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Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
I suppose that when a homeowner such as myself finds a shower faucet leaking, how quickly you take action is quite telling. I have a neighbour who I am quite certain would pounce upon this for an immediate fix – as if the drips are a form of Chinese water torture for him. I, on the other hand, am very tolerant. I wouldn’t say the drip, drip, drip is soothing, but it costs hardly anything and, well, I could live with it for a while.
As luck would have it, this drip didn’t fix itself, it intensified. The time had come to address this problem.
I do not consider myself a much of a handyman but more of a weekend (weakened?) warrior. However, I can confidently say I know how to access YouTube for helpful advice. I shut off the water to the house as instructed. If I can get technical for a moment, I learned I had to replace a cartridge. To access this, I had to remove two thingys. The first was no problem. For the second, I borrowed a tool from said neighbour. That tool didn’t work.
I went to my local Big Box store and bought a better tool. Attempting to undo the second thingy didn’t go as planned. the reminder of “righty tighty, lefty loosey” didn’t feel right, and I snapped off thingy No. 2!
Now, turning on the water would mean a cascade of water down the wall and into the dining room. For me and the family, this was a full blown disaster. I was now far out of my league. What to do? Could we go to the bathroom? What could we do in the bathroom? For the first and last time in my life, I thought about my 95-year-old live-in mother-in-law’s bowels.
I would need an emergency plumbing repair. I called such a service and the earliest they could come by was the following afternoon – that would be 20 hours without running water. I envisioned a $1,500 repair bill.
I went back to the Big Box store with my cartridge and replaced it – I thought the plumber might need it. The store was almost empty on this Sunday evening, just me, the associate and another customer. As the employee was searching for a part, I tuned to this fellow and explained my predicament. He commiserated with me, admitting it was not a quick, easy fix.
He asked me what was on the other side of the shower faucet? I hadn’t thought about it till then. It was a closet. He said, “Good, it can be accessed that way.” He told me how to repair it. (He is talking to the wrong guy, I thought.) Then he said he could do it.
What? I asked if he was a plumber and I didn’t hear a clear “yes.” I asked him if he had a website. I didn’t hear a clear “yes.” He showed me his phone with random people’s names and said that he helped them. Should I trust this man whom I met five minutes ago with an invasive, emergency home repair? Was this a man of honesty and integrity? My spidey senses were tingling.
He gave me a verbal estimate of two to three hours of labour and $450 total cost. I was intrigued and just a little bit frightened. I asked when he could do this for me. He thought for a moment then said, “ Well, my wife is in the U.S., otherwise she wouldn’t be too happy but I could come over now.”
We went into the parking lot and he showed me his truck. I didn’t see “Acme Plumbing” on it, but what he did have was all manner of plumbing supplies. He opened up the truck’s lid and showed me exactly what I needed repaired. How often does he get work hanging out at the hardware store, I wondered?
Within half-an-hour we were at my home and this man was cutting a hole in my son’s closet wall. He huffed and puffed (I later learned he was 70 years old) and I thought, “What is my responsibility if he dies here and now?” I asked him again how much he would charge me, and he was evasive. Not a good sign. We talked about family and such, my thought being he wouldn’t rip me off if he knew me a little bit.
This straining stranger cut drywall, cut and replaced 2X4 beams, mounted a new shower faucet, soldered copper, patched holes, advised and checked. We turned the water back on, no leak. I could breathe again – 2 ½ hours later. I was relieved when he honoured his earlier cost estimate.
I thanked him profusely, tipped him generously and he was on his way. The next day I texted him to thank him again. He replied that he “liked my personality.”
How often do you hear that? (Well, I never do.) Later he wished me a Happy New Year. I’m sure a lot of people would not have been as trusting as I was. Perhaps timing is everything. My drip-drip turned into a win-win for both of us.
Stan Skruch lives in Mississauga, Ont.
