The hot water tank is in our bedroom closet.
When moving boxes and bags around recently, we saw the tank was encircled by a sticky black patch. Wet. Grimy. Likely moldy. New wood floors if not already then soon rotting.
Plumber #1 arrives. Confirms the tank has a leak. Can't see it. Must be on the bottom.
Borrows my pen — one of my favourites, cuz it was handy — and fails to return it.
Unanswered phonecalls. We learn that the annual 2-week construction worker holiday has begun, and the offices are closed. Phonecalls to building contractor.
Plumber #2 arrives. Looks at the tank. Hmmm.
After 10 minutes, asks if we have a garden hose. No. Checks his truck. Takes the neighbour's garden hose (adjoining building but separate condo corporation) to drain the tank.
Asks if there's a man around to help him carry the tank. His partner is at the dentist. No. Mother-in-law, here to watch Helena, tells him J-F will be home soon.
Plumber assaults J-F at the door for assistance in wiggling the tank inside, before even Helena is deposited or I get a kiss hello.
It's only at the top of the stairs that J-F realizes he's expected to help carry the tank downstairs. We're running late for our evening out.
Plumber fiddles with old tank. Catches the skin of his thumb on an edge and bleeds all over our bathroom. Announces he's going to the clinic.
The door buzzes at 11:23, 10 minutes after we've turned out the lights and gone to bed. Plumber. To collect his tools. At 11 fucking 23.
We're scantily clad. I don't want him in my bedroom at that hour. He's oblivious to my indications that he should remain by the front door while J-F collects his tools for him. He barges past. I hold my breath, in anger, and also expecting Helena to wake up.
Plumber waves his bandaged thumb about, a bit dramatically. "Did you get stitches?" "Oh, no. It's not serious."
Plumber #2 is stupid (but fast).
J-F has a cold spongebath before setting off for work.
Plumber #1 returns and installs new tank. Advises that old tank will be removed on Friday, when plumber #2's thumb is better.
Old tank sits in the middle of our bedroom, on cardboard and towels, now very wet, still leaking.
I have a garden hose to return.