Just in time for Halloween, I had a bathroom scare of Psycho proportions.
You remember the horror scene in which Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) stabs a screaming Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) in the shower to the soundtrack of screeching violins? Leigh admitted she was so disturbed after watching it ("It never dawned on me how truly vulnerable we are"), she avoided taking showers for the rest of her life.
I had spent a long, physically demanding weekend moving into my new home. Muscles aching, feet throbbing, head swirling, all I dreamed about was taking a nice, hot soak in the jetted tub -- something I've never owned before.
And that Sunday night, I finally got the relaxation opportunity I had been eagerly awaiting. I poured a glass of wine and lit candles as the hot water filled the whirlpool. Though I didn't consult an owner's manual, I was pleased with myself that I remembered from hotel instructions not to use bubble bath that would create foaming issues.
I climbed into the tub, pressed the power button and closed my eyes and embraced the heavenly sensation of water bubbling around me.
Ahhhh. Sublime!
I opened my eyes.
AAACK! Slime!
Perhaps the scene was less like Psycho and more like something from The Blob or Ghostbusters ("I've been slimed!"). But my shrieking rivaled Leigh's as the jets spewed dark, disgusting crud that took over the tub.
I nearly knocked over the candles and the wine, scampering out of the cesspool and scooting into the shower to scrub off all the black muck -- and hopefully all memory of this foul encounter.
Still shivering and whimpering, I put on gloves to drain and rinse out the residue. Then I consulted the Internet to find out what caused the issue -- and to list my house, because I would now have to move out immediately!
But apparently my tub was not a total lemon. Just a moldy one. I read that all tubs that haven't been used or maintained in a while can harbor gunk like mold and mildew. There were scores of recommended solutions. But I was too weary to try any at that hour. I went to bed, praying my sleep would be free of Creature From the Black Lagoon nightmares.
A few days later, I finally felt bold enough to embark on a fix. I posted on Facebook: "How do you clean a jetted tub that's been sitting unused for several months and spitting forth black ick? I'm, um, asking for a friend."
Recommendations ranged from baking soda and vinegar (Said one friend: "I do not like turnip greens coming out of my tub") and shock treatment for a pool to a low-suds liquid dishwasher detergent.
I've since cleaned it with the most common recommended method -- using a tablespoon of dishwasher detergent with a half cup of bleach, running the jets for 15 minutes and cleaning the jets with a toothbrush. Twice. I've since spotted a dark flake or two -- whether real or imaginary -- so I'll be using the Whirlout powder jetted-bath cleaner I've been given. And I'll be trying the quaternary cleaner Ahh-Some to cut the -- ewww -- "biofilm." (That last hint came from someone with the last name of Jacuzzi, who ought to know.)
Though I certainly understand where terrified Leigh was coming from, I won't be scared to bathe again.
I'm determined to give this another whirl!
Come clean, email:
Style on 11/08/2015