For some unknown reason about ten months ago, my landlord changed out my kitchen faucet for a new one. The new faucet isn't an expensive model or anything like that, which is fine because my tastes run simple, anyway. It's like when I watch those home improvement shows and they say things like, "Well, we cannot put a toilet in your bathroom because we ran out of money, but we did get you this $5,000 refrigerator that wipes your ass for you when you walk by it!" I'll take the toilet and the $800 fridge, thank you very much.
Anyway, the new faucet works out very well for a while. Of course, the real problem is that the disposal died years ago and now I have to plunge the sink out a few times week even when I catch all of the stuff that might go down the drain. Again, the pipes in this old house are no surprise -- one can pee in the toilet and not put any toilet paper into the bowl whatsoever, and the dang toilet still backs up. I guess here is where I should admit that I have not yet taken stock in the plunger company, but I probably should.
About seven months ago, the new faucet started acting up. It would continue to run for up to ten seconds after it had been shut off. I notified the landlord with the disclaimer, "It's not really a big issue, so no worries. Just FYI."
Truly, it wasn't a big issue, even though the problem steadily got worse. The faucet would run for twenty seconds after being shut off. Then it progressed to a point that no hot water would come through for about two minutes, and then it would be so hot that our hands got burned. Again, I notified the landlord with the same "It's not really a big issue, so no worries. Just FYI."
About two months ago, the faucet stopped producing much water at all. My kitchen sink was like a dried up well on the Oregon Trail -- no matter how much we cranked the handles, water trickled out. We took to using only the sprayer to wash things. I again tell the landlord I need to have the faucet looked at, but still -- I have water. I have a sink. I have a great rental rate. It really IS NO BIG DEAL.
Now, I'm not a stupid woman. Of course, I'm sure there are some out there who will dispute this, but I'm telling you, I have enough common sense and basic knowledge to fix a faucet. I'm reasonably certain that the small screen inside the end of the faucet is faulty. Easy fix, right? Just loosen the end of the faucet, replace, return the faucet to its original state, and voila!
I have wrenches. I have brains. I can put them together, right? I should be able to solve this problem without inconveniencing anyone else. I wear big girl pants, after all.
I grab the wrenches, two different sizes, both expandable, and head for the sink. For some reason, this fancy new faucet doesn't want to behave. I work at the faucet end, which is fluted and very difficult to grab. I can work the wrench into position, but I cannot get the damn thing to budge.
At this point, I am scraping away the metal, and I am now afraid that I will bust the entire faucet and have water shooting all over my kitchen. So, at the beginning of this month, I say to the landlord, "Look, I've tried to fix it. Now I'm just afraid I'm going to bust the thing." We make a date for the repair, but it passes without any luck. Before anyone blames this on my landlord, please don't. The landlord has been and continues to be fabulous, is trying to redo the townhouse connected to mine, has many children, and works full time. In other words, the landlord is as exasperated in daily life as am I. As long as the sprayer works, neither one of us really has a problem here.
However, I am determined to fix this sink. I am determined to prove that I am not a helpless tenant who cannot even do the simplest of repairs on my own house. I mean, this isn't an apartment in a multi-unit complex with a full-time maintenance staff. What would I do if I really truly owned the house and had to figure this out? I start in with the wrenches again. I use paper towels and washcloths and even rubber jar openers trying to grip the fluted faucet end and make it turn. I manage to budge it a little bit, but it's ... just ... not ... moving.
Enter my daughter.
She is strong and strong-willed, so, like me, she is determined to loosen the faucet so we can fix it because now zero water is coming out. I show her what I have been doing with the wrench, and I do manage to move it a little tiny bit. She elbows me out of the way and steps up to take a turn.
Have you ever seen in real life or in the movies when the strapping man steps up to the contraption that is rigged to ring a bell at the top if he slams the giant sledge hammer down hard enough to make a stone fly up? This is what my daughter looks like attacking the sink. She is going to ring that damn bell if it's the last thing she does. And, by god, she actually manages to move the faucet end a little bit more.
We are very excited at this point. We are laughing and smiling and high-fiving each other. Damnation, we are going to FIX this damn faucet if it takes us all bloody evening. She turns the wrench a little more and then says, "Um, I'm tightening this. Am I turning it the wrong way? Mom! You've been turning it the WRONG WAY!"
Righty tighty, lefty loosey. I chant this over and over again and assure her that no, I have NOT been trying to loosen the faucet the wrong way. She insists that I am incorrect and shows me.
"Look," she tells me, "you told me to turn it to the RIGHT!"
"Um... you're actually turning it LEFT." She looks and realizes she is turning the wrench to the left.
Silence. Giggles. Laughter.
She gives it another huge tug, but the faucet end will not budge. The entire faucet fixture, on the other hand, starts to bend a little bit like it might be suffering under the duress. "That's as far as it will go," she says and leans in to turn on the handles and see if any water comes out.
We are silently watching the faucet, bending forward, faces close to observe any changes we may have affected, though we really expect nothing at all to happen. A low moan sweeps up the pipes, the same sound it has been making for weeks.
BLAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A huge explosive burst of power blows out of the faucet. Something large and solid is shooting around the sink, bounces off the backsplash, hits the fluorescent light, and careens across the counter. With a giant BOOM, water comes flowing out of the faucet as if there had never been anything wrong with it.
My daughter and I look at each other, stare at the sink, look back at each other again, and bust out laughing. I am laughing so hard that I think I might just possibly pee my pants, and I mean that for real and not as an expression.
After running to pee in the bathroom (because I'm not sure I can even attend to this situation if I don't), we determine that the faucet isn't so much as fixed as it's at least functioning again. Of course, because the piece is not back inside the faucet where it belongs, technically the faucet is still broken, probably more than it was a minute prior. Also, when I snap a picture of the faucet from underneath, it looks a little bit like the explosion may have damaged the original shape of the faucet, as well.
Surprisingly, though, and somewhat frustratingly so, the end of the faucet that we have been trying to loosen all along remains intact. The bastard.
Well, I'm not sure if I will fess up the true story in its entirety if and when the landlord does come by to take a gander at the situation. But, in all fairness, the faucet is in better shape than it has been for ten months. Also, in all fairness, I did find a way to fix it (sort of) without professional assistance. I suppose that makes this a success story. Oh, and I didn't need to change my underwear. Winning!
