Some people dream about a comfy bed. Some people dream about a gourmet kitchen. Some people just want the shower to work.
Stockton noticed our shower’s push button diverter was out of order after he finished rinsing one of the terriers in the tub and tried to switch the water from the tub spout to our default mode, the shower head. The pin used to give a satisfying ker-thunk when you pushed it to engage the system to transfer water. Instead it remained silent, stuck.
Quickly, Stockton diagnosed the problem and devised a treatment plan, but of course the first few hardware stores we checked did not have the extended ratchet thing required to deal with our recessed plumbing. Typical. Eventually Stockton found everything he needed to complete the repair, including a new shower head. Stockton fixed our diverter issue in no time. Reliable and capable, that’s him.
I looked forward to using the new shower head, it featured adjustable settings. Stockton tried it first and decided he liked the setting that felt “like a cloud, misty,” he said. My eyes like mist, fog, water by the sea. I was sold.
My turn. I prepared to step into the shower, twisting the faucet knob past midway for warm water. The mist instantly created a soft, pleasing sound, as if beckoning me to soak. I pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the tub, expecting to feel the warm embrace of a grounded cloud in my little bathroom. Ahhh.
Instead, a vortex had formed. The force of the spray was a silent comfort killer, sucking the clear shower liner into the mist and wrapping my body as well. I clumsily fought the plastic away only to create what felt like a hurricane of static cling. The more I moved, the more the vortex gripped. Meanwhile, I closed my eyes to prevent more water from assaulting my eyeballs. The mist had turned stormy, raining onto my face. I squinted and fumbled around the shower head, grasping for the mode lever.
One moment I felt like Bridget Jones, riding in a convertible with the top down through a gorgeous countryside. Two seconds later, my long hair whirling around my face, I flailed to fight the water and the liner like Bridget fought to catch her fashionable scarf from blowing away in the gusts.
With a click I pushed the lever to the next water setting, a gush of strong, focused spray shot me in the chest. Not my best experience. I continued to click click until I found a suitable setting, one that truly felt soothing to my scalp. Relief. Thank goodness Stockton bought an adjustable shower head.