I shook my head as I walked out of the store. I shouldn't have gone in at all.
Kid 1 didn't tell me that her toilet was broken. Unbeknownst to me, she's been lifting the lid of the tank, reaching into the frigid water, and manually pulling up the flapper to flush the toilet.
I don't know how long she's been doing this but it was DW who told me that the toilet was broken. I avoid our kid's bathroom because, like her bedroom, it's always a mess. Items all over the counter; clothes piled up on the floor. I only ever go in every other week, when I empty her garbage pail as part of taking out the trash.
But the other day, DW mentioned that our kid's toilet wasn't working properly. When I went in to investigate, I discovered that the rubber ring that holds the chain to the flapper was broken. It was an easy enough fix: replace the flapper.
For years, we've shopped for home-repair and improvement items at our local Home Depot. There's a Canadian Tire store that is a bit closer to home but went in years after Home Depot, and we were used to shopping at this chain store. Also, I find the Canadian Tire to be cluttered, so I preferred the other store.
It was my first time in the Home Depot since DW and I made the decision to stop buying American products, to not give our business to American companies. But when I was out on this mission, it didn't even occur to me that the Home Depot is an American chain.
Not right away, anyway.
In the plumbing section, I came up to the display of toilet-repair items just as a young sales associate was finishing with another customer. "Can I help you find anything?" he asked.
I was already standing in front of the flappers, looking at all the different sizes and brands. "I'm looking for a flapper but didn't realize there were so many different types." I've replaced flappers on toilets before and never gave it any thought: I just saw the one size and that was it. "It's for an American Standard toilet."
"Two-inch or four-inch?"
"Good question," I replied, thinking about the ones I had bought before. "I'm thinking a two-inch flapper."
"How old is the toilet?"
"More than 25 years old."
"Definitely, the two-inch," he said, pulling one off the rack and handing it to me.
I couldn't help but see the American flag on the label and Proudly made in America printed underneath the image. "Um, do you have any that aren't made in the U.S.?"
"Yeah, but they're made in China." The young lad was clearly of East-Asian ancestry and I also noticed another Asian man standing not too far away, within earshot.
"These days, I'll take Chinese-made goods over American-made ones," I said.
"I don't think these items are affected by tariffs."
"That's not the point."
"Do you mind me asking why you don't want the American-made flapper?"
I was a bit surprised that the young guy would ask that question. Did he not follow the news? I mean, he did know about the trade war and the Orange Felonious Turd's tariffs. "I'm not buying anything that's American-made. It's as simple as that. As Canadians, we should all avoid American products. I have American friends, living in the U.S., who are avoiding American products."
"The American flapper is better made. I'd trust any silicone coming out of North America than those coming out of China." He seemed offended, as if he had made the product, himself.
"Pardon me for saying so," I said, "but the Americans are fucking around with us. They need to find out what consequences are. For eight bucks, I'll take my chances with the Chinese flapper." I handed him back the flapper that he had given me and pulled the other one off the rack.
"Suit yourself," he said. I couldn't get over how little he seemed to care about our relationship with the United States. As someone in sales, I get that he wanted me to buy the more-expensive item (it was four dollars more) but he didn't seem to understand my decision to avoid American products.
It wasn't until I walked out of the store and reached my car that it hit me that I had just purchased something from an American-owned store. I almost turned around but I really needed the flapper and wasn't sure I'd fine what I needed elsewhere.
From the Home Depot, I drove to the nearby Canadian Tire store. Even if they have the same products, I told myself, I'd buy the Chinese flapper and then go back to Home Depot, where I'd return the original one.
At least I'd be giving my business to a Canadian company.
"I agree, my friend," I said as I made my way to the cash registers.
The return at Home Depot was quick, with no questions asked. It would be my last time visiting this store. I would get into the habit of shopping at Canadian Tire, even though it can often get a bit cluttered.
At least I was still shopping Canadian.
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