Over the past two weeks, we've toyed with selling our house. We've decided against it.
Thinking about selling, I recalled when Kent and I lived on Hastey Street. You may remember the story of the carpenter - I think I called him Ralph in a previous story - we hired to re-do our master bathroom. It wasn't a good experience. Ralph was very, very poor at carpentry.
My friend Carolyn was an absolute hoot. Our friendship was usually localized to school and work, but one time she came over for a swim.
We had just put the house on the market and the new For Sale sign stood beside the road. When Carolyn pulled up, she promptly asked why we were selling. As we started inside, I changed our course from front door to back door because something was wrong with the front door. (I can't recall what was wrong, but within minutes of arriving at my house, I pointed out two things that we had to avoid because they didn't work properly. I wish I could remember what they were as it would make this tale more interesting, but I cannot.)
That very morning incompetent Ralph had wrapped up his work in the bathroom. It was a horrible disappointment. I was still reeling and took her to see the reason for my disappointment. After I showed it to her, I suggested she just stay there to change into her swimsuit. Therefore, she was the first user of the new horribly-re-done-by-an-incompetent-carpenter bathroom.
She closed the door and then noticed there was no toilet paper. She tried to re-open the door, but couldn't. It was too tight. (More of Ralph's handiwork.) One needed to body-shove it open and she wasn't comfortable with that. She yelled at me and I returned with toilet paper. I forcefully jerked the door open to hand her the toilet paper. I left, shutting the tight door behind me.
Carolyn used the toilet, stripping off all her clothes to put on her swimsuit at the same time. Then she made the grave mistake of flushing the newly installed toilet. Need I remind you it was installed by an incompetent carpenter? Terrible noises erupted. Noises I couldn't identify, except Carolyn's yelling. "VALERIEEEE! VALERIEEE!"
I ran into the bedroom, forced the bathroom door open and there was Carolyn, naked, straddling the toilet trying to shut off the water supply to the toilet. The water pressure in the tank had dislodged the tank lid when she flushed and water was forcefully shooting straight up.
As anyone might have been, Carolyn was discombobulated by the whole ordeal. I squeezed into the tight fit with her and we managed to get the water supply turned off. As I was turning the valve, Carolyn, wet with toilet water, naked, and shaken, yelled, "NO WONDER YOU WANT TO SELL THIS HOUSE!! IT'S FALLING APART!!"