Published: May 01, 2008 12:29 pm            

Column: Burning desire to flush plumbing woes

JOHNSTOWN, Pa. — It started out as a normal Monday morning.

I arrived at work and drank a cup of coffee as I read the daily newspaper.

I poured myself a second cup of coffee prior to logging in to my computer to check my e-mail.

I read with interest a message I received from Dawna Friend, (not her real last name) about an appliance that allows you to incinerate your toilet waste instead of flushing it.

The article told how easy the device is to install and is extremely sanitary.

That’s interesting enough, but the sentence that piqued my interest was the one claiming that this apparatus required no plumbing, no water and no drain lines.

“I don’t know if you can work this into your column, but I thought it was kind of funny,” Dawna wrote.

Oh, Dawna, if you are a regular reader of this column, you know I have about as much luck with plumbing as Roger Clemens does with controlling gossip.

Several years ago, I was in the midst of my morning routine – coffee, reading the newspaper, another coffee and reading e-mails – but on this particular day, I had too much coffee and had to go to the restroom.

As I entered, I heard an unfamiliar hissing coming from one of the stalls.

Upon closer examination, I discovered that one of the toilets was on the fritz.

Fritz, that’s German for: “If you know what’s good for you, turn around and consult a professional.”

I didn’t want to bother the head of maintenance because he, too, was into his morning routine of reading the comic page.

I took matters into my own hands. I deduced that the hissing was coming from inside the tank that holds about two gallons of water.

Lifting the porcelain lid and peeking inside, I noticed a trickle of water and an empty tank.

What to do? I did what any person with no common sense or expertise would do, I jiggled the little chain that controls the float.

A jiggle turned into a tug, but the hissing continued.

I was in too deep to quit now.

I didn’t detect any sewer gas, and I knew not to touch the overflow tube.

I gripped the doohickey on top of the plastic stem that holds the tiny rubber supply line that courses water into the overflow opening.

Caution: Upon gripping a doohickey, never twist it clockwise.

I don’t know what it would do if twisted counterclockwise because I never got the chance to find out.

An eighth of a twist increased the water flow and to some degree diminished the hissing. I figured if an eighth of a turn was good, a quarter- turn must be better.

In a split second, the doohickey came off in my hand, and a water plume shot upward with so much force that plaster began dropping as the water bore into the ceiling.

If I didn’t get the water shut off quickly, the people in the business office working on the floor above me were in for an unexpected shower.

Thank goodness there was a shut-off valve beneath the tank, and I was able to stop the deluge.

That’s when it hit me. No, not the water, but the realization that I now had to explain why I looked like Curly of the Threes Stooges in a wet T-shirt contest.

I used paper towels to pat myself dry, squished back into the newsroom, fended off all the jeers from co-workers and called the head of maintenance to make things right.

If only I had the incinerating toilet then, I could have burned the evidence.



Tom Lavis writes for The Tribune-Democrat in Johnstown, Pa.

        

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