Toilet Repair

I was talking to Aunt Rose the other day and she said “you have to tell the story about fixing your father’s toilet”. I said, “Sure” and hung up the phone. Toilet story…toilet story…what was she talking about? I slowly folded the phone and starred at it while I was attempting to remember. My thumb ran over the buttons on the phone when I noticed a giant U-shaped scar on my thumb. Thirteen stitches if memory serves. Yep, that’s it, the toilet story.

One of the last times I went to visit my dad he asked me to fix the toilet. He said “Tell you what; I’ll make some spaghetti while you replace the seal on the toilet tank”. Nothing is more appetizing than placing your hands in a 30 year old toilet and then eating a hearty meal. I said “Dad please, just call a plumber, please oh please? Those bolts are 30 years old!” Dad countered with “Oh come on you sissy, fix the toilet.” I went downstairs and got his socket set. I distinctly remember the ½ inch socket being cracked. I said, “Dad I can’t fix the toilet because the ½" socket is cracked.” To which Dad replied “Jesus Keee-ripes, when did you break the socket?” I replied “Dad, I haven’t lived here in like 9 years.”

Dad had the perfect solution, “get a hose clamp, tighten it around the cracked socket and it will be fine.” Well the clamp failed, the socket slipped and I cut my thumb in the toilet. There was blood all over the place; it looked like a horror film. I quickly wrapped my hand in a towel and ran up to my Dad. “Dad, I have to go to the hospital, I just cut my hand really bad.”

My father replied with “I went to all this trouble to cook you dinner and you’re leaving? Go to the cellar and get some dressing for the salad.” As I walked down the steps, I remember thinking “how am I going to wash the toilet germs off with one hand and eat?” As I looked the bottle of dressing I thought “Oh hell, it doesn’t matter, I’m going to bleed out before I even finish dinner.” I then checked the expiration date on the bottle of dressing which is something I highly recommend when eating anything at your parent’s house. The dressing expired a year prior…my stomach started to tighten. I walked upstairs and said “Dad, this salad dressing is a collector’s item, and we can’t eat it or we’ll die.” Dad opened the bottle, didn’t even sniff the contents. Not even a whiff. With no hesitation, he took a big slug of the salad dressing like he was drinking a Coke. “It is fine, you sissy.”

As I sat eating dinner, I thought “what are the odds of not getting an infection or food poisoning or bleeding to death.”

Well I finished dinner and went to the emergency room at the hospital. The doctor asked “This injury looks several hours old. Why did you wait so long to come in?” I said “If I tell you what happened, will you pump my stomach?”

Morris