#leaky faucet plumber

[tucsontoiletrepair]

Kitchen & Bathroom Plumbing Repairs Tucson

[sithbelle]

It turns out, getting a kitchen sink fixed can be quite the ordeal.

[helloemergencyservices]

How to repair a leaky faucet in Warrington

Stop the water and remove the handle

Turn off the water. If the faucet is on the second floor of a multi-story house, you may have to wait a minute for the water to drain.

To remove the handle, you will probably need to unscrew a set screw with a hex wrench or small screwdriver.

If the house has old galvanized pipes, turning the water off and back on will likely expose debris in the pipes that will clog faucet aerators and showerheads throughout the house.

Find replacement disks

Remove the cylinder that contains the disks and take it to a hardware or home improvement store for replacement parts. The O-rings can be pried out of the cylinder with your fingers.

Remove rubber seals

On some models, you can remove the base plate to expose the rubber seals. Remove them with a small screwdriver, being careful not to damage the plastic housing. If the cylinder is cracked or scratched, replace it. Otherwise, buy a set with the rubber seals and O-rings.

Clean parts

Before replacing the rubber parts, carefully clean the seats with a toothbrush or non-metallic abrasive pad to remove debris and dirt.

Reassemble the cylinder

Reassemble the cylinder and seat it so that it faces the same direction as before.

Find the right parts

Finding the right parts can take more time than working on the faucet. To avoid multiple purchases, remove the worn parts - maybe even the entire faucet - and take them to the store.

Chances are, your faucet will look and function similarly to one of them. However, there are hundreds of faucet types, so you may have an unusual model with hard-to-find parts.

Call the Emergency Plumber in Warrington. We are your right contact partner. Call us now, 01925941004.

[avantelplumbing]

Avantel Plumbing of Chicago IL

Website : https://chicagoplumber.avantel.net/

Address : 1000 West Harrison St, Chicago IL 60680

Phone : +1 (312) 265-2745

Avantel Plumbing Drain Cleaning and Water Heater Services of Chicago IL provides quality plumbing and exceptional service to our customers in the Chicago Illinois Metropolitan area. We work all types of projects including residential, commercial, or industrial, and our types of service include water heaters, toilets, sinks, faucets, sewer, main line and drain cleaning, toilet back ups, bathrooms sinks & bath tubs, garbage disposals, shower drains, floor drains, septic tanks, bio clean maintenance treatments, water lines, water softeners and filtration, backflow testing, frozen pipes, drain repairs, sump pumps, gas lines, repipe, and other home services. We are serving metro Chicago for all your plumbing needs. Give us a call at (312) 265-2745.

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[thedevilrisen]

begging for quinn hughes and “How did you end up like this?” 😵‍💫

Quinn considered himself a tool-body. He was smart and good enough with his hands to fix little problems around both yours and his own respective apartments. A flat battery in a smoke detector, sorted. A leaky window sill, plugged up with silicone before anything could sneak in.

However, on a quaint, sunny Saturday afternoon Quinn went in a little too far over his head when it was decided he would tackle a small plumbing issue. A leaky faucet, which had been dripping in his kitchen.

Quinn very quickly recognised that he was in far over his head, or in this case his ankles as water flowed, ankle-deep around him. The faucet now turned waterfall was doing little but gushing into the overflowing sink and flooding Quinn’s kitchen. Sodden towels, buckets and makeshift damns were easily over run.

His situation was just plain comedy, a broken wrench in his hand, pipes floating around the kitchen in the miniature swimming pool and water leaking from places it definitely wasn’t meant to be leaking from.

The kitchen, now turned watery battle zone had pots and pans strewn around to stop the flooding, the YouTube video Quinn had been watching in which a few steps were absolutely missed.

When you swung open the door, seeing Quinn standing there like a dear in headlights you couldn’t help but let out a light scoff and smirk.

“Quinn, how did you end up like this?” You asked with mock seriousness, this situation was secretly highly amusing you.

Trying to play it cool Quinn looked back at you, absentmindedly flicking his wrist with the spanner in it, "Okay, so, I watched this video—twice, mind you—and I thought I had it under control. But apparently, there's, like, a valve... or maybe a nut? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I turned the wrong one, and—well—everything sort of... exploded?"

You stood there and couldn’t help burst into a fit of giggles as you very clearly remember Quinn stating, “No! Don’t call a plumber, I can handle this!” Reaching for your phone you capture some pictures for future blackmail you asked, “Need me to call that plumber now?”

Thank you for requesting my lovely Ivy! It made my day and I hope this lives up to your standards!

[portraitoftheoddity]

House ownership so far

I moved in at the beginning of May and it's been.... a project. This house is earning the title of my problem child, lol.

