An UnCommon Thread

An unCommon Thread

A home improvement parable.

It began so innocently. It was my lunch hour, and I was doing a bit of internet surfing. I entered "replacing bathtub drains," because our drain, which I had removed and reinserted a couple years back, had been leaking ever so slightly. I thought it might need new putty, but couldn't recall if it was threaded in or what. I pulled up a YouTube video in which the guy not only quickly unscrewed the drain and dropped in a new one, but he did it with a special "tub drain removal tool" -- and I had the same tool, right in my toolbox.

     It was as though this project and I were meant to be; a few minutes' work, the leak would be gone, and I'd have that warm inner glow of the successful handyman. I dug out the tool, even more enthused because it required the 1/2 inch ratchet I'd bought for a different project but had never used. I climbed into the tub, inserted the tool into the cross-hatching, and gave it a twist. Nothing moved. I recited the mantra, "righty-tighty," "lefty loosey", verified directions, and tried again. Still nothing. My first moment of decision. It probably simply needed sudden force to break loose. If I pulled really hard something would happen -- maybe the drain would come loose, or maybe the tub would crack, or a pipe below would break.

     Prudence suggested quitting, or calling a plumber. But this project was my destiny. I owned it and I owned the tool. How could I mess up a simple thing like this? After all, my dad had sold plumbing supplies, and he could have fixed this, so I could, too. I jerked, hard, with all my weight. The drain broke loose, and, just like in the video, it unscrewed. Beautifully, smoothly, wonderfully. And the putty had indeed hardened and cracked, so I could tell where the water was getting in. I could simply put on more putty, put it back, tighten it, and be done. But anybody could do that; hadn't the YouTube guy put in a new one? "I got it," he said, "at the local home improvement store. Just a few bucks." Maybe I could get a polished and fancier new one; wouldn't that impress the wife?

     Off to Menard's. I took the old one with me, to be sure I got the right diameter. When I found the drain display, I was a bit disappointed -- they all looked so cheap compared to the old one (but all the same diameter). At least they were new. So I bought one, with a strainer to keep hair from clogging things up. I had the cashier toss the old drain in her trash can; no sense hauling that dirty old thing around. That annoying little voice of prudence seemed to be trying to tell me something, but who listens to little voices?

     I got home and slathered the new drain with putty -- the container said to "apply liberally" and I did. I began to tighten it. When I got near the end, the drain went off at a slight angle, wouldn't sit properly, and therefore wouldn't seal. I know, because I tried running a bit of water, and when I went downstairs to check, I saw it dripping down from the ceiling tile. That's the thing about water -- it's so damned honest. Insistent integrity. Ask any shipwreck or flood survivor. They'll tell you that water doesn't care what you want or think, only where the lowest point is and whether it can get in there. And if it can, it will, without hesitation or apology. This water did.

     So I backed out the drain and screwed it in again, giving it a couple extra turns. It was still crooked, but ever so slightly. Maybe, I told myself, it will be tight enough now, especially if I jam more putty in there. No sir, said the water, as it dashed down. I backed out the drain and looked at it. Seemed okay, flat and everything. Maybe I had overstuffed it with putty, and it didn't have room to fit into the opening. I pulled off most of the putty and re-inserted the drain, with the same result, including the steady drip of water onto the basement floor.

     I backed it out again and peered down into the opening. The thingy that the drain screwed into (note the fancy terminology) seemed loose, with a tendency to move ever so slightly from side-to-side. That, I decided, was the problem; it no longer lined up. The project was now officially beyond my limited abilities. So now I needed a plumber. Or, at least a plumber's opinion. I called a local plumbing supply store that is willing to give advice.

    When I talked to the guy there, he said he doubted my diagnosis. "That's not likely to happen. More likely, the new drain might not be threaded the same as the tub shoe."

    "Tub shoe?"

   "That's the thing the drain screws into."

    "The threads are not standard?" The YouTube guy hadn't mentioned that; of course, neither had he said anything about plumber's putty.

    "No, especially with older houses. Places like Menard's only stock the most common threaded one. Why don't you compare the new one to the old one, and you'll know."

   Silence on my end. "Um, I can't."

   "Why not?"

    "Well, I threw the old one away."

      Silence on his end. "Oh. It was broken?"

     "No, I just thought I'd put in a new one."

     "That might be a problem." He didn't say, but he didn't need to add, "You're screwed, dummy." He did sigh. "Well, then you just need to try different ones; I have several here, but I close in ten minutes. And you might have to replace that shoe if you can't find a thread to match. Really too bad you don't have the old one to put back in."

     "Yeah. Okay, thanks. Bye."

      What to do, what to do. As I looked up plumbers, a vague thought flickered in the back of my mind, then burst into flame. All might not be lost. I unscrewed the new drain and drove back to Menard's, where I fished through the trash bins until I found the old one.

     I brought it home, slathered itup with putty, and screwed into place. It fit as if it belonged there. I went downstairs, mopped up the water, picked up the pieces of ceiling tile that had soaked up water until they folded up like wet cardboard, and set a bucket under the place where the water had come down. I went upstairs and ran some water in the tub, and hurried to the basement door, and listened.

    And heard a steady plink of water, the sound of water was telling me how inadequate I was.

    I could have cried. Maybe I did.

     I sighed and resolved to call plumber. I went up to the bathroom to pick up my tools. Then, with one last burst of inspiration -- or maybe desperation -- I grabbed the drain tool, put it in place and gave it a solid twist. It turned -- the drain wasn't in tight enough. I made sure it was tight as it could get, ran more water, and ran to the basement stairs. Where I heard . . . nothing.  The water went where I wanted, for once.

     Two days later, two showers later, and the pipe is dry as bone. Tomorrow I'll replace the ceiling tiles and all will be good as new. Or I guess, good as old, since it's still the old drain with new putty. Just as I planned it.