plumbing woes: kitty cat toilet

Last night, we were relaxing, watching a movie in our pajamas.  It was nice.  It felt like home.  Around 11PM, our doorbell rang.  Don’t tell Peace Corps, but we don’t have a peephole in our door yet, so we had no clue who it was.  We chickened out and opted not to answer the door.  We snuggled down in bed more. But then the doorbell rang again and again and again.  The person knocked on the door and rang the bell incessantly.  So David talked to the guy through the door who sounded upset and was speaking a lot of Romanian (I’m not sure why that still surprises me; we’re in Romania after all).  When we opened the door, it was a gentleman in a net wife-beater with a big cross and his little boy.  He said something about water running and something about inundation and that he was in the apartment below us.

So in he comes and checks out our bathroom, our toilet, our sinks.  We found a teeny tiny leak near the toilet, but nothing that would inundate his place.  We stuck a bucket under it for good measure.  Then he decides that he needs to call our landlord and talk to him about it. So rather unwillingly, we dial our landlord and hand over the phone.  They talk about monasteries, the countryside and water leaks and other stuff I can’t understand because it’s after 11, I’m in my PJs, I’m mesmerized by the net wife-beater and my Romanian-meter is completely off.  We said our good nights understanding that tomorrow all would be addressed.

Moments ago (Sunday morning) our landlord pops by.  He says that he couldn’t believe the guy called at 11PM when there was nothing that could be done at that hour.  He checks out our bathroom, our toilet, our sinks.  And nimic (nothing).  He continues that he can’t look at our neighbor’s apartment because he’s at a monastery with his family and that regardless, no one could come and fix anything because a) it’s Sunday and b) it’s a feast day for Sf. Ion.  Thinking I’m being all culturally cool, I say, “La Multi Ani” since our landlord’s name is Ion (John) and Romanians celebrate their namesake’s day.  He looks horrified momentarily, laughs and says that it’s the feast of when the saint’s head was cut off, not his actual feast day.  So I was telling him to live many more years on the celebration of his namesake’s death.  Smooth, Veronica.

Now, if we understood correctly, our landlord and the neighbor guy will check things out this evening together and if need be, call a repairman Monday.  Here’s what may be the culprit – the toilet in the teeniest corner of our bathroom.  Yes, that’s a pink kitty cat foam toilet seat.  No, it wasn’t our choice; we inherited it, but it does contribute to our overall design aesthetic.