Baa Baa Knit Stitch

My father’s very last gift to us was a full set of pressure-assisted flushing toilets for our house. Every time he came to visit us, he would rail against the wimpy little 1.6 liter models that were standard builder grade, and he swore he was going to get turbo toilets that would actually flush.  He passed away before he could see them installed, but Mom insisted that his gift be completed, and now I have a set of 5.

(No, my house isn’t that big, but somehow that many bathrooms got worked into the plans. It seemed logical at the time, and frankly, it’s been quite handy over the years…)

So… I got home from work today, “did some biz”, as we refer to it when Penny takes care of it, and reached for the handle to flush.  Nada.  Nothing.  Complete silence.  This is so out of character for the turbo toilets, which sound like a 747 getting revved up for takeoff when they send their loads into the sewer system.

Took the lid off the tank.  The pressure assist is a sealed system; I mashed every button I could find to mash to no avail. Fortunately, there was an 800 number to the company.

I can now say I’m fully educated about pressure-assisted flushing thanks to the handy hints given to me while on hold for what seemed to be an overly lengthy period of time.

Finally, I got a human… a rather chipper lady who seemed eager to help me.  I read her the serial number off the mechanism…

“Oh…. (she sounded a bit concerned.  I was touched that she cared that much about my plight.)

“Do you hear water running?”

“Well, no…”

“You should hear water running.”

Went to the faucet.  Sure enough, our water was off.

“Well the toilet won’t flush without water.”

I apologized profusely for wasting her time.

“Uh… before you hang up… I need to ask you something.  Is that the only toilet like that you have?”

“Heavens no.  I have 5 of them.”

“Did you know there was a recall about 5 years ago?  They have a tendency to …well… explode.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.  You need to call us back with those serial numbers so we can get a repair kit out to you for each of them.”

“Trust me, I’ll get on that soon.”

Now, my dad had a wickedly dry sense of humor.  He’s been gone for almost 11 years now, but I have this image of him up in Heaven, getting a good laugh out of me dodging exploding toilets. It’s just something he’d find hilarious as long as nobody got hurt. That grin would come across his face, and that twinkle would get in his eye… and he’d giggle.  I can hear him now.

Love you Dad.  And thanks for the exploding turbo toilets.