The Toilet Saga
My toilet has had an on-again-off-again leak for a month or so. I’m never sure where the water is coming from, but sometimes the bathroom rug is sort of damp. That was the extent of the leak, so I wasn’t ever particularly concerned. This weekend the leak got more consistent, still slow, but it definitely needed someone to look at it.
On Tuesday I finally got around to calling my landlady to tell her that the toilet was leaking. She freaked out and replied “oh shit!” I reassured her that it wasn’t too bad and she said she’d get someone to come out and look at it the next day.
On Wednesday, I didn’t get home until 6:30PM or so, and I was sure that someone would have already been there and fixed the toilet. Imagine my surprise when I open the bathroom door and the entire bathroom is flooded. There was at least an inch and a half of water on the floor. When I left that morning there was a very very very slow leak that in no way could have flooded the bathroom, even in the 10 hours I was gone. I looked around and the toilet was leaking in multiple places and the water was still turned on at the wall. I turned the water off and went to call my landlady. When I told her that the bathroom was flooded she said “I was just there.” That’s basically all I can get out of her, besides the promise that she’ll send someone out to look at it at 4PM the next day. 4PM. Not in the morning. Not at a reasonable time. No, she’s going to send someone to look at the very broken toilet AN HOUR BEFORE THE ONLY HARDWARE STORE CLOSES. I try to remain calm. I mop up the water. I put bowls down to catch as much of the drips as I can.
On Thursday, I get home at 4:15PM. There’s no plumber. There’s no landlady. No nothing. I wait until 4:30PM to call the landlady. She assures me most emphatically that the plumber and her son are on their way “RIGHT NOW” and that she herself will be there soon.
By six o’clock I’ve pretty much decided that they’re not coming. Breathing deeply, I try to convince myself not to freak out. I can’t call and have the hissy fit that I want to have because this is a tiny island. If I make my landlady mad- even if it’s perfectly reasonable for me to ask “WHERE IN THE HELL ARE YOU” when you’re two hours late- then the plumber will never come and I will be stuck without a functional toilet for who knows how long.
A little after six, they finally show up, Heinekens in hand. I meet the plumber. His name is Elvis. He tells me not to worry “because Elvis IS in the building.” I start to feel reassured when he tells me that he is an actual plumber and was not the person that looked at the toilet the day before and made one slow leak into three fast leaks. As he surveys the toilet he proclaims “oh God, this is a disaster.” I start to get frustrated again. He throws his empty Heineken bottle away and wanders outside.
He eventually returned and while outside must have convinced the landlady and her son that I needed a completely new toilet. He tells me that the job won’t be finished until tomorrow. This is not shocking to me because at this point the HARDWARE STORE IS MOST DEFINITELY CLOSED and where else would they get a new toilet?
Fortunately for me, my landlady keeps a spare toilet outside in the carport. He installed the brand-new-ish-carport-toilet in record time using a grand total of three tools he procured from thin air. It only took until 9PM.
I made sure to check for leaks before he left and he promised that he’d be back today to check all the seals.
What happened on Wednesday to make one slow leak into multiple fast leaks?
Was the plumber’s name really Elvis?
Why was there a spare (new-ish) toilet in the carport?
I don’t know and I don’t really care, but I couldn’t make this shit up.