Once upon a time there was a plumber who didn’t believe in call-out charges and sometimes, if the job was simple, didn’t charge at all.
A fairy tale, right?
Wrong. Our plumber for the past 15 years is just such a man. He also runs a building firm and we have used his services exclusively: our new roof, bathroom and two toilets are thanks to him; and our water boiler has been repaired several times by him; once for no charge.
He isn’t the cheapest plumber in town but he is thorough and reliable; if he says a job will be done by such and such date then it will be. The replacing of our tiled roof was a massive undertaking but Monsieur Plombier orchestrated the whole affair with the least disruption to us.
Obviously, we have spent a lot of money with him over the years but it is the small kindnesses that one remembers.
Once, water was running down the wall into our hallway above which is the bathroom. Disaster! He came over soonest and quickly assessed the situation. We were thinking major repairs; he told us otherwise. Our sealant around the bath was old and had been gradually letting in water that had pooled under the bath and eventually gravity had shifted it down into our hallway.
He said that he could do the job and it would be time consuming and quite costly but suggested I could do it quite adequately: he told me to scrape out the old sealant and refill with a brand he recommended. I did and it never leaked again. Cost: nothing. He wouldn’t accept a euro.
And so to yesterday evening. Our downstairs lavatory – installed a couple of years ago by Monsieur Plombier’s men – was overflowing a steady stream of water into the bowl and making a racket while it did so. I could fix the old ball cock lavatory – take off lid, prod around a bit, bash something for luck and hey presto! – but we now have a new-fangled loo, which is not so easily accessed. I took the plate off the wall to look inside but was met with a complicated grill that needed screwing off and I didn’t recognize the parts within. So, no go.
This was at the beginning of the month and everyone, including Monsieur Plombier, was on holiday.
But yesterday he was back and immediately came over to sort out our troubled thunderbox; the seat was also wobbly although that was the least of my concerns. Monsieur Plombier got to work and discovered the fault – some bit of plastic like a washer had worn out or eroded. But the washer came with another plastic thingy. Zut! But not to worry – he went off to his van and came back with a replacement part. Ten minutes later lavatory was back in full working order.
I then mentioned the seat. I couldn’t for the life of me correct it. And the reason, he told me, was because I needed an Allen key for it. He said the fitters of the new toilet would have left one with me. I assured him they hadn’t – his workmen, of course.
Not to worry – off he trotted to his van and got a set of Allen keys and fixed the wobbly seat.
Phew, I’m glad that’s done. Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Plombier, and how much is that? Can I give you a cheque?
You know what’s coming next but it still surprised me. He refused any money. He mentioned that the toilet was only installed a year ago (some sort of guarantee?), but I told him he had installed the toilet two years or so ago.
Au revoir, Monsieur Dumdad, we shook hands and off he went.
Fairy tales do come true sometimes.