So far, I have:

Seemingly gotten rid of the mice (fingers crossed)

Discouraged the scouting carpenter ants (FUCK OFF YA LITTLE BASTARDS)

Removed soooo many spider webs. (I don't hate spiders, just don't want 'em *inside* my house thanks.)

Cleaned up a truly apocalyptic quantity of mouse poop and sterilized so many surfaces. I needed a shop vac for the basement. I still haven't cleaned out one part of the basement that I'm dreading, and need to vacuum the attic.

Replaced all the locks, which involved a chisel to get the strike plates in a place where the deadbolts would actually connect

Caulked up so many holes

Got a plumber to replace the leaky water heater valve

Got a quote for new fencing (mom got bored and came over and tore down the rotted out segments of fence and pulled up the shitty wire fence out back, which I helped her roll up.)

Replaced the stove, since the mice had colonized the old one and rendered it unusable

As of today, I have adequate water filtration so the water comes out clear and is safe to drink! And I don't have to fill up from my parents' well or the town spring.

Tore down the wallpaper in one of the upstairs rooms (now my office) and repainted the wall

Repainted the living room/dining room/front hall where the walls were scuffed to hell

Installed doorbells

Deep cleaned the most disgusting side door I've ever seen

Got an EMERGENCY plumber because the bath faucet broke and wouldn't turn off at 10 at night. X_X

Assembled a medicine cabinet, but haven't hung it up yet

Assembled a new bookcase. Because priorities.

Called the electric company about getting the rotting trees removed that are in danger of falling on THEIR power lines that run through my property (need to follow up)

Have a basement guy working on stabilizing the foundation from the inside by sealing up the crack and adding carbon fiber supports

Put down a deposit with a landscape contractor to install drainage to lessen further foundation issues from water pressure flowing down the hill I'm on

Repainted the guest bedroom, and assembled a bedframe for it

Installed hook latches for the upstairs doors whose knobs don't latch because they're 75 years old

And honestly I feel like I've barely had the chance to touch anything since I am also working full time and freelancing part time on top of that and my job is nuts right now. I have a whole color coded spreadsheet of everything I need to do. I want to repaint both bathrooms and the kitchen, I need to hang the damn medicine cabinet, I want to build a pantry cabinet in the kitchen so I can turn the front hall closet I'm using as a pantry into a hall closet, I want to set up the basement as a chill out den, and there is sooooo much work to do outside I'm trying not to freak out about it because apart from keeping the lawn mowed, I'm trying to relegate most of it to "next year's projects."

I'm so tired.

[bettsfic]

I really don’t understand the concept “if you write you’re a writer” because “if you sing that doesn’t make you a singer”, “if you paint doesn’t necessarily mean your an artist” I feel like the first phrase is used so often to be inspirational but it also doesn’t make much sense. I’m not coming for anyone who uses that phrase I just want to understand the mindset behind it

i mean, that's a really good question.

first, i would argue you could also call yourself an artist and singer using the same logic as "if you write, you're a writer," so let's try a different comparison. if you fix a leaky faucet or a broken toilet, are you a plumber? exactly how many things do you have to fix to consider yourself a plumber? is it when you begin accepting money in exchange for fixing things? or is it when you receive licensure? or is it when it becomes your primary source of income?

it may seem easy. you become a plumber when you get a job as a plumber. to get a job you have to get a license. to get a license you have to apprentice someone and receive training. to receive training you have to find someone to formally mentor you. there's a process, a series of barriers to entry, and for each barrier there's an identity. you're an apprentice, then you're a plumber.

let's try with becoming a doctor. you're pre-med. you're a med school student. you're a resident. you're a doctor.

inevitably someone is going to send me an anon and correct my knowledge of plumbing but i'm not about to start googling information about plumbing just to answer an ask. please take it as an analogy.

plumbing is a lucrative profession. it's specialized knowledge of something that we all require in order to have running water.

being a doctor is a lucrative profession. it's specialized knowledge of the human body and life itself.

writing...is not a lucrative profession. there's no licensure. the only tool you need is a word processor and therefore a computer. the only education you need is basic literacy. no one gives you a full-time job to write creatively. copywriting, sure. ghostwriting, sort of. but to sit down and write what you're passionate about? there's no 401k there.

so without those barriers to entry, without that series of identities at various points in your path, at what point can you call yourself a writer? is it when you accept payment for your work? you can be a formally published, award-winning author and never have received a penny for it. is it when your primary income comes from your work? there are writers on the NYT bestseller list who have day jobs. in fact i don't know a single writer whose primary income is their writing. is it when an editor accepts your work for publication among a pool of other entries? editing is like writing; anyone can start a press or launch a lit mag. moreover, self-publishing is a thing, as well as vanity presses. is it when someone reads your work for their own enrichment without being asked? that's kind of a bizarre gate to have to walk through.

there is no single barrier for entry into writerhood. there is no calling. there is no natural-born talent. and no one is going to tell you you can't do it. well, they may try, but no one has the actual authority to stop you, even if it feels like it.

all creative pursuits are a choice you have to make for yourself when you're ready to, when you've decided your own barrier for entry into that identity. because there is no formal structure, no one else gets to define that identity for you. and so when people say, "if you write you're a writer," what they're really saying is that the only true measurable difference between someone who is a writer and someone who isn't is the act of writing itself.

