Swiffer Sink Saga 2011

It seems my sink is jealous of the attention paid to my pond/fountain and has decided to do something about it—namely drip down below onto the floor of my cupboard.

sink2

As you can imagine, this did not thrill me. 

Any disruption to  basic necessities— water, food, Internet, Baseball Tonight, power —are basically classified as mini-catastrophes in my world. I lose power, I go ape shit—another post entirely. 

Anyway, if I don’t have a sink, how can I make my tea? Use my steamer? Make my lunch for work at that exact second instead of later in the evening? How am I supposed to survive?!?

These were my thoughts about two seconds after this drippy discovery.

I was really trying to go with the flow—I know life is full of malfunctioning appliances and people—but when that flow is slowly dripping out under my sink every time I run the water, I tend to spout out my frustration in various forms.

Part of my frustration comes from not being able to fix it myself, but 99.9  percent of my frustration comes from the series of events that follow after my stepdad (or anyone) comes over to “fix” it.

*Yes,  I am most appreciative, but I am also OCD with no patience for putzing or lack of respect for the Lysol.

So without further putzing, let’s take a look at how my Sunday afternoon went (all times are approximate.)

1 pm—It’s Swiffer Sunday, so I throw everything into my dining room and proceed to do the Wet Jet waltz across my kitchen. While the floors dry, I go for a walk.

1:30—Get back, wash my hands and reached below the sink for the dish soap, only to discover a small puddle.

1:31—Express puzzlement over said puddle to inanimate objects within earshot and wipe it up with paper towel.

1: 32—Ignore real problem and move on.

2:30—Forget I was going to do the dishes, reach down for dish soap again and rediscover another puddle. Swear under (and over) my breath and call my stepdad to express my puzzlement over said puddle.

3:00—Stepdad arrives, does not take his shoes off before entering my Swiffered kitchen floor and going below the sink.

3:00:10—Remind myself he’s helping me out and try to ignore that he did not take his shoes off before entering my Swiffered kitchen floor. Deep breaths are taken and possibly exhaled as a loud sigh—this part is sketchy.

3:30—After tearing apart the sink and putting tools on the rug, it is decided he needs to go to Home Depot and I “need to chill out.”

Whatever.

3:31—He leaves. A towel is placed under his tools. While placing said towel, I realize the dishes are stacked on the counter—a situation that (obviously) needs to be remedied immediately.

3:35—Dishes and dish drainer are transported to the bathtub where they are thoroughly washed. Being crouched at that level, I notice the floor could stand to be vacuumed and heck, while I’m down there, the toilet should be cleaned.

4:00—Stepdad returns with the parts—he thinks—and I continue to stay out of the kitchen, not because I will be in the way, but because I will be tempted to Swiffer stalk him and poo-poo his putzing.

4:01—Plop down on the couch to watch the ballgame, something I had planned on doing before the Swiffer Sink Saga of 2011.

4:20—Try to ignore the clanking tools in the next room, decide I’m pretty much a revolutionary and applaud my survival skills in times of such stress.

4:21—Re-enter the kitchen, see what I declare to be a critical cleaning crisis and immediately change my mind on revolutionary status. However, I am informed it’s “fixed” and that he’s heading home.

4:25—Air kisses are exchanged, appreciation is heaped upon his ego before the dish drainer is put back in it’s rightful home, the shower is scrubbed and the Swiffer is put to good use. Again.

5:00—Make food—carefully avoiding the side of the sink that has drying caulk—and plop down on the couch to watch the end of the ballgame. Feel better, as this is your happy place.

Next afternoon—Fill sink, empty sink, discover it’s still dripping down below.

Throw something—a tantrum or a fork—and take a deep breath.

Make a phone call and a drink.

Blame the gnome.

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24 responses to “Swiffer Sink Saga 2011

  1. Seriously, it IS the gnome.

  2. Get a Gnome Cam. Then when the evil gnome comes in to break the sink, he’ll be drawn to the Gnome Cam (they can be very chatty), never realizing he has been captured on film. Sell film. Make $$. Buy new house with better sink.

    • Nah, I’m blaming this one on old pipes. If the gnome had made an indoor appearance, I think I would have seen his muddy little footprints on the newly-Swiffered floor.

  3. I love your blog, Abby. Good luck with the sink.

  4. I loathe leaky appliances.
    Like, can’t you just do your job and not cause problems for everyone??

  5. HOLY CRAP! I had a roommate in college like you, she always was cleaning. Not that there’s anything wrong with that but I was not as, shall we say, religious about my cleaning. She one time got so sick and tired of my shoes laying all over the house that she started chucking them at me when I’d walk throught the door, as a reminder that I had left them laying around. I miss her, need to give her a call.

    • Well, hopefully you didn’t wear 6-inch heels, as those could be considered deadly weapons with the possibility of impalement if hurled with extreme force.

  6. I’m glad you got your sink fixed. I hate it when appliances revolt and stop doing their jobs properly. So frustrating!

  7. Wow, you really threw everything AND the kitchen sink at us with this blog.

    thanks, I’m here all week try the veal

  8. I am OCD about cleaning. shit I might have selective OCD. But the pipes, man the pipes, that just throws a wrench into the wheel. I hope your AC is running, man it’s been hotter that two rats fucking in a wool sock. I wanted to thank you for introducing me to your quest poster “kid free living” = )

  9. Oh goodness. Glad it’s fixed, but I still blame the gnome!!!

  10. I feel your pain!
    I am a total doofus when it comes to anything plumbing.
    I am away in a tiny town right now, and our water pipes just busted! We’ve had no water for a full day, which means that (a) I have to boil bottled water to make tea, (b) I have to shower on an army base, (c) every time me or the fiance use the bathroom, we have to fetch water from the river and manually pour it in to flush! It’s a pain in the ass, and we don’t even have a Gnome to blame.
    I do admire your appreciation for cleanliness! Good luck with the puddle!

    • The puddle is gone, and so is any excuse I have to complain about household crap after hearing you have to pour river water down the crapper. Good luck with that!

  11. Pingback: Link Love 6/24/11 | Cordelia Calls It Quits

  12. It’s people like us who give new context to the term “home invasion” .Not that we don’t LOVE company, but…well, we don’t exactly love having company. Oh and 3:00:10? I do that all day long.

  13. 1. we’re going to be great virtual friends, i just know it

    2. you’re as anal as i am about cleanliness and life’s necessities… love it.

    3. my dad freaking fixes everything but my mom has trained him over the years he better take his shoes off!!!!

  14. Abby, how I sympathize with you. Reading your story about the trrible drip I opened my own cupboard and, yes, it’s still there: a bowl filled with water. I’ve had this ‘problem’ for over two months now. It’s actually quite easy to solve, but I can’t be bothered after surviving my leaking roof episode, when I found myself standing on my roof in the middle of the night in a freakin’ thunderstorm, trying to stop a leak that I had no idea how to locate with all that rain pouring down. So after that, I couldn’t be bothered with a dripping sink. Can you relate?

    Randy from across the Atlantic

  15. Ugh! It’s still dripping?? So annoying. So very, very annoying. Your post made me laugh, though, as did your comment about “Emphysema Alley” on my blog. Ha! I really liked that one. 🙂

  16. Blame it on the gnome. I love that you washed your dishes in your bathtub. I long for a bathtub again just for the bubble bath factor but if need me, now know that I can do my dishes in there.

    At least your step dad is crafty. My dad has no clue about home improvement kind of stuff and I definitely take after him. I usually have my friends boyfriends come over to fix stuff, it’s sad.

  17. Oh no. That’s the worst! I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it though.

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