My kitchen sink faucet has been steadily dripping for the past few weeks. I timed it at one drip each seven seconds, and that was a month ago; the drip increased since then to every five seconds. Plink, plink, plink, collecting in whatever plate or bowl might be in the sink.
At last, sheepish as I always am when it comes to these matters, I included a note with my rent check about the drip, candidly assessing my capabilities in the matter of plumbing and asking if, in the near future, a plumber could be called to fix the drip.
Two mornings later, and hours after being awoken by the plink, plink, plink in the night, word arrived that the plumber would be visiting later that day. Speedy service, eh?
I happened to have the day off, meaning I would be home to greet the plumber. First things first: I washed the dirty dishes piling up, the better to make a good impression, and besides they needed to be washed anyway.
A couple of hours later, two advance scouts of the plumber came by to assess the problem. I led them into the kitchen. And noticed — no plink, plink, plink. The sink was dry as a bone. “Um, it’s been dripping every five seconds for weeks,” I assured them, feeling like a dope.
They said the plumber would be by in a half-hour, maybe 45 minutes. It was 11:30, and I figured, OK, I’ll hold off on going out to lunch until he arrives. Ditto with starting a load of laundry, in case he needs to shut off the water.
Shortly after 1 p.m., with no sign of the plumber, I made my own lunch at home. At 2:30 p.m., I started a load of laundry. At 3:45 p.m., the clothes now in the dryer, he arrived.
Still no plink, plink, plink, but being prepared this time, I explained the situation deftly. A man who knows intimately the vagaries of plumbing fixtures, he gave an understanding smile, took the assembly apart and replaced the washer, then bade me farewell.
There’s no plink, plink, plink now, just as there was no plink, plink, plink before. The test, of course, will come at 4 a.m….