She Did What?

Yesterday a very bad thing happened. Something that shouldn't have, got flushed down the toilet. I think it was a fork; maybe a spoon. I tried using a hanger-wire to fish it out; nope. I couldn't find the plumbing snake. So I shut off the valve and flushed out as much water  as I could, and then I started feeling around down the drain . . . nothing. At least, nothing like a utensil. It was kind of slimy, so I didn't stay in there for very long. The only thing left for me to do was to take out the toilet.

So I told the kids the upstairs toilet was off limits, and this morning I went to the hardware store and bought a new wax ring, and a new "attach the tank to the bowl" kit, and a new toilet seat (because the old one was kind of worn out—ten people in this house, you know). Then I came home and wasted some time, postponing the inevitable. But, finally, I got to work: I was going to remove that toilet, find the fork/spoon, and save the day. Yes, I was.

This is not completely unprecedented. When we lived in Tennessee one of our toilets in our little trailer-home had a leaking, hairline crack in the bowl, so while Bruce was at school I bought a new one and replaced the broken one. I knew I could do it because I'd seen my brother Gregory install a toilet once before. And it worked fine—no leaks or anything!

Man! What a mess! I am not usually such a slob as to leave
empty TP rolls, and bent coat hangers on the floor! Or utility-
knives, screws and screwdrivers on the counter.
Anyway, that toilet looks innocent enough, but
it turned out to be a formidable opponent.

Well, first I had to take off the toilet seat. Toilet seats are attached to the bowl with super long, nylon bolts and nuts—easy to remove. Unless, of course, the screwdriver tears out the slots instead of turning the stupid bolt; then it's a little harder. Eventually I got the bolts loose, but it was taking forever to get the nuts completely off of them. Finally I grabbed the tree-trimmer and cut through the bolts. Ta-daa! Worked beautifully. Then the toilet seat went into the trash can.

Oh. Actually the first thing I did was shut off the valve. Righty-tighty. :-)

Then I got rid of the little extra bit of counter-top that was over the tank so I could actually work on the tank. The toilet tank is attached to the bowl with two big, metal nuts and bolts. It took some effort—a lot of effort—to get the right side loose. Then the last of the water in the tank started leaking out all over me. But the bolt on the left side wouldn't come loose at all. It was in a very difficult spot to get at—way back, in the back where I had to reach my arm's length between the cabinet and the toilet to work. I was getting mighty friendly with that commode—cheek-to-cheek sometimes. (Yes, I cleaned and disinfected it thoroughly before I started the job, but still . . .)

After forever, I decided that the only way I was taking the tank off completely was if I had easier access to the whole thing. That meant I had to bolt the right side of it back down, then undo the floor bolts and lift the toilet—bowl, tank, and all—and move it somewhere else. Like the middle of the bathroom floor. The floor bolts were a little easier to undo, but not much. And, of course, when I lifted the toilet up, more water started leaking out the bottom of it. Yuck.

Yes folks, this is what you find underneath your toilet, even in the cleanest of homes. Also there's a lot of dust-bunnies congregated on the wall behind the tank. So I suppose the bonus to removing the commode is that now I can thoroughly clean all around it. Yay, me.
 And, by the way, this picture looks like the toilet is laughing at me—which it probably is.

I set the bowl on an old rag and slid it to where I could work on it more easily . . . "easily." After another forever, and lots more water leaking out all over my hands, and with the help of a socket wrench and a screwdriver, I got the stupid tank off. Yay!

Then I lifted the bowl into the bathtub to pour out any remaining water (there wasn't much) and see if I could find the offending utensil from the bottom end of the drain. Nope. I figure it's pretty well stuck in the U-bend. Great. So I sat down and cried for about twenty minutes. Then I took the whole discombobulated throne and stuck it out on the back deck where it could make a lovely planter.

I'm thinking a fern would look lovely.

In the meantime, the bathroom was really starting to reek. I mean, really reeking. So I hurried to clean up as much wax from the floor as I could, poured about five gallons of water down the drain, and stuffed a rag in it. (The rag will go into the trash later.) And after two-and-a-half hours of grime, sweat, and tears (no blood, though) there we are.

That looks and smells much less offensive.

Next thing on my agenda was a really looooonnng shower. A really long shower.

Will we ever find the problem? Will we have to buy a new commode? What crazy project will Loralee tackle next? You'll find the answers to these questions and more in the next episode.