Job No. 12 on the clipboard of things to do — after opening my modest camp on the St. Lawrence River — was to figure out why the water, filling the toilet tank, wouldn’t shut off. It kept running into the overfill pipe. It needed immediate attention. Well, as immediate as No. 12 on a clipboard of (probably misplaced) priorities commands.
Note: To protect the innocent, part-names in the following story have been changed. The innocent? Me, because I don’t want to look any dumber, just because I don’t know what the actual parts are called.
Now back to our story: I knew that the water problem had nothing to do with the flapper that seals the tank from emptying into the poop-deck. It was not leaking (no pun intended).
And from experience, I knew that if you lift a small arm/lever in the tank on the frizzle-ginkus, the water shuts off. At least, it should. The one in this toilet was not working. I raised it up and it kept on a-flowing.
“A-ha, the problem is the frizzle-ginkus!” Genius. I was off to my laptop to dig deeper into the mechanics of how to fix it.
I found out that the part is actually called a fill valve. It’s that tall tube that stands in the tank on the left side like a miniature Statue of Liberty. You’re welcome. And I didn’t have to be the Columbo of plumbers to figure out that in my particular case, I needed to replace … Lady Liberty. “G’bye, it be gone.”
But before I rushed out, climbed 61 steps up to my truck, drove to town, walked into the plumbing department and came face-to-face with 176 different types of fill valves to choose from, I needed to know exactly what I had to get — and how to install it.
So I took the time to watch a do-it-yourself video on how to take the old one out and identify which particular part I needed. And — I’m so proud I thought of this — even better yet, I’d simply take the old one with me to make sure I got the right one. Cool, huh?!
Bingo, I wrenched the other one out, per the directions, and now, I literally had the situation in hand. I carried the ginkus into where Kathie was and, flipping it with the incompetent flair of a nervous 8-year old juggler in a grade-school talent show — just to show my wife how cool I am — said, “Check this out, I’m gonna take this baby to town, just to make sure I get the right one.” Dang, I’m good.
She pretended she was impressed (she really wasn’t but has learned over the years to just humor me): “You are something else. And because of that I’ve got a present for you.” Reaching for something on the dresser behind her, she grabbed a gift card she had from Christmas, handed it to me and explained, “Use this to pay for the thing and with the extra money, get yourself whatever you want.” Woo-hoo, things were looking up.
I grabbed my ball cap and sunglasses, bounded up the 61 steps like they were nothing, ran full-steam ahead to my white horse awaiting at the top of the hill and, putting my hands on its ass-end, catapulted onto the saddle and was at full gallop in mere seconds — headed to town. No?
OK, I trudged slowly up the equivalent of four flights of stairs, stopping every five or six steps for air, rested at the top landing for 15 minutes, and then waddled over to my Chevy pickup. With the last bit of energy I had, I slung the door open and plunked down in the driver’s seat. I was ready to call it a day, sleep nine hours and start again the next day. But no, I labored on, started the motor and drove to town.
I pulled into the parking at a Lowe’s store looking for a spot as close to the door as I could get. I spent 10 minutes jockeying around to save from walking three friggin’ steps. Good idea. What an idiot.
Anyhow, I marched right to the plumbing department, held up my hand and proudly asked Erik, the same guy I’ve dealt with before, “Got any of these?” He looked at me kind of funny-like and said “Any of what?”
Here’s the deal: Once I got to the store and Erik pointed out my empty hand, I realized I’d forgotten the fill valve. The same one I worked so hard to take out and bring with me. I’d left the damned thing back at the camp. Absolutely true. But, there is a God and, thankfully, Erik said he thought he’d be able to help me with a universal unit. Fine.
I proceeded to the checkout counter and the cashier scanned the part. Somewhat relieved, I handed her the gift card, and she said, “Sir, this is a Lowes’ store.” I nodded my head up and down, telling her I’m not stupid, I knew that.
“Well,” she said, “this is Home Depot card.”
True again. Another screw-up. A royal screw-up. But that was fine. Why?
Because in the end … get ready for this big finish .. it worked out and when I got home, it made for a … get ready, here it comes … a royal flush.
“Flush” … get it?
Look, I apologize. I’ve been really busy and didn’t have a lot of time …
Nonetheless, that’s the way it looks from the Valley.