My Life with Toilets

It is supposed to be that warm, comfy place where you read a good article or book, perhaps smoke a cigarette, relax and merge with the cosmos. Admittedly, there was a time when this Zen-like state was interrupted by a loud knocking and "Are you done yet? I really, really have to go!" But as an aging boomer, those days are, for the most part, long past. I have staked out the "downstairs", my spouse the "upstairs" for our special digestive system elimination moments. Even those rare occasions when we have house guests (strictly family) rarely interrupt the basic rhythm of our rituals.

I remember reading years ago that the history of civilization is the history of plumbing. Without the latter, the former is unachievable. My reaction? DUH!

But sometimes things go awry. You confidently flush and witness a slow, inexorable flow to the top of the bowl. IS THERE A PLUNGER IN THE HOUSE!!!

Your husband, minding your pre-toddler child, reads that Pampers are flushable and doesn't read the rest of the instructions. Hours later you return home from your meeting to discover you missed a terrible and frightening flood, an emergency visit by the plumber (they NEVER do that for ME), and a suspicious moistness on the ceiling below the upstairs bathroom (a few dry days and it will go away, please God).

It all goes back to 1962. My brother graduated from his prestigious prep school (please note I went to public high school) at the same time Mom finally achieved her Masters of Education from BU. A seriously large party is planned. The big day arrives. A few scant hours before the guests are scheduled to arrive, disaster. The single, lone, only toilet in the house overflows and runs and runs and runs. Water begins to pour through the dining room ceiling. On the plus side, the party is planned for the lovely backyard. On the minus, guests (and family) are admonished they must walk two blocks to the nearest service station for bathroom facilities. Also on the plus side? My parents NEVER served beer or any form of alcohol at their parties!

I was the hero(ine) that figured out how to stop the water flowing (turn-off valve, ever heard of it?). Since that day I have been renowned by the nuclear family as the member who "understands plumbing." (Since that day I also have felt responsible for alleviating any plumbing disaster occurring in my vicinity.)

Overflows occur. Last April I innocently flushed after using the toilet at my late mother-in-law's coop. Minutes later my niece Kristin observed that the toilet was overflowing (very, very nasty). I grabbed the plunger beside the toilet, stopped/cleared the blockage and then began  throwing every damn towel in the linen closet on the floor (it WILL leak to the floor below; it WILL stink; it WILL result in nastiness if it is NOT CLEANED UP.)

After about 15 minutes of sopping up the mess, my brother-in-law Steve came to my rescue, something for which I will ALWAYS be grateful. He finished the clean-up, applied the disinfectant and disposed of the noxious towels. Steve, did I ever say thanks for that?

Fast forward to my home and its two functioning toilets. The upstairs toilet doesn't want to flush, needs a lot of tries, urging. The downstairs toilet flushes really well 95% of the time. Unfortunately, when it runs, it spews water out of the tank and onto the floor causing more wetness, dampness than one wants in a season of high humidity and massive rainfall.

Finally, I call the plumber. He comes. Replaces the inner mechanisms. Leaves. I travel to visit my daughter, check into my favorite hotel and guess what? The TOILET is running. Maintenance arrives, fixes it.  After several days I return home to learn that there has been a flood in my office. Traces of toilet paper leave little doubt of its nature. I am spared the experience but my landlady is now checking everyday to make sure it has not recurred. The source of the problem is elusive.

I get up Tuesday morning and notice water(?) is seeping around the base of my upstairs toilet. Plumber comes. No it is not the seal, as I had feared, but a simple nut that requires tightening. No charge. The downstairs toilet has twice gotten stuck and run (at least it no longer spouts water against the top of the tank and then onto my floor).

Toilets. They are what my life is about.