The Horror of Fixing a Sink

Remember the 2002 horror movie The Ring? Scary as hell, starring Naomi Watts? I watched it at about 2:00 AM one morning, all alone, scared shitless - but I could not look away.

When my bathroom sink recently became too clogged to drain quickly, I expertly pulled out the plug and unearthed this:

Well, it looked like this, or at least like this hair. Yeah...gross. Despite throwing up a little bit in my mouth, I got rid of this clump of nastiness and tried to put the plug back in its hole and move on.

But it didn't work. I twisted and turned the plug, certain something would work, something would catch, eventually. I've pulled many a plug out to clean out many a drain and I know how it works. I finally got a mini flashlight to find the little thing that connects the plug to the whatever - the thing that makes it work. But it wasn't there - nothing to fit in the hole in the plug was visible.

Damn. So I figured I could live with it for a while, then scrap together some money to pay a plumber (like a former boyfriend - a guy I actually dated and still he charges me. But that's for another day, another blog).

But "living with it" lasted a few weeks - putting the plug in, prying the plug out, putting the plug in, prying the plug out - that got pretty old, pretty quick. So I headed to a place near my office, Santa Barbara Home Improvement Center, aka:

                                             
My intention was to purchase one of those little rubber stoppers with a chain, like in an old fashioned hotel room.

I veered toward the Plumbing section, then hesitated for just a moment. From my right, a quiet voice said, "Something, Miss?" Like that. I looked over and said, "What, did my uncertainty give me away?" He smiled.  So I told him my problem, with many hand gestures and made-up words ("pluggy-uppy thing," "pully-uppy handle"). He showed me the rubber stoppers, but told me, "I know what happened, the internal part of the pivot rod rusted off, but it's easy to fix." He peered up at me and asked if I wanted to fix it myself, turning us to the wall across the aisle. "No, that's OK, I'll just use this..." His eyes closed briefly and he did that teensy headshake that people give when they're being tolerant but slightly impatient. Like: he's heard it all before.

Then he said:

"You can do this. I know you can do this."

I was aghast: "What!?! But I'm a girl!"

That usually works with guys - God love 'em. However, he ("Gene") was having none of it. He gave me that sideways smirky look that says he knows better than that and tugged down a little sink kit from peg on the rack. "It's easy, the instructions are on the back."

 

I said, "Well, umm, and so, I was just kidding about that 'being a girl' thing, you didn't believe me, right?" Suddenly, I didn't want Gene to think I was dumb or some kind of helpless woman. He smiled and said, "No." And then gave the kit a bit of a shake to bring my attention back to the task soon-to-be-at-hand.

Poor Gene actually had to explain the whole thing twice - the first time, my head was full of visions of moving stuff out from under my sink, removing that U-shaped pipe part, being on my back in the bathroom cabinet with my head wedged under the sink, getting dirty, and plumber's cracks. But by the time I dragged my attention span out of A.D.D. World, I had an actual question: Do I have to shut off my water? Answer: No. 

Next question: What kind of tool do I need? Answer: A wrench - do you have one? I asked him to show me exactly what he thought I'd need, so I could make sure I own one. He led me to the register counter and opened the Wrench Drawer (I know this because first he inadvertently opened the Screwdriver Drawer) and showed me. Yes, I have one of those.

And then, I had my Oprah-endorsed Ah-Ha Moment: the sink plunger thing I needed to fix/replace was on the outside of the sink - not in the sink itself! Suddenly, this did seem doable after all!

So I bought both the kit and the stopper, just in case. I told Gene I'd come back to let him know how I did, which made him smile again, a sort of "lacking a couple of teeth" kind of smile. As I left the store,  all inspired and full of thoughts of what to wear to avoid the plumber's crack issue, it occurred to me - how did Gene know?

How did he know that I "could do this?" What about me, in my open-toe shoes, sporting a cute pedi, Coach bag a-swinging on my shoulder, wearing my two-toned pink and blue Ray Ban sunglasses - what made him think in a million years that I could do a fix-it job such as this?

Because he was right - I could do this, and did, just now. It took me 20 minutes. More on that later.

But really - I have done repairs around my condo, and apartments before that. Replaced broken things, adjusted things, painted walls and things. I've hauled big heavy things (a large TV, a roll-top desk, an obnoxious console table) up and down stairs, I do own an impressive toolkit, I've built things right out of the box  - for example, my big, dumb desk for my Borders home office was huge and cumbersome and took three hours to assemble and I did it by myself. So yes, I'm all that AND rocking a nail apron:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But how did Gene know that?

Anyway, today was the day: cleared out my under-the-sink stuff, put down a big towel in case I had to lie on my back with my head in the cabinet to reach what I was doing (not a fun maneuver, but necessary). One last hitch of my shorts (to reduce the potential of the dreaded crack) and after checking the "instructions on the back" multiple times, cleaning more gunk and stopping once to find a flashlight...I did it.

Gene would be so proud. I can't wait to tell him he was right - when I go back to return the too-small-to-fit sink stopper he sold me.

Men. Can live with 'em, can't shop with 'em.