Sally Breslin: My Life: THE HOLEY FAUCET AND THE HUNGRY PLUMBER

I swear I entered the Twilight Zone of plumbers the other day.

First of all, the sprayer in my kitchen sink broke off. As a result, the ceiling received a nice geyser-style washing before I was able to turn off the water. Not only that, the faucet also had been acting up for a while. The single handle on top of it decided to stop turning to the left, which made trying to get hot water nearly impossible.

So I finally raised the white flag of surrender and went to a big-box hardware store to purchase a new faucet and sprayer. The first thing I noticed on the faucet boxes was a list of the number of holes the faucet required – anywhere from one to four holes. I had no idea what kind of holes they were talking about, so I flagged down a clerk.

“What type of faucet do you have now?” he asked. “One handle or two?”

“One – that doesn’t work.”

“Does it have a sprayer?”

“Yes – that also doesn’t work.”

“Is the sprayer separate or attached?”

“Separate.”

He then showed me the faucets I could choose from that would fit the required number of hole options to replace my current set-up. Naturally, being the very selective, fussy person that I am, I immediately chose the cheapest one.

The next day, I called a large plumbing service that advertises daily on TV, and asked about scheduling the installation of the faucet and sprayer. The employee said they would send someone over on the next Wednesday, between 8 AM and 5 PM.

The plumber, John, showed up at 4:30 PM. I gave him the new faucet and he set to work.

The first thing he did was attempt to pry my sink out of the granite countertop. I’m by no means an expert on faucet installation, but that seemed a little odd to me.

“This sink is sealed in here for life,” he grunted, still trying to pry it out.

“Well, isn’t that the whole idea?” I asked him.

The sink finally popped out with a loud cracking sound. I had a "sinking" feeling that any cracking sound, especially when associated with a plastic sink, couldn’t be good.

He then inserted the faucet into the holes in the disembodied sink and went to set it back into the opening in the countertop. It didn’t fit. He pushed down harder. The sink’s back edge, where the faucet was, was sticking up.

“You’re going to have to get a different faucet,” he said, sighing. “This one doesn’t fit.”

“But I had a long conversation with the clerk about the number of holes,” I protested.

“The holes are okay. The faucet is too big. You need a narrower one to fit into the space between the sink and the wall.”

“Well, seeing you already tore out the sink, maybe I should get a new one while I’m at it?” I asked. “I really hate this cheap plastic one and have been wanting to switch over to stainless.” I moved to check out the sink and saw a crack along one of the edges. “And it looks as if this one is cracked now, too.”

He shook his head. “Nah. It’ll be fine. Just put some Wite-Out on it. You don’t have to bother getting a whole new sink.”

He then said he’d pick up a faucet for me and install it the next day.

“OK, but I’m not paying a penny over $120 for it,” I warned him, thinking he’d probably go buy the most expensive faucet he could find otherwise – something worthy of the Playboy mansion.

“That's fine.” He was silent for a moment, then, to my surprise, said, “So, let’s have dinner now.”

I just stared at him, wondering if a guy young enough to be my grandson was inviting me out to eat. When I didn’t immediately answer, he added, “I’m starving. What are you having for dinner? I was hoping you might feed me.”

He wasn’t inviting me out to eat. He was trying to score a free meal.

“I don’t have a thing thawed out,” I told him. “Besides that, I don’t usually eat dinner until 9 p.m.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, when I come back with the faucet tomorrow, at least have a sandwich for me, okay? I’ll be hungry then, too. And by the way, I’m not fussy.”

After he left, I’m ashamed to admit I was dumb enough to actually consider going to the store and buying ham and cheese so I could make a sandwich for him. Then I looked at the crack in my sink, which was just lying on the counter, and was reminded that I couldn’t even use it that night, and thought, “Go buy your own darned sandwich!”

John returned after 5:00 the next afternoon with another faucet and set to work installing it.

“I’m doing you a favor,” he informed me. “This is after hours and I’m charging you for only a half-hour of labor. I’m saving you a bundle.” He looked around. “So where’s my sandwich?”

“I have some brownies,” I offered, “but no sandwich.”

“I’d rather have a sandwich,” he said, frowning. “I’m trying to cut down on sweets.”

He then continued to install the faucet, and while he was underneath the counter, called out to me, “Hand me my Plumber’s Caulk.”

I’d never heard of Plumber’s Caulk, and considering that the “L” in the word is silent, so it’s pronounced, “cauk”...well, I wish a camera had been recording my expression at that moment.

The faucet and sprayer finally were installed, the sink was caulked back into the counter, and everything was working properly, so I suppose I should have been relieved.

That was when John handed me the bill...$559. The itemized list even included the rubber gloves he’d worn while caulking the sink.

That was what he classified as “saving me a bundle?” Heck, I nearly needed a defibrillator.

Like a fool, I paid him.

Two days later, I was out taking my daily walk and met one of my neighbors, who asked how I was doing.

“I’m totally broke for Christmas,” I told him, then explained about the plumber.

“Are you crazy?” he said. “He even cracked your sink and you still paid him all that money? Boy, he must have seen you as an easy mark...a real meal ticket!”

“Yeah. Believe it or not, he even asked me to make dinner for him.”

His eyes widened. “You’re serious? For that kind of money, he can buy himself dinner...in Paris!”

He then added, “You know, I’m really mad at you right now! I’m excellent at anything to do with plumbing. Installing a faucet doesn’t take Einstein to handle it, you know! If you’d have called me, I’d have put in your faucet in a snap...and free of charge.”

I don’t think he was prepared to see a grown woman cry.

# # #