Hello Family, Lovers, and Secret Admirers,
Thanks again for checking out my blog !!
As you may remember, gas and I are not friends, which is good when I want a bean burrito but not so good when I have to fix the gas tank in my kitchen. A few months ago, our gas tank (used for three burners on the stove - the fourth is electric, as is the oven) ran out. But then my roommate moved out, and with just me, I didn't really need more than one burner and the oven worked. So I was in no hurry to spend money and replace it.
Anyhow, in January, a new roommate moved in. And now that we've held a welcome party for her, replaced her bed, and re-arranged the living room furniture, we figured it was about time to replace the gas tank so we would no longer have to stagger our cooking. Seeing as I only work for two hours on Thursdays, I was the designated gas-replacer. And here begins the story....
I went down the street to the Monsieur Bricolage store (Mr. DIY) and attempted to buy a new bottle of gas. They informed me that I had to bring back my empty bottle to do so. So I returned home and examined the under-the-sink cupboard with the gas tank. Just to be extra careful, I turned off the gas for the entire apartment (since I now know how to do that!) But I still didn't know how to detach the gas tank from the pipe. So I consulted my ever-reliable authority on everything, Google, who provided me with a video of how to do it. Wishing someone was around to see how awesome and domestic I was, I detached the gas tank. YES! Call me Mademoiselle Bricolage! Booyah.
However, the video also mentioned that the rubber pipe connecting the stove to the gas tank should not be outdated - mine expired in 2011. So I needed to replace that as well as the gas tank. Whatever, should be a minor setback, I thought. Plus, if I could take apart the gas tank, I can totally replace the tube! After all, I was Mlle. Brico ... I thought.
I returned to Mr. Brico, made friends with the salesperson, who complimented DC as a beautiful city many times yet did not give me a discount on any of my products. Once home, I commenced taking apart the entire kitchen, pulling the counter and the stove away from the wall so that I could replace the tube. I very quickly realized that I am NOT like Popeye, and despite a quick spinach snack, I was not strong enough to disconnect the pipe from the stove. I'd need a wrench. So I called my French friend who said he'd be by in a few hours.... clearly, Mlle. Bricolage and her friend had the situation under control.
In the meantime, I cleaned the back of the stove and then went to wash some dishes. Only, I had turned off the gas to the whole apartment. Which includes our hot water heater. Everyone knows that dishes must be washed with hot water, and since I didn't have any, I'd have to re-ignite the pilot light. Should be easy enough, I watched the guys do it when I had a gas leak. (You'll also notice that I have not consulted my parents at this point, only Google). I'm Mademoiselle Bricolage! I can do it!
... HA HA HA NO I CANNOT. This setback caused about two hours of internet searching as I watched videos on how to re-ignite the pilot light (thanks again Google), tried to figure out the buttons (only "marked" with worn-off symbols, no words, MERCI BEAUCOUP LA FRANCE), then tried to decipher the model of my hot water heater (there are lots of numbers on the side), and finally find a manual on how to use it. At this point, I did consult my father (well, I told him that I was fixing the gas and needed a wrench which caused some minor panic on his end), and he eventually found a manual for my hot water heater - in Italian.
After about thirty more minutes (I kid you not), I managed to decipher the manual as well as the symbols on the hot-water heater, and re-light it. Florent, my French friend, arrived soon after with his wrench and together we successfully replaced both the pipe and the gas tank. DAS WHASSUP.
However, the stove was no longer lighting automatically. We needed to use a match. Odd, but we decided that instead of worrying, we'd get a drink instead. Thus, it wasn't until the next day that I discovered that not only did we need to use matches, but neither the electric burner nor the oven were working. WHAT? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN. THE ELECTRICITY AND GAS ARE NOT CONNECTED. Madamoiselle Bricolage, foiled again.
Sunday night, after another hour of searching for instruction manuals online, I found one (in Italian and Russian) for my stove. I found a diagram of the power input and pulled the stove away from the wall to "examine" the potential problem. And that, friends, family and admirers, is when I realized that the stove was unplugged. Oy vey!
I'm unsure if I've now truly earned or truly ruined my DIY credibility by this point, but everything is in working order so I'm over it.
Later lovers,
xoxo
Samantha
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