Handle

“Jiggle the handle,” Nick said.

“Okay,” I said.

“Jiggle it like this,” he said.

“Like this?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Like this.”

We walked out of the bathroom, still looking at the toilet. That way, we wouldn’t have to face each other in such a small room.

“Can you remember to do that?” Nick asked, referring to the handle-jiggling he just showed me. It would keep the toilet from using so much water.

“Yes,” I lied. “No problem.”

Nick had just banged on my door like a desperate banshee douche bag. No favors for you, Nick.

Oh yes.

1.) Nick is my landlord.

2.) Nick pays for the water. If we had a contract, it would be in there.

But Nick and I have no contract, which is fine, I guess. Because this is how we interact: toward the end of each month, I walk around the corner to his house and give him an an envelope full of 20s with “RENT” written on the front.

Yesterday when he showed me how to jiggle the handle was the first time I’ve really seen him outside of this scenario. He’s not gay, I think, and is a safe, incompetent man. He is 56 and looks like he could have managed the company store one hundred years ago.

As is, he rents a few apartments around town. He knows people know his dad played professional baseball. I think he inherited the apartments but has money elsewhere, also inherited.

Today, two plumbers came over to put a new handle and water stop on the toilet. Nick had left a message before he came over yesterday that he might send someone over to do this. “The toilet’s used 13,000 gallons of water in the last three days,” he said. “I just looked at the meter.

“I need you to call me back, or … Call me back. This is Nick, call me back. Soon. B- … bye.”

To be fair, he might have mentioned something about the handle jiggling when I moved in a month and half ago. But it was one of those things. By “those things”, I mean it was the kind of thing you know immediately you’re going to make no point of remembering.

“Oh, sure,” you might say.

Nick demands as little as he gives. He didn’t even say anything when I took the bookcase he was using for paint he didn’t use. That was nice/non-confrontational of him. He even replaced the broken stove he initially provided for me. That is his job, I suppose, but he was beaming when he did it.

So I’m considering calling Nick to tell him that not only did the two plumbers not fix the toilet, the new handle and water stop they installed even prevents the handle-jiggling technique from working.

I think I’ll call him soon. No problem.