Digression, my worst enemy. This story is not about a toilet exploding in a dumpster. This is another kind of explosion. This is also not about farting or explosive diarrhea.
It seems that many of my blogs involve toilets and bathrooms. I guess it is because we all use them. Some of us use trees and some of us also use laundry sinks. I do not know of any guy that has not at least thought of using the slop sink, instead of walking all the way up the stairs and using the toilet. It all goes to the same place. And as regular readers know from previous blogs, it eventually finds its way back to your tap water.
Relax, I mean to take a piss. Dropping a deuce in your own laundry sink would be wrong. It may be funny in someone else’s slop sink, but probably not. Even I know that. It would be very self-defeating as well, from a clean up standpoint. And I do not really think that you would be able to do the secondary function of dropping a deuce, reading, while precariously perched on the edge of a concrete or plastic sink. The repercussions of a missit would also be disastrous. Sharting is one thing, dropping in your own deuce, while not only humiliating is also an odorfaux-paux. Definitely a hold my beer and watch this idea.
That is why they invented toilet seats, so dumbasses would not fall on their own defecation. I know that anyone that has used a public toilet may thinks that seats are just urine waterfalls, kind of like those decorative ones you buy at the big box store. Sober up people! Lift the lid before you piss. Or at least plant your ass if you’re gonna pee like a girl.
I do not know why so many bad things happen in and around the privy, but since at least half of my jobs involve a bathroom remodel, and many handyman jobs involve a toilet, it seems I never run out of a story that revolves around the can. Didn’t Elvis die on the can or is that just an urban myth? Better call the Ghostbusters…I mean Mythbusters.
So the other day, one of my co-workers was using the can on the main floor. Maybe it was because I was using the slop sink to clean a mud pan, maybe not. Knowing the guy I was working with, he would probably not entertain the idea of using the slop sink in a customer’s house, so the point is moot. However, I recently had a customer tell me that one of the reasons he told his dad that a basement bathroom was a good idea was then he would no longer have to use the slop sink. True…True. I rest my case.
I had recently finished sweating in the shower valve, and run the pressure test. All quiet on the running water front. No leaks, no problems. ALL GOOD!!! So as I was washing out my mud pan, I can hear this water running. It is odd how long I listened. It seemed like a few hours, but in reality was only a few seconds before I realized that this was one REALLY loud drain. Like NIAGARA FALLS loud. Something was not right. It should not sound like water running over a waterfall. Nor should it should it sound like rain on a tin roof.
I looked across the basement to see a cascade of water flowing from the ceiling like Hover Dam in Life After People. I admit that I panicked just a wee bit. My first thought was that one of my sweat joints had burst. My second thought was to check it out. Actually, my first thought was the f-bomb. I ran up the basement steps. I took them three at a time. Okay, only two at a time, but I was moving like a speeding bullet. Well, really like an overweight, middle-aged man. As I was running, so were my moobs. (Man-boobs). They were bobbing up and down like a Jell-o in an earthquake. There is something that is just not right about jiggling moobs. Damn you fatty…
I then ran up the stairs to the second floor. And saw….nothing…Nothing wrong up here…No shooting geyser of water. No burst sweat joint. No issues, no problems. Where was that water coming from? Still breathing like a bull-moose in mating season, I ran, no walked back down the stairs. I had had enough moob excitement for one day. I did not need to chafe my nipples anymore than I already had.
I hit the landing only to find my co-worker standing in the hall holding the ball and stem from the toilet. “Dude,” he said, “the toilet exploded” “NO SHIT!” I replied. “Yeah, the fill valve simply cracked in two.” When that happened, water shot out like Mount St. Helens erupting. Thank God for planned obsolescence. I never would have gotten in my stair steppers in for the day.
As my breathing returned to normal and I was having a victory smoke, I replayed the events in my head. I am an idiot. Instead of running up two flights of stairs, and risking coronary failure I should have walked over thru the deluge and turned the water off at the main. But I just had my hair done, and did not want to look like a drowned rat, so that was simply not an option.
My advice other than staying in shape, in case you do have to traverse two flights of stairs at full speed, is to open the tank of your toilet(s) and check to see if you see an ancient ball and rod float in your tank. Hopefully you do not. if you do either call a plumber to swap it out for a non-antique fill valve or throw the toilet into the nearest dumpster. You, too, will like the sound as it shatters into bits. And also hopefully you do not have any WTF is that blue stuff. http://bruceejohnsonjadip.blogspot.com/2009/12/wtf-is-that-blue-stuff.html in your tank. If you do don’t call me and good luck.
Yes, Virginia, toilets do explode. I know this to be true. I have witnessed it first hand. Not really, but close to first hand. And the aftermath is not pretty.
Just another day in paradise