Shoulda Called a Plumber

My introduction to plumbing was an intense ordeal. I was home alone while the kids were at school and my husband was away on business. I was cleaning in the bathroom, bent down to pick up a stray toy, and somehow managed to kick the plastic handle on the toilet’s water shut-off value. Water began gushing out flooding the floor as I frantically tried to screw the knob back into place. I realized it had broken off and wouldn’t go back on so I’d have to turn off the main water beneath the house.

Since I have never done any plumbing work on our house, I had no idea where the main water shut-off was located. I piled towels on the leak and rang my husband up on the phone. He told me how to shut off the water to the house and suggested I call a plumber. Grumbling profanities, I navigated the crawlspace under our house, located the water shut off value, and got the flooding temporarily stopped.

I’m not sure if anger or curiosity made me wonder if I could fix the leak myself. But after looking at the broken valve again, I went to the garage remembering some spare plumbing parts on a garage shelf. I grabbed all the various valves I could find and ran back to the house. I managed to manufacture a new value from spare parts and got the leak nearly fixed. The valve was working, but the hose connected to the new value was dripping slightly. The washer in the old-style hose looked worn, so I would need to trek to town for a new hose.

This meant I would have to crawl under the house for what seemed the fiftieth time on my already scraped and swollen knees. I refused to call a plumber at this point as giving up now would just make me more irate. With aching knees, I crawled under the house once again to shut off the water main. While crawling back out from under the house, I began crying in frustration and pain and stopped to rest a bit on the sidewalk. Our dog, Lucky, came by and licked the tears from my face as if to say, “It’s alright right, I’m here for you.” I hugged him for being so sweet and understanding and for being there for me.

Exhausted and soaking wet, I took a break to email my sister to share my ordeal. However, I couldn’t quell the thought of doing the work myself to save money. After some sisterly advice, I donned some clean, dry clothes and headed to the hardware store. I got a flexible hose, which installed easily and worked flawlessly.

The incident gave me a big sense of accomplishment, but not enough to consider any future plumbing work. I guess my husband was right to begin with; I should have just called a plumber.