It's plumbing week on Chappell Street. In this unaired and conceivably finite home renovation series, we're tackling the last remaining vestiges of cast iron plumbing and putting in a new toilet.
As with everything in this temporary WWII house, the existing plumbing was poorly executed, crudely modified and deteriorated with age.
Ridding the house of its cast iron stacks is part of the larger downstairs bathroom renovation, which in turn is part of the larger downstairs renovation, which is encased in the larger renovation/rebuild of the exterior in 2012. It's like Russian dolls, but each one is a smaller Pandora's box that opens with the words "while we're at it."
In the duo that is us, one of us is incredibly handy. It's not me. I am best at ensuring everyone is fed, watered, and if necessary, libated. I am also good at holding the ends of things, carrying things, carrying one end of heavy things, unskilled labour, and retrieving well-described items from building supply stores. A smart phone helps significantly with this last task. Pictures do say a 1,000 words. On rare occasion, my geometry knowledge proves useful, but mostly I am an all purpose flunky. A sawhorse with hands, feet, car keys, a debit card and a compulsion to ensure everyone is hydrated and full.
And sometimes I have gaps in logic.
After successfully retrieving ABS connectors and a toilet from Home Depot (because, while we're at it, let's get rid of the remaining water-pig toilet), I was draining the water from the old upstairs toilet. There was a bunch of gritty sediment at the bottom of the tank and the cloth I was using to sop up the water was getting very dirty, so I started to rinse it in the sink. This was rapidly followed by intense screaming from downstairs.
I shut off the taps and ran, envisioning Shawn pinned beneath heavy cast iron. As I hit the top of the stairs I recalled how less than an hour ago I held the upstairs stack still as he cut through that thick metal pipe, then opened the door for him as he took it outside.
As I said, gaps.
On the upside, the flood provided some comic relief in a day of frustration and filth (poop goes through those pipes). The handy one of us was still laughing an hour later.
Thankfully, I was able to redeem myself later in the day. While applying ABS adhesive in the basement, the dabber slipped out of Shawn's hand and fell out of reach at the bottom of a 45 coupler, a foot down from the closest opening in the stack. Repeated retrieval efforts with coat hanger wire were unsuccessful. We couldn't leave it there. It was a waste inhibiting fluff ball of crazy glue attached to a metal stick. We also didn't want to undo what Shawn already put together. I told him I had an idea. I attached some fridge magnets to a string and fed it down the stack. The metal stem of the dabber stuck to the magnets and I was able to pull it back up to where Shawn could grab it through the hole.
This is not to say things have gone smoothly since then. I just put a fresh Band-aid over a small chunk of missing skin on Shawn's finger. He had to wait till I mopped up a tiny bit of blood and got more Band-aids from upstairs after accidentally impaling the side of my foot with a spade bit. Don't worry, I know first aid, we have a first-aid kit, and our tetanus shots are up to date.
Also don't worry because we've been at this for years. We're seasoned, experienced, and one of us is very handy.
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