Under Pressure
Great moments in building history: Finding yourself in hot water
It started out uneventfully enough: a nice home, a remodeled kitchen for a pleasant, older couple and a mandatory drink of scotch—the perfect sale. Mr. McKenzie would agree to his wife getting a $20,000 kitchen remodel only if he got a wet bar within 10 ft. of his Lazyboy. “It’s the damned gout, you see!” he said. “Can’t get as far as I used to, hopping on one leg. You don’t expect an 84-year-old codger to have to hop more than 10 ft. to pour a drink, do you?” Mrs. McKenzie had done all of the pouring I had seen done that day and on my three previous visits, but much as the warm glow of the malt liquor tempted me to do so, I didn’t point that out.
Ever alert, I spied a broom closet only 61⁄2 ft. to the left of Old Man McKenzie. “Maybe this could be the wet bar,” I said. I went to the basement, wondering if the demon god Plumbing would be on my side for only this one tiny remodel. And sure enough, directly underneath the broom closet, was a water-heater tank. I was on a roll. But the plumbing was like none I had ever seen in a residence. You see, the house had been built by a high-rise building contractor and had equipment designed for a 40-story tower. The system was impressive, with pumps and valves and things, but it had the basics—cold water in and hot water out.
I returned upstairs in smug jubilation, knowing I had just sold an additional $2,000. Not only could Old Man McKenzie have a wet bar, but he could have a wet bar with hot water! “Yup, instant hot water just like the hotels,” Mr. McKenzie boasted in his very pleasant, whiskey-burnished way. “The pump keeps it circulating between two hot-water tanks 24 hours a day!” he added, reminding me for the fifth time of the mechanical wonders that infested his house. It was the only residence I had ever seen with commercial wall-hung valve toilets that exploded with a 60-mile-an-hour jet swirl at the push of a button.
Work on Mrs. McKenzie’s new kitchen and Mr. McKenzie’s new wet bar progressed smoothly over the next several weeks. Once the cabinets were installed, I was ready for the plumber, who was surprised at the complexity of the system.
“Boy, I’ve never seen a house like this before,” he said. “It’s piped up like an international airport. I’m going to have to charge you extra.” But miraculously, he then found an easier way to a cold-water pipe directly underneath the wet bar, so the plumber didn’t have to charge me extra after all. Truly amazing!
The day after the job was complete, and I had received my last check from the McKenzies, I got a phone call at 4 a. m. “Bill, my toilet is steaming like the mill tails of hell!” During a long pause, I woke up a little and realized it wasn’t my ex-wife but Mrs. McKenzie. I grunted, and she continued surprisingly matter of factly. “I’ve flushed it and flushed it, and it’s full of hot water! My bathroom is all fogged up!” The demon god of Lawsuits appeared, pointing out a bright red part on Mrs. McKenzie’s anatomy. I asked if she was okay and was relieved to hear a hint of laughter in her voice.
When I got there, Mr. McKenzie hobbled to the door with a huge smile on his face while he told me I was damned lucky his wife hadn’t used the bidet. “Then we’d all be in hot water,” he cackled, as he led me to the master-bedroom bath. Now the toilet was steaming without being flushed. The perfect job was going rapidly down the drain.
The third plumber we called discovered that the plumber who did the work for the wet bar had made two mistakes. First and foremost, to get cold water for the wet bar, he had unknowingly tapped the supply line to the pressurized flush system, which sucked 7 gal. or 8 gal. of water every time a toilet was flushed, and which, thanks to Mr. McKenzie in particular, was fairly often. This placed suction instead of pressure on the German faucets we had installed. Secondly, he had elected not to put all of the parts into the bowels of the particular brand of faucet I had forced on him under protest. This allowed hot water, which was in constant recirculating supply, to run to the cold-water side and fill the 11⁄2-in. toilet line with 160° water. What a blast. Welcome to the home of the boiling toilet; steamed buns, no extra charge. The jokes rolled on for weeks. Everyone had a good laugh, especially the third plumber, who also happened to know that hot water destroys the rubber seals in pressurized flush systems, and he would have to bill me as if I were an international airport.
Mr. McKenzie offered me some scotch, and I discovered the secret to his longevity as I enjoyed a sheepish smile.
—William McCowatt, Kukuihaele, Hawaii
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