Plumb tuckered out

Soaking tub at George Morlan showroom.

After a week of diagnosing (actually, misdiagnosing) my kitchen sink problems, consulting with the experts at the hardware store and the plumbing store (where the Exit sign means Entrance—not a good sign, if you know what I mean!), buying parts that turned out to be the wrong ones, I finally hired a plumber.

Here is how desperate I was. I hired True Blue Plumbing (which turned out to be a franchise with sites all over the U.S. including several in Portland) on the recommendation of the plumbing supplies guy. He was polite and seemed competent. He brought a replacement faucet (having invited me to shop for one myself, which I declined) and did the installation quickly and neatly. But I never found out his last name, he has no email address or website, and I suspect the address on his (rubber-stamped, not printed) invoice is a PostalAnnex-type mailbox. He had no business cards with him, and I don't know his license and insurance info. He is either a good, reliable plumber who simply hates paperwork, or ... ?

Oh, that tub looks good. An hour among the bubbles and I'd spring out, ready to dance like Ginger (which means, as she said, "as well as Fred, but backwards and in high heels").