[legobiwan]

Mario and Luigi for the drabble, “When I’m with you, I’m home.”

Thanks!

I realized I'm answering this one out of order. Whoops! Anyway, have some pre-Mushroom Kingdom conversations and lore-building as your author reminisces about the New York of the '90s.

~~~~~~

He wonders, sometimes, what their lives would have looked like if they had never left Brooklyn.

Barring a miracle - pretty bleak, in all honesty. Maybe being here, in the Mushroom Kingdom, was the miracle. He remembers the frenzied few days leading up to their disappearance. The previous few months had been a mess of unpaid bills and awful business decisions governed solely by spite and fear. They were probably a few months of missed rent payments away from eviction. They were definitely two days away from getting their kneecaps bashed in by some loan shark’s goons. 

He and Mario had gone for a walk, all the way down to Coney Island, 75th to Stillwell to Bowery, to the decrepit-looking Wonder Wheel and a depressingly empty Nathan’s Hot Dogs. It looked like the last of the hotels, some once-bright vestige of his mother’s era, had finally been condemned, tall wire fencing curling up towards the grey winter sky, a perfunctory guard which did nothing to keep out the local graffiti artists and homeless population. 

Luigi jammed his hands into his jean pockets, shivering. He couldn’t tell if he was freezing or terrified.

“What are we gonna do, Mario? We can’t stay here. If he doesn’t get us, the landlord will. You see how they’re starting to develop all that stuff around 86th Street. It’s going to travel north and we’re already behind two months in rent. We can’t stay in Bensonhurst.” Luigi sighed, little frozen puffs of air floating from his mouth. “I don’t even know if we can stay in Brooklyn at this rate.”

It was a miracle they weren’t out on the streets already. For once, their landlord’s habit of sitting around with a bottle of Thunderbird watching Honeymooners reruns and screaming at “that bum El Duque” to throw more strikes fell to their advantage. Sure, there was no such thing as maintenance in the dilapidated six-floor walk-up. But they were plumbers, tradesmen - a leaky faucet or misbehaving shower wasn’t going to be an issue.

Unfortunately, they weren’t also exterminators. 

Mario took a large bite of his hotdog, mustard splattering on the gum-stained sidewalk. It looked like something they’d hang in one of those trendy galleries that kept popping up in lower Manhattan, down around Houston Street. 

“We’re gonna be fine, Lou,” Mario said between bites, bits of bun falling from his mouth.

“We’re gonna end up homeless.” Or missing our kneecaps. Or worse.

Mario crammed the last of his dinner in his mouth, finishing off the hot dog with a few loud chews. He gave a contented sigh, licking at his greasy fingers before wiping his hands on his pants. “No, we’re not gonna be homeless. I’ve told you a million times, Lou, we could be in a cardboard box under the Van Wyck. When we’re together - “ Mario slung an arm around Luigi’s shoulder, pulling him in tight. “When I’m with you - I’m home. We’re unbeatable. And that means we’ll make it through this.”

Luigi eyed his brother’s yellow-tinged fingers and stained shirt cuff, hoping the impromptu moment of fraternal affection would pass. He could deal with Mario’s sunny optimism, usually. But living in a studio apartment one step up from a garbage dump had apparently encouraged his brother’s disposition towards a more slovenly existence. They might be home when they were together, but it wouldn’t hurt if Mario took a damn vacuum to himself once in a while. 

“Mario, I think this time - ”

“Oh, I get it.” The warm arm around his shoulder disappeared, his brother’s voice hardening. Luigi snapped his head to the side, his heart rocketing into his throat. What did I say this time?  

“It’s the location, isn’t it?” His brother gave him a searching, serious look. He looks just like Dad. He even seemed as if he were towering over Luigi, just like Dad used to, despite Mario being the shortest of the three of them. “You’d prefer a box under the BQE.”

Luigi gaped. “I - what?”

“Nah, nah, okay,” Mario waved his hands. “Let’s talk location. You wanna be by the Belt? Or maybe - “ A sly smile grew under his brother’s burgeoning mustache. “You want to move to Queens.”

“Oh my God,” Luigi groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm, pulling his hand down over his eyes. I’d move to Jersey if it got us out of this mess. “Mario, be serious.”

“I am serious! Your secret’s safe with me, bro. Even if you would betray Brooklyn like that." Luigi felt two steady hands take him by the biceps. “Besides, we’re gonna be okay.”

“Vinny Razzanti’s uncle said we had forty-eight hours,” Luigi groaned between his fingers.

