So I couldn’t wait. I replaced that Chinese piece of crap with a new toilet handle from Home Depot. But it didn’t work. And for the past week, the Nordic Warrior Queen has been getting wet-bottomed at all hours of the night.
And I’m to blame, all because I tried to fix it.
I had no choice. Yesterday I called the front office and asked to speak to the Mexican guy who fixed my toilet last week. There was a long silence. Finally she said, ”Excuse me, sir?”
“You know, the big Mexican. The one with the tool belt.”
Another long pause ensued. I could tell something was wrong. “Sir, we have nine repairmen. They’re all Mexican, and they all have toolbelts.”
Ummm. “Yeah, but…this one speaks perfect English.”
“Oh. You mean Hector. He’s out on a call.”
“But…this is an emergency.”
“I can send Hugo…”
The gig would be up if they sent someone else. “No, no. I’ll wait. Just send Hector. Quickly.”
For two hours I paced the floor, waiting. Finally there was a small knock at the door. It was him.
“Hector! Mi amigo!” (that means “my friend”)
“Sir, how can I help you?”
I led Hector to the bathroom and pointed at the offending equipment. “It’s that damned valve again, Hector.”
He removed the tank lid and stared for a moment, then turned to me. “Sir, it appears you’ve modified the hardware.”
“Yes, I know, Hector. But…I had no choice. It wouldn’t stop lea…”
Hector shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to report this, sir. Unauthorized equipment repairs are not allowed. This is a very serious breach of protocol. They could evict you.”
“C’mon, Hector. It’s just a toilet. You mean to tell me…”
Hector raised his hand. “I don’t make the rules, sir. But I do have to enforce them.”
I was devastated. “But…but…Hector?” A small tear escaped my eye.
He could see my panic. He grimaced, and said, “Sir, please. It’s okay. I’ll let it go this time. Just don’t let it happen again.” And with that, he went to his cart, grabbed up some repalcement parts, and had the leaky toilet fixed in seconds.
I was saved. No more wet-bottoms at 3AM, no more crazed Nordic Warrior Queen hovering over my bed in the morning. No threat of eviction. I tried to slip five bucks into the front pocket of Hector’s perfectly pressed Dickies, but he would have none of it.
“Please, sir. I’m just doing my job. And next time, you call me first, okay?”
I nodded my head, closed the door, and sank to the floor in relief. What would we do without Hector?