indignity has been the cause of the exclamations. Every time I do, I have cause to mouth the words "oh shit" and consider just what this new difficulty will cost me. The process of getting out parts of the two-by-fours to allow removal of the old faucet takes quite a while. The water pipes are in the wrong location for the new faucet which is going to be correctly installed, so the plumber is forced to use little copper elbow joints to connect the pipes to the new faucet.
This goes on for hours. The plumber is forced to take many trips out to his van in the pouring rain. The temperature is 34 °F too, which only adds to the delight of the day. He can't help tracking in puddles of water and grit that mix with the drywall dust to form a paste which, even after I've mopped, still forms a white film on my bedroom floor that only comes off when I rub it with my fingers.
Finally, he's done, and I go in and admire the faucet knobs which actually turn, and the cut-off valves installed on the pipes so that in twenty years when the faucet needs to be replaced we will not have to cut off water to the house for several hours. The plumber clears up some of his junk and I open windows because the fumes from his blowtorch and the molten solder (yes, we are breathing evaporated lead) are starting to get to me. Then he goes to install the removable panel that will cover up the whole. Naturally, a crosswise stud is at the exact location to block one of the clips that hold the panel in place.
"Oh, well." He gets out a chisel and a hammer and knocks out a chunk of wood to make room for the clip.
During this process, the man arrives and I invite him upstairs so the plumber can show off his work. The man looks at it and says to the plumber, "Better you than me."
All is well in the end. The bill is a few hundred dollars less than I was expecting. For the first time since I moved into this house in 1995, I take a shower without the hot water turning itself off. When I'm done, I turn off the hot and cold taps at the same time, whereas before I always had to turn them off one after the other, because the knobs were so stiff I couldn't turn them one-handed. Although I had no choice about getting the work done, I do at least get some tangible benefit from it.
And after all this, I probably won't have to deal with plumbing problems again for a while, or so I think to myself as I take out my contacts and get ready for bed. Then I hear it.
Drip.
It's from the sink, where the U-bend goes into the wall.
Drip.
This time I swear out loud.
1139 words | February 7, 2004 08:54 PM | Real true story