Mario barked out a laugh. “Vinny Razzanti’s uncle couldn’t tell a pizza from a clock if we arranged the pepperonis the right way. The guy’s a dumbass.”

“Yeah, but he’s - “

“No, I ain’t hearing it.” Mario gently guided Luigi’s hands from his face, keeping his fingers wrapped around either wrist as he brought Luigi’s arms to his sides. “Look at me, Lou.”

Luigi swallowed down the wet desperation clawing its way up his throat, opening his eyes to his brother’s concerned, but steely gaze.

“If he comes, he comes. I’ve got a baseball bat next to the mattress and you can - “ Mario waved one of his arms in a broad gesture. “I dunno. Make some kind of exploding gadget or something. You used to want to show off your stuff to Cooper Union, right? Well, think of this as practice, you know, for the application.”

Luigi gave a small shake of his head. I don’t think home pyrotechnics meant to fend off low-level mafia muscle are going to impress the admissions committee. Not that they were going to waste their time with a twenty-one-year-old plumber’s application, anyway. That dream was long gone, buried in Cypress Hills along with their parents. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Mario’s voice broke through his dreary ruminations as he guided Luigi towards Bowery Street. “We’re gonna walk home, maybe pick up a cannoli on the way. Then we’re gonna check the answering machine. If we’re lucky - and I’m feeling pretty lucky right now - there will be a call from some lady in Borough Park.” His brother’s eyes gleamed. “No, even better, some widower in Carroll Gardens. One of those nice brownstones. She’s going to ask for our help. Clogged drains, backed up shower, toilet’s kablooey.” Mario made a slobbering sound meant to resemble a backed up toilet. Luigi thought he sounded like a dog on downers. “The whole shebang. We’ll say, of course, we can fix this, but we’ll have to charge the emergency rate. You know, business and all that. Three hours later - maybe four - boom! Vinny Razzanti’s uncle is out of the picture and we’ll be on our way to the good life.”

“You make it sound so simple, bro.” Luigi couldn’t quite contain the bite of sarcasm that accompanied that statement. 

As always, his brother took his waspishness in stride. Long strides, in fact, as they hurried past the metal skeletons that made up the Coney Island Train Yard, the whirr of traffic from the Belt Parkway rushing and thumping above them. Luigi felt like at any moment some old, rusted buckle would give way, sending a line of cabs and buses crashing into their heads.

He felt like that most of the time these days, to be honest. 

“It is simple, Luigi. You just gotta think positive. You never know what’s around the corner.” Mario tugged at his sleeve. “Now, come on. If we walk fast enough, we can get to Villbate’s before they close.”

“Alright, alright, you win, Mario. Something’s around the corner and for once, maybe it won’t be a guy with a baseball bat.” No. It won’t be a bat. It’ll be something worse. Like a flamethrower. Luigi was too tired to argue with his brother’s indomitable optimism. “Maybe we’ll get to your widower in Carroll Gardens and find the answers in her bathroom.”

Mario slapped his brother on the back. “That’s the spirit, Lou! Could be a whole new world waiting for us. Now let’s go - there’s a pistachio cannoli with my name on it and I am not missing out.”

“Hey, the pistachio cannolis are mine!”

“Not if you don’t run fast enough!” Mario gave his brother a playful push, taking off down Stillwell Avenue. Luigi watched his brother leap over a pile of trash bags, skittering between two cabs, one of which blared its horn in anger.

“Where you go, I guess I follow,” Luigi muttered to himself, adjusting his cap before taking off in his brother’s direction. And who knew? Maybe something was waiting for them around that corner.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for letting a plumber fix a leaky faucet in his sleep despite not calling him first? (Fanfic scenario)

I (physically 27, though I was revived from my Skeletal Form, M) am a Hylian who lives with two human men (31 and 28). Things are fine and the two blokes sleep togetha (I have a woifey and she visits~!!) and one night I could barely sleep, and I hear a knock on the door. I open and there's the plumber (24, M) sleep workin' in his tanooki footie pajamas (won't judge him for that). While the Blokes (we'll call them Mr.H and Professor S) were doing bum stuff, the plumber walked in and fixed the leaky faucet (How'd he know?) and he said "a-*snoore* that's-a ten" so I pulled out two foivahs (slang for Blue Rupees) and let him pack up his things.

I didn't call him or tell the Blokes, AITA here?

[tucsonarizonaplumber]

Tucson Arizona Plumber