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(I just noticed that of the five preceding sentences, four of them end with an exclamation point. That’s a first, I think, for me anyway.)
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The smaller picture shows the date the toilet was manufactured (at least when the clay tank was ready to go into the kiln). Thirty-one years is pretty good for plumbing parts to endure daily use. By now, most replacement toilet innards are the Fluidmaster brand, which claims to be the #1 selling fill valve in the world. It has a one-year warranty, though. Not thirty-one. Well, I can always hope.
Back to the subject at hand, this job was actually pleasant. I turned off the water to the house to preclude any flooding since the hose connecting the toilet to the water line didn’t have a shut-off valve installed. Hm-m-m. What other surprises are in store? None, it turned out. I used a couple of locking pliers (there wasn’t room for the normal pipe wrenches) and removed all the old stuff. The new “angle stop” valve went on without a hitch. The new feed hose, stainless steel wrapped this time, went on without a hitch or even tools. The new fill valve went in slick as a whistle and was just hand-tightened—no tools. I adjusted the fill level, turned on the water and the tank filled to the exact level it’s supposed to.
Total time: About 30 minutes. I was not bruised or bleeding. I hadn’t uttered one bad word. My blood pressure remained at its usual docile unperturbed level. The room wasn’t a mess. I even had some parts left over, which I’m sure I will save somewhere and after a decade or two will still be saved somewhere, never to be used. All in all, a memorable experience. Strange, though. Tomorrow I’ll probably have a tree fall on me just to keep things even.
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