Steven
Ben's feels like you're working with a good, honest, old-school, one-big- (or just growing?) happy-family business. In the last six months they've installed a robust quarter turn ball valve as my main shut-off valve, a stylish (stylish at least for the next twenty minutes, no fault of Ben's) Kraus kitchen faucet, and a Toto Drake II toilet, which is the only toilet Ben's offers currently for a fair (fair for Seattle) $950 flat rate excluding taxes (Trivia Q: Which U.S. city has the highest sales tax? A: That's correct, Seattle, Home of the Damp Disappearing Wallet, weighing in at a hefty 10.35%). When it hits 100% I'm skiddataling). Astute of Ben's to choose the Drake, since review sites, for example Wirecutter, says this hunk of porcelain is THE basic-style toilet to get, if you believe the NYT experts know their plumbing (And if those crazy Big Applers—I can talk, I was originally one of them—can get water to travel 1,000 feet into the sky, they probably know what dayh tawwkin' aboud). So far, Ben's work has been leak-free, so I can take my own without consternation. Among Ben's fine plumbers are the super-fast veteran pro Brian, and Nick, a young pipe-whisperer who despite his youth seems to know more about all kinds of plumbing than the average Methuselah-old wrenchman. A pleasant, meticulous, fast-working yet unhurried guy who kind of reminds me of a less-scrawny though equally brainy Harry Potter type, and who I would definitely invite back, along with his deceptively Arnold-strong sidekick for the morning, Greg. Poor Greg, Nick tested his fortitude by having him assemble the heavy two-piece beast in the truck (I probably couldn't lift it out of its carton, and I've been working out since I was twelve, back in the 1800s), and then carry the gleaming monster across the street—avoiding the #11 bus, which has been known not to stop to accommodate a guy hoisting a toilet overhead—through my snaking rain-slipperied patio, into the apt through a door not designed wide enough for man and his toilet, down a narrow flight of stairs, etc. without scratching, bumping or dropping the implement of torture on his metatarsals and shattering it (and his foot) into a thousand itsy-bitsy pieces. Maybe they were just showing off. Call Ben's first, you won't regret it... Hey, and here's riddle for ya: Q: Why did the man cross the road with his toilet? A: Because it was a hell of a lot cleaner than any public loo you'll find in the Emerald City, duh!
