Photo: http://sportzfun.com/photos/boxing/boxing_giantWe were positioned a couple feet from each other, alone in the bathroom. With the door closed, we stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity--neither of us flinching, but one of us dripping.
I tried to mask the fear that swirled inside me, but I knew my facade was transparent. I was heavily unarmed, while it was decisively defiant. A fight was about to break out, and I was coming in as the underdog.
In my heart I knew I had a puncher's chance, and I've watched enough Rocky movies to know that kind of chance is worth something. The bell rang and I immediately went for the cold-water handle. I twisted and pulled until the decorative grip came off and the innards were exposed.
I was in a struggle to stop a leaky faucet, and it was obvious I had no strategy.
By some act of providence, I luckily remembered to turn off the water shut-off valve located below the sink. Then, with my makeshift tool set, I undid bolts and lifted flanges. I tweaked a few things, then put the faucet back together. I turned the water valve back on and took a step back, only to see the drip return.
I went back in for round two, and started to take the faucet apart once more. I freed a couple parts until I got to the faucet cartridge. I pulled up on it, and that's when it hit. A gush of water was suddenly shooting me in the face and drenching my clothes. For all I knew, I was standing over Old Faithful. I shielded my eyes as I tried to see where the attack was coming from.
Turns out I'd forgotten to turn off the water shut-off valve the second time. Little O-rings, springs, and washers were spread around me; I had no idea where they came from, or where they belonged. I was dazed and my clothes were drenched, as was everything else in the room. The match had ended by knockout.
A rematch was scheduled for one week later, and the sink was on lock-down until then. I prepped myself by making a trip to Lowe's to get several new faucet parts, as well as a couple more tools. I made it to the plumbing aisle, where I joined a couple other guys who were staring helplessly before an array of plumbing parts.
We each took several turns picking something off the shelf, looking it over, then putting it back. A drip of confidence couldn't be squeezed from the lot of us.
Eventually, a store employee came by and asked if we needed help finding anything. I glanced around at the other guys in the aisle, and they glanced back at me. Everyone was hoping someone would speak up and set a precedent that it was OK to receive help. But after several moments of silence, the employee shrugged and walked off.
I randomly grabbed a few things and headed home. I felt assured as I walked back into the ring with my new arsenal. I waited for the bell, then in a flash I had the water shut off, the faucet dismantled, and new parts inserted. I turned the water shut-off valve back on and waited, breathing heavily. No drip. I had come back strong, and I'd won by knockout in the first round.
If you don't want to pay a plumber $50/hour, you've got to be willing to put up a fight.
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3 comments:
Pay a plumber. Really. You will become your dad.
I'll give you props for "bouncing back" and getting the job done. But I'll have to go along with you mother for future, more difficult problems, say... the septic tank. Don't tackle that. My dad is like yours. He tried and succeeded but the wife was no happier due to the length of time it took and the inconvenience it caused. Not to mention the stink. "Happy wife = happy life."
That made me laugh so hard!! We currently have a leaky sprayer on our kitchen faucet if you're up for round three!
Way to go fixing it yourself, though.
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