In “Dirty Harry,” Clint Eastwood declared, “A man’s got to know his limitations.” True statement. When we refuse to acknowledge our limitations, disaster often results.
I’m fairly handy around the house, but when it comes to plumbing, my disasters are legendary. Every plumbing job from changing an aerator to a installing a toilet seat has become a catastrophe, so one would think that I would have learned my limitations.
Not so. Whenever my family sees me with a plumbing tool, they all but tackle me to stop me. They have good reason for their trepidation.
My most memorable plumbing calamity began as a simple toilet stool seat replacement. Simply unscrew the two plastic nuts underneath the bowl rim. But they were corroded and wouldn’t budge, so, I tried to use a screwdriver and my ’all-purpose tool’, the hammer, to loosen it.
As I struck the screwdriver, it slipped, punching a one-inch hole in the bottom of the bowl. In a quick out-of-the-mind experience, I decided to flush the toilet. My wife knew that my latest plumbing disaster had begun when a large water stain crept across the ceiling directly below me.
It’s amazing how quickly a couple of gallons of water can become a little pond from such a small hole. By the time I cleaned up the water, the stores were closed. I placed an “out of order” sign on the toilet. The next day I began checking the cost of a replacement toilet.
The plumbing shop required the exchange of the old toilet. This took quite some time, since I had to remove the floor bolts and disconnect the tank. I suppose I should have tried to dip the water out, but you guessed it, I flushed it again. I managed to catch most of the water, but not all of it. I took the toilet and exchanged it and headed home.
My confidence soared as I skillfully installed a new “wax ring,” secured the toilet to the floor, and victoriously attached the new seat, which had started the whole thing. My victory bubble quickly burst when I found that the holes in the new toilet didn’t line up with those in the old tank!
I called the plumbing shop, and was told to bring in either the toilet or the tank to match up with the right component. The inside of the tank consisted of so many moving parts, I opted to return the toilet. So, on Day Three I installed the new toilet. My neighbor, whose wife calls him “Tony, the Toolman,” came over to 'help' me.
We attached the tank to the toilet. Then I went to answer the phone while Tony secured the floor bolts. I heard him yell what must have been a German expletive. “You didn’t!” I yelled. “I did!” he yelled. He had tightened one side down too far, and when he tightened the other bolt, the toilet base broke in half.
The guy at the plumbing shop laughed much louder and longer than necessary before agreeing to replace the toilet for free. But, while dumping the water into the tub, it slipped and broke a large porcelain soap dish.
On Day Four I exchanged the toilet and installed it without further trauma, but every time it is flushed it makes a rumbling, burbling sound. Whenever I reach for my tools to fix it, my family insists they don‘t hear anything, and my wife points to Ecclesiastes 3 (“…a time to love; hate; heal; etc.) and reminds me that it does not mention a time to do plumbing. I am learning my limitations
