SWANKY TANKY

What do you do when you're staying at an old inn and the toilet gets fussy?

My sister and I are sharing a room for an out-of-state wedding that we are attending. Two post-middle-aged (not elderly) women and one bathroom means that toilet is going to get a workout during the night. I notice right away that the handle on the toilet needs aggressive reminders to actually flush. 

So, when we wake up after the first night, my sister says, "Sorry if I woke you up during the night. I was trying to be quiet, but the toilet wasn't behaving." (Or some such words.) 

I say, "No worries. You just have to hold the handle down for a bit." 

For the rest of the day, that's how we treat the toilet: Fluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuush.

My brother arrives to get ready for the wedding. He is staying at a different hotel, but is getting ready with us. He comes out of the bathroom and says, "Uhhhh, you know your toilet doesn't flush?" Then, he adds sheepishly, "It's just pee. Don't worry."

I repeat what I had said earlier. "No worries. You just have to hold the handle down for a bit."

"Yeah, I tried that. But, it didn't work."

We all agree that the chain must've come loose from the rubber floater inside the tank. I am already dressed in my gown and sparkly earrings and fake hair bun on my head, with all of my make-up on, so I decide to fix the chain while everyone else finishes prepping and primping. I open the top of the tank, prepare to make the adjustment, and discover . . .

No water in the tank. Nope, not a drop. It's like The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, but the bathroom saga. The chain is fine, but we are in deep, deep trouble without a functioning toilet. 

Well, I am a reasonably intelligent person. I have a couple of options here. I can fill the tank using the sink or tub faucet and the ice bucket, or I can pretend that I know anything at all about plumbing. I examine the tank and see a little tube that has an arrow on it, seemingly instructing me to turn it to the right for water. Okay, then. I turn that puppy to the right, and the tank starts filling with water.

And filling . . . and filling . . . and, damnit, I am standing in the bathroom in my gown and my shoes, dressed to the nines, and watching the toilet tank nearing to the overflow level. I spin the little arrow back to the left and say a quick prayer while stepping backward because there is no damn way I am ruining this dress.

Suddenly, the tank hisses and the water stops about two inches from the top. Just to tempt fate, I flush the toilet and watch in awe as I have actually managed to fix something without a disaster. I leave the top of the tank off, just in case, and as a reminder when we return after the wedding that things might still go awry. 

Maybe I'll start my own plumbing company, or, at least, toilet specialist service: DRESS FOR YOUR MESS, or FLUSHING FASHION, or GOWN FOR POOPTOWN, or ROYAL FLUSH, or SWANKY TANKY, or something. If you have any suggestions, let me know!