We moved into our current home over 10 years ago. At that time, the main upstairs bathroom had a toilet that was a wall hung, pressure assisted toilet. Picture a toilet at the airport but with a normal handle and not motion activated. When flushed however, for a split second, the thing sounded just like Niagara Falls and scared anyone who dared to push the handle. It became a rather traumatic event to flush, one which no one ever really got used to. I hated that toilet.

Fast forward a couple of years and said toilet started running continuously. If you jiggled the handle just right you could make it quit running. As the days passed, the jiggle time increased to be effective. Eventually, jiggling no longer worked but if you lifted off the lid and jiggled a lever inside, then the running would stop. All the while, every time you flushed roaring Niagara continued to scare you. I hated the toilet even more.

Plumbers came and went but still the toilet continued to be cantankerous. Finally, the toilet breathed its last and we joyfully bought a new one…one that was not pressure assisted. A friend helped us install the new beauty (also wall hung) and we flushed the toilet without being startled as the gentle, quiet stream flowed out. Ah, life was good again, until a few days later when the toilet plugged up. Wait, what? Why was the toilet plugged up? I mean, I know why but, really?

Enter the plunger and after a few pushes water again flowed freely. Whew. But a few days later we had a repeat episode…and again…and again. Every few days we were running for the “rapid response kit” as we affectionately dubbed our bucket with the plunger, plumbing snake and gloves. I must say, I became an expert toilet unplugger in record time. If there was ever an Olympic event for  the quickest time to unplug a toilet I just might win. My claim to fame. Anyway, despite possibly becoming famous, I was beginning to hate the new toilet.

Fast forward a couple more years and now the toilet was starting to take several flushes to get even a little paper down. Several flushes became four or five and still the paper would just spin in lazy circles never entering into the great unknown of the sewer lines. More plumbers came and went and still the toilet would not send its contents down stream. We somehow discovered that if you poured a cup full of water directly into the swirl as you flushed, this would help everything to go down. (I don’t know how we discovered this. I mean, were we sitting by the fire one night and all of a sudden someone had this revelation? Who thinks of this stuff? Anyway…) By this time the pandemic had struck and we weren’t really having visitors. I was somewhat grateful because I didn’t want to have to explain to guests how to flush the toilet while pouring a cup full of water into it if the need arose. My patience was wearing thin. I really hated that toilet.

Finally, even pouring extra water into the bowl didn’t work and we were forced to buy another new one, a wall hung, pressure assisted toilet. Insert giant eye roll here. As much as I didn’t want Niagara to return, alas, it must. So, we waited for the new toilet to arrive because there weren’t any in stock. There’s not much of a demand for pressure assisted, wall hung toilets in Anchorage. Who knew? They must not ship toilets on airplanes either because ours took eight weeks to get here by boat.

Finally, last week, the plumber arrived wearing a mask and toting a shiny porcelain potty. He disposed of the old one and hung the new one on the wall. I heard Niagara once again and did a half hearted happy dance. I could live with a waterfall as long as it flushed. The plumber left. We all went to the bathroom and looked at the new addition. My husband pushed the handle expectantly. Nothing happened. No Niagara, no water, no noise, nada. He fiddled with the handle, took off the lid, fiddled with the stuff inside, and tried again. Whoosh, Niagara returned. He tried again, and nothing. By this time cuss words were sticking in my throat and threatening to spew out so I scampered from the room. My sainted husband continued to patiently poke, prod and jiggle various  parts. Later he called the family in for a lesson on how to flush the new toilet. We needed to push halfway down on the handle after a flush to get the tank to refill. If we followed this simple procedure, everything would work correctly. Okay, fine. As long as it flushed. Never mind it’s been installed less than half an hour and I already have to jiggle the handle. I also won’t mention the obscene amount of money we’ve spent on this blasted toilet over the last ten years. I already hate the new toilet.

The last straw was two days ago when my daughter announced that the toilet must have overflowed because there was a big puddle of water on the floor. At this, I began to feel something in my throat. I went into the bathroom and water was everywhere. The toilet looked fine, it flushed fine (relatively) so where did this water come from? My hubby came in and discovered water streaming on the wall from behind the toilet. All self control disappeared when I realized the brand new toilet was leaking behind the wall. My throat opened up and all those cuss words started piercing the atmosphere when my husband announced he didn’t want to call the plumber because he was not paying them any more money. I completely lost it.

“Oh **** no! They’re gonna come fix this thing and we’re not paying one more dime! They’re gonna come out here and fix this **** toilet once and for all.” I continued on but you get the picture. It wasn’t pretty.

I stormed out of the bathroom, called the company and gave the poor gal who answered an earful. I promise I tried to be nice and I did not cuss at her but let’s just say she knew I was not a happy camper and I would not be paying for the service call. She politely told me she’d have someone there the next morning.

Thankfully by the time plumber dude showed up I was much calmer. I greeted him with a smile and a big, “I am so glad you’re here.” He had the leak fixed in about two minutes and even fixed the handle so we wouldn’t have to jiggle it just right to get it to flush the next time. And everything was still under warranty so no charges. Hope is alive once more. Maybe I can learn to like the toilet. Maybe.

Moral of the story? Never, ever buy a house that has a wall hung, pressure assisted toilet. Just don’t.