Home Despairs

I follow a simple rule for safe living; never enter a home where I have performed any maintenance work on the plumbing or electrical systems.

When it comes to home repairs I am the very model of unskilled labor.

This isn’t an inherited trait.  Given any domestic mechanical problem, my father can work miracles.  With a ball of foil, a Dixie cup, a skein of yarn and twenty-five grams of uranium 232, he could whip up a nuclear reactor capable of powering Cleveland for a month.  The McGuyver gene must skip a generation because given the same materials the best I’d manage would be a piece of non-representational sculpture that glowed slightly and caused cancer with prolonged exposure.

Yet still I try.  Every few months I look around the house and say, “What can I wreck today?”

Actually, I say, “What can I fix today?”  The outcome is the same though, and if I just settled for taking a sledge hammer to the house I’d be done in about a tenth of the time and half the expense.  Somewhere in the Charlie Brown part of my brain, I believe that this will be the time I get to kick the football; this will be the shining moment when I actually fix something.

The first step is identifying the problem.  One memorable year this turned out to be the leaky faucet in the kitchen sink.  It had been made in Bulgaria by disgruntled Communist workers in the early eighties.  Not only were parts no longer available, but the current government disavowed any knowledge of the original production facility.  Replacement was my only option.

This was okay by me because it meant I could make an improvement.  Nothing feels as good as those few moments of a project when I can bask in the vision of anticipated perfection.  Thus intoxicated, I dashed off to purchase supplies.

At this point nothing is too good for my project.  The kind folks at my local hardware store recognized the manic gleam in my eye and did everything they could to take advantage of it.  I asked about the sturdy, reliable Home Standard ’56 faucet.

“Well,” they said.  “that’d do if you don’t mind replacing it in a few years.  The TrendSetter 2009 is better and it comes in gleaming ChromLiteUltraShine instead of plain old chrome plating.”

I was hooked.

“While you’re under the sink anyway,” they suggested, “maybe you ought to think about changing your garbage disposal.  It’ll barely add ten minutes to the project and this new disposal can grind a whole bucket of golf balls!”

Sure.

“What about the sink itself?  Porcelain is so last year.  The new sinks are all brushed UltraSteel.”

I had to draw the line somewhere and I did … after buying a new sink, tile to replace the Formica, matching back splashes for the sink and stove, and five gallons of paint to change the look of the cabinets.  When they suggested I should also buy a new UltraAluminum paper towel rack, I refused.  Did they really think I was that gullible?

They waved as I left, knowing that I’d be back because it is completely impossible to finish any home improvement project with only one trip to the hardware store.

That isn’t quite true.  History records that Avery Johnson accomplished it back in the ’60s in Minnesota, but all he was doing was changing the bulb in his night light.

As it turns out, the disgruntled Bulgarian workers were better at their jobs than I thought and the removal of the old faucet eventually involved the use of a hacksaw and the application of my entire vocabulary of profanities.

Pulling out the old disposal was slightly less hard, but I think that was because it had been made in America and was designed to fall out so that I’d have to buy a new one.
The sink itself came loose with a soft sigh that sounded like resignation.  In just over an hour I’d gone from having a functional (if slightly dripping) sink to a gutted kitchen which appeared to have been redecorated by lunatics with power tools.

Getting the hole cut and fitting in the new sink took the next four hours.  I’d tell you about it, except that my family and I have agreed to never speak of it again.  We also don’t speak of the two additional trips to the hardware store or the eventual visit from Al’s Friendly Home Repair – We Fix What You Fixed.

Next came the faucet.  A simple process which involved dropping the the faucet through the hole in the sink and then reaching beneath to fasten the lock nut in place.  Simple…if you have arms six feet long or can fold yourself entirely under the sink while your partner repeatedly bonks you on the top of your head by poking through with the faucet.  More dirty words, but a moral victory because I avoided going to the hardware store for more parts.

It’s true that the hot and cold are reversed on the faucet, but I chose to see that as “charming” rather than annoying.  Besides, it matched all of the upside-down light switches and the reversed thermostat dial.

Which brings me to the disposal.  That part of the project involved my two cardinal failings – plumbing and electrical work.  Before I finished I’d been shocked (mildly), banged my head (severely), and splattered with water and half-ground goop (completely).  It might have been the concussion talking, though, but I was proud when I was done.

Visitors to the house often comment on the job I did, expressing their disbelief at what I’d accomplished.  The more sympathetic among them offer monetary donations to hire someone to come in and rebuild the kitchen.  Turns out to be a good racket.  I’ve made enough to have the kitchen redone and to paint the living room.  I’m thinking I’ll replace the bathtub soon.  I could use the money.
&nbsp