The Seat of Frustration

I seem to be cursed with toilet problems.

If I'm not battling a bio hazard, I'm forever having to make repairs, owing to the salt water in the flushing tank. But this time the problem stemmed from want of what should be a simple-to-locate part.

A while ago the seat in one of the bathrooms began to crack from the outside edge. Shortly thereafter, another crack appeared on the inside edge, and the outer crack was beginning to pinch, so it was time to get a replacement seat. I gave the landlord first crack (ahem) at it, thinking he would know where to find a matching seat for the brand of toilet installed in the house. Instead, he showed up with a cheap, puffy and unimpressive 'soft seat', the kind you often find in the houses of gentle little old ladies.

I am anything but, and sure enough, within about a week it simply gave up, crushing on one side and sliding across the bowl anytime someone sat down. I wasn't about to give the landlord another chance, so I went looking for a seat myself. But unlike in Canada, where I could easily zip down to a big box outlet such as Home Depot and find what I needed in five minutes, I had to hunt for it.

And then I remembered that the local wet market had a stall selling plumbing fixtures, so I paid it a visit, and wonder of wonders the lady running the shop had the seat I needed. I was happy for about 10 minutes, until I got home and set about installing it. Sure, the style and brand were an exact match, but for some bizarre reason the anchor bolts were about an inch and a half too short; they didn't even reach the bottom of the holes. I had no way to lock the seat in place. Furthermore, the decorative caps were fused, meaning the seat could only take a custom 'T' bolt, one with a round, slim, flat head.

You know where this is going.

In the morning I returned to the shop to see whether they might be able to swap the bolts for longer ones. However, the lady I'd dealt with wasn't in, and the guy who was there made zero effort to assist me: he didn't offer to locate any, he didn't think about perhaps checking with the manufacturer to see if there was a seat available with longer bolts, heck, he didn't even suggest a different seat that might have had suitable bolts. He just shook his head and said no, as though I were bothering him. He's lucky I hadn't brought the seat, or I might have clubbed him with it.

Not yet daunted, I resolved to give it one more try; I knew there were plumbing shops along Lockhart Road on the Hong Kong side, and since I was heading there the next day I believed I might have better luck. Alas, no. Stores carrying the same brand only sold wholesale (I wasn't about to buy an entire toilet just to get a new seat) and the various hardware shops carried no 'T' bolts of any kind, other than standard hex-heads that were about eight times too thick.

This is a constant frustration when you live in the Big Lychee: trying to obtain something so basic and necessary but being denied at every turn. Illegal substances and firearms are easier to come by.

The next day I returned the seat for a refund; the lady I'd first met was in attendance and helpful, so I had no need to crown anyone with the plastic ring. And with that, I was right back where I started, with a bad toilet seat.

Time to go hunting.

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