This story was written prior to the global COVID-19 pandemic, when going to a store and interacting with other humans at close range was a normal occurrence. — JPiC
I am — by no means — handy. Anything outside of changing a light bulb leaves me baffled. Sometimes even that simple task is a bit overwhelming. If something in my house needs repair, I am very quick to call and pay someone to fix it. Someone who isn't me.
Three years ago, I changed the flapper ball at the bottom of the toilet tank in my thrid-floor bathroom. This was quite an undertaking. Really. First, I had to figure out how to turn off the water supply to the toilet tank. Then I had to empty the tank and remove the old, broken flapper ball. I took the spent piece to Home Depot to compare it to the shiny new ones on display, making certain I was buying an exact duplicate that would fit snugly (and correctly) in the hole at the bottom of the tank. I checked and rechecked, holding the gummy, black hunk of rubber up against the pristine packaged specimens. When I got home, the actual replacing was surprisingly simple. The whole job took just a minute or two and the toilet was back flushing the way it was the day before. I was quite proud of myself and I secretly hoped that I would never have to attempt another repair in my house again.
Last Sunday, I heard the water running in the toilet in our second-floor bathroom. I went in, jiggled the flush handle and waited until the mechanism in the tank properly seated itself and stopped the last few trickles of water. It didn't. I jiggled it again. Still, I heard the annoying sound of running water.
"That sounds like it is coming from upstairs." my wife informed me. I climbed the stairs to the third floor and was greeted by the loud sound of running water. I removed the lid to the toilet tank — the one I so expertly repaired two years ago — and saw, to my horror, that the plastic float ball was bobbing in the nearly-filled tank. It was unnaturally perpendicular to the thin brass rod to which it was attached. The little threaded plastic collar had snapped and was hanging on to the rod by a tiny shred of plastic. Even to the uninitiated, this did not look right. I knew the float ball would have to be replaced. From past experience, I turned off the water supply to the tank and made a mental note to stop at Home Depot on my way home from work. We have three bathrooms in our house, so this would not be too much of an inconvenience.
On my way home from work the next day, I did indeed stop at Home Depot. I don't go to Home Depot too often. Aside from the light bulb aisle and that one time I bought a new flapper ball for my toilet, I don't have much use for a lot of the stuff they sell. I located the "toilet repair" aisle and began my quest for a toilet float ball. Now, I worked in my father-in-law's hardware store for twenty-five years and I just saw a broken one in my toilet tank at home, so I knew what they looked like. I looked up and down the aisle. I saw flush handles and wax rings (for attaching the toilet bowl to the floor) and all sorts of nuts and bolts... but no float balls. I saw an awful lot of packaged toilet fill valves in various configurations.... but no float balls. I saw every possible component that would allow me to construct an entire toilet from scratch.... except there were no float balls. I looked at shelves that I had looked at three and four times half-expecting a huge box of toilet float balls to magically appear.
All during the time I was carefully scanning the shelves, there was a Home Depot employee ignoring me as he opened cartons and placed a few more display trays of toilet fill valves from different manufacturers. I cleared my throat and reluctantly asked where I could find a toilet float ball. I hate to ask employees where things are in their stores. I have come to understand that they don't know where anything is and they don't care if you ever find it. They hate their jobs and just want the evening to end.
The Home Depot employee looked up from his work and replied, "We don't carry them. That's for an old toilet. No one uses them. They use these now." He pointed to the shiny packages of toilet fill valves that took up most of the shelf space in the aisle. He picked up one of the packages and pointed to a small plastic cylinder that was wrapped around a larger plastic cylinder. "This replaces the float ball.," he explained. I frowned as he continued. "They sell them in this kit, but you gotta buy the whole kit." He showed me a sealed plastic bag that contained a few plastic pieces including a toilet float ball. The shelf tag proclaimed a retail price of just over thirteen dollars. I frowned again and announced "I'll pass." I quickly left Home Depot.
When I got home, I did a quick Google search to see if a toilet float ball was still "a thing." The search results told me that it was. Amazon had them. Walmart had them. And, according to their website, Home Depot had them, too... just not one near me.
My next day's commute home was interrupted by a hopeful stop at Lowes and Walmart, conveniently located next to each other. Lowes' toilet repair aisle was nearly identical to the one at Home Depot, except all of the orange decorative trim was blue. Their shelves sported the same items including a wide assortment of newfangled toilet valve kits which had — allegedly — caused the extinction of the toilet float ball. I left Lowes, not even considering asking any employee for assistance. I went over to Walmart and found their plumbing department even less stocked, but featuring the same goddamned toilet valve kits.
This was getting ridiculous. How could a piece of such simple technology just become wiped clean from existence? Did someone actually build a better mousetrap that replaced a tried-and-true mousetrap so quickly and completely? In addition, I was now three days without an auxiliary toilet in my house.
The next day, I came straight home from work and ordered a toilet float ball from Amazon for four dollars. Two days later, a big padded envelope with a big bulge in it arrived on my front porch. I tore the envelope open on my way up the stairs to my third floor. I lifted the lid of the toilet tank. I removed the old, broken float ball and tossed it in the trash. I worked the new float ball onto the threaded brass rod. Once it was screwed on as far as it could go, I turned the water supply back on. I could hear the rush of water and the new float ball leveled off at the water line in the tank. Then all was silent. I briefly admired my handiwork, as though I just whacked a perfectly pitched fastball over the outfield fence. Finally, I carefully replaced the tank lid.
And, as of right now, Pincus Plumbing Repair is officially out of business.
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