My Very Bad Day

Once upon a time, when this blog was just getting its legs, I wrote that sometimes you have to write about the bad along with the good. (See February 2005) But I haven't done that, have I? No--I've led you to believe that I live an absolutely idyllic life in a perfect little mountain town. That the biggest problems are naughty sheep and markets that close at 8pm. Birds are always chirping, flowers are always blooming, dwarfs are always singing. Yadda yadda yadda.

But sometimes, 24 hours can't seem to pass quickly enough. Sometimes you question your judgment. Sometimes Mercury is in retrograde.

Take Wednesday, for example. It started like any other Wednesday--I slept through 3 alarms while the cats held me captive with their warm purring bodies, I took Joe for a too-short walk, then headed into town for my 3rd day of double shifts. I was counting on a quiet night at the restaurant and getting home at a reasonable hour (i.e., before midnight).

But all that changed when a small blonde woman walked into the bar half an hour before closing. Before she even took a sip of her beer she started weeping and I thought, This Can't Be Good. When my co-worker asked (rather bluntly, I'll admit) why she was crying and she started cussing him out I thought, Oh Yeah. This Is Going To Be Bad.

The cursing escalated in a Tourette's-like fashion to the point where we had to kick her out. While my co-worker hustled her out of the restaurant, I called the police so she would have a good, safe place to spend the night. When I got outside she was on the ground so I walked over and said, "Are you all right?" At which point she got up, called me a number of highly impolite names, and then shoved me in the chest. Hard. And then I thought, That Crazy Bitch Just Pushed Me!

Now you all know that I'm a peace-loving little liberal and the restaurant where I work doesn't usually attract Crazy Ladies, so I am not used to dealing with this kind of situation. Confrontation doesn't suit me. And I had a feeling that if I said one more thing to this fool she was going to punch me. So I walked away (the cops arrived to find my co-worker sitting on her back, trying to restrain her), saved a couple of teeth in the process, and tried to shake it off. I called a few friends (who were an enormous help in cheering me up--thank you!) and arrived home at the tender hour of 2am.

When I walked in the house I did the 1st thing I always do--go into the laundry room to feed the cats. But that night--that Wednesday night/Thursday morning--as soon as I entered the laundry room I thought, Something Is Wrong. Because normally my slippers don't squelch. And the 1/4 inch of water on the floor confirmed that Something, Indeed, Was Very Wrong. Namely, my water heater had decided it didn't want to be part of my household any longer. Since the water seemed to staying at a pretty steady level on my floor, I decided I would deal with it in the morning.

Cut to 6 hours later: I woke up and started making phone calls. Turns out only 1 company will come out to Norwood, and the place where they purchase their water heaters from isn't open until Monday, so maybe they'll be out Tuesday. (Remember, this is still Thursday.) Ok, fine, whatever. (I mean, it's not like I live at the ends of the earth. It's close to the ends of the earth, but there are people here. There are dwellings. There are things that need to be fixed. Does it really have to be that difficult?)

Meanwhile, I mopped the floor, but every time I looked in the laundry room it was filled with water again. Because unbeknownst to me, water heaters continue to refill even if their electricity is shut off. (Thanks for the info, Dad!) And to make matters worse, the shut-off valve to the heater was stuck. So about 7:30pm on Thursday I called my dad and explained that I don't know what's going on and then he explained to me that I'm going to have to shut off my main water valve. It should be easy. It should be the pipe coming out of the wall with the shut-off valve in your crawl space. You mean the dirt-floored crawl space that I've been pushing all the spilt water into all day? Yes, that one.

But, of course, when I went beneath the house all the pipes were covered with insulation and I couldn't tell one thing from another. Finally, after searching the outside of the house & making phone calls & carefully running my hands along all the pipes I found what I was sure must be the valve. I slowly and carefully peeled away the insulation . . .

and suddenly ice cold water was spraying directly into my face with the force of a garden hose at full blast. My immediate thought was, I Don't Think This Is Supposed To Happen. Followed by--not for the first time, mind you--This Is Bad. This Is Very, Very Bad. You never realize how much water is flowing through the pipes of your house until its relentlessly smacking you in the face.

Desperately I tried to figure out a way to make the gushing water stop, but each time I did anything I knocked the pipe and water hit me in the face again. I was freaking out, so I did the only thing that came to mind--ran up the ladder into the laundry room, called my parents (who are 2,000 miles away, just so you know), and started yelling, "I have an emergency! I have an emergency! Water everywhere! I don't know what to do!" and then I ran back into the crawl space and tried again to find the valve with water hitting me in the face and the phone glued to my ear. Obviously, I'm not the one who's going to stay calm & focused in an emergency situation.

After what seemed like a lifetime (but was really only 5 minutes) I managed to turn the water off. The pipe was so rusted that a mere touch had caused it to completely snap. I stood there in the crawl space, dripping from head to toe, ankle-deep in mud, saying, "Yuck," over and over again into the phone. Not my proudest moment. It was 8:30pm Thursday, exactly 24 hours since that Crazy Lady walked into my bar. The only water left in my house was what was on me and the floor. Let me tell you, when you suddenly only have 1 flush left in your toilet you use it wisely. (Have you heard of the $4.00 flush? It's when you either a.) have to buy a jug of water in Telluride to fill your toilet tank one time or b.) go to the coffee shop and flush their toilet in exchange for a fancy drink.)

Things haven't improved since Thursday. I got a cold from being doused with water on a winter's night, and no one can come to Norwood to fix my plumbing until "Maybe Monday." (You know that calendar, right? Maybe Monday, Til Tuesday, What About Wednesday, We'll Try Thursday, and We Don't Work Friday.) And did you know that snow evaporates more than it melts? So much for refilling my toilet tanks on the cheap.

But I've decided to blame all my misfortune on Al Gore. You see, Wednesday afternoon I thought, I Haven't Had Anything To Write A Blog About In A While. And if it hadn't been for Al Gore inventing the internet, there would be no such thing as blogs, and I wouldn't be trolling for fodder for my reading public. Damn you, Al!

And that, my friends, was My Very Bad Day.