I fancy meself as a do it yourself woman taking great pride in getting things done. However there are certain things that leave me perplexed and wanting. Not so much for the knowledge but having the right tools. O I have a tool box, one filled with pretty coloured screwdrivers. Don't ask me to hand you a Phillips or a Robertson but state the colour, thank you. Colours I understand.
There came a time when the kitchen sink drained to no where. Bombs of vinegar and baking soda did nothing; the super duper snake, with a crank no less, did nothing; nor did swearing. I decided this wouldn't beat me and Utubed videos of how to unclog a drain. It's amazing what one can find on the net, (with out pop ups).
The area underneath was cleared out, bucket at the ready, instructional video streaming and I set about it. Pipes came apart easily and drained into the bucket, ahhhhhh, that was easy I thought. Then I set about reattaching. Hhmmm, it didn't fit no matter which way I tried. So I sat cross legged on the kitchen floor twisting the pipe with hands on both ends, pondering what's wrong with this picture.
As I twisted the pipe in aggravation it began to move. I sat there staring at it, twisting back it back and forth, finally dropping it and ran to the lappie thinking I gotta Google this! Aha! It comes apart! I found the links and twisted like a banshee in withdrawal and voila! Now I could fit it all back together and enjoy the superb sound of super suction in the drain.
Wellllllllll, after reattaching, running the taps, watching water sit, detaching, clearing, reattaching a few times, running water again, I finally gave up knowing the clog was in the wall, not the drain pipe and no matter what I did, I wasn't going to fix it. This clog was BIG and me simple tools were no match. It wasn't something I enjoyed admitting but I did, sigh.
The next day I hiked up the big girl panties and called the local plumber. We have an ummm, errrrr, relationship. The admin answered with “what's buggered up now Cheryl?” Doncha love call display. I explained me predicament and asked to have the lads bring the mega clog bomb over and of course the key is in the mailbox. Note to self: I should have a key cut for them.
Leaving for work I left a detailed letter of what I did, and thanked Tom or Mike or John or Derek, collectively known as Dear Super Sucker, for making the time to help me. Later that day I arrived home and found the bucket filled with black water and crud, footsteps to the basement and a scribble of “you're good to go now” on the letter.
It's still draining with that super suction sound that I've come to signify with a pure pipe. But still ponder how odd simple things makes a person smile, either that or I really need to get a life or a house husband. Hhmmm....