Tales from the Steppes

2006-08-03

10:59 a.m.
Thursday, August 3

As I walked through my front door last night, the EM can running out of the downstairs bathroom, hysterical. I quickly determined that she was not injured but that there was some sort of plumbing emergency. (Doesn't that just strike fear into your heart? "A plumbing emergency" can mean many things. My personal favorite is the exploding toilets at whatever-that-church-was-I've blanked-it-out-of-my-memory in Blacksburg. The scene is engraved in the minds of all that actually witnessed the vision. This story is simultaneously less gross and funny.) Sure enough, water was streaming out of a pipe in the utility closet in the downstairs bathroom. Thinking quickly, I grabbed the phone and ran outside to get into the cellar, while calling the SU, my personal plumber, to tell him that he needed to get home.

A bit of a digression. Remember that my house is not like a "normal" house. It was not built as a house so things like plumbing, ductwork, and electrical lines are not necessarily where you would expect them to be. What I call the "utility closet" is really a small enclosed area where the stairs leading to the old choir loft were. There is a door off of the downstairs bathroom and one facing the kitchen, which has the washer and dryer stacked in it. Eventually, this will be turned into a pantry but right now it has crumbling plaster and old, unfinished wooden flooring. And all manner of pvc pipes. I am sure it is intelligible to someone that knows anything about plumbing, but that is not me.

Eventually, I figured out which lever turned off the water, which was by then pouring into the cellar from above. I went back into the house to try to piece together exactly what happened. The EM had calmed down some by then but was insisting that the water that had gotten on her was dirty water. Her proof was that she smelled bad. I explained that it was not water from the toilet and if she smelled bad, perhaps she should take a shower. When we turned the water back on.

It seems that the children were playing hide-and-seek in the house and she had picked that closet to hide in. The EM insists that the MM flushed the toilet and suddenly water was spraying all over her. Suddenly. After a little bit of investigation, I found the source of water - a broken pipe leading to the tubing that goes to the washer. At about elbow level to the EM. All was clear, though the EM disagrees with my interpretation of the information. She does not believe there was any way she could have leaned on the pipe and snapped it off. It must have been the MM flushing the toilet. Reality is apparently not a factor.

Fortunately, the repair was an easy one and required only one trip to the hardware store. We turned the water back on around midnight and life goes on.

Of course, in all this excitement, I forgot to call my mother to wish her a happy birthday. Very thoughtless of me, no matter how good my excuse. It was her 65th, so it is possible that I might be in a spot of trouble. My older sister was supposed to be out visiting so my hope is that this will be overlooked. Of course, I have no idea whether she showed up or not. The last time I spoke with her, she had not even bothered to tell my parents she had made it back in the country. Hrrrrm. Smells like a giant pile of familial bullshit to me. One that I want to either avoid or pretend like I don't see or smell. Because otherwise I might be tempted to say something like "Gee, H., you are being more than a wee bit passive-aggressive here. Not to mention inconsiderate. And M&D, you guys are just being weird and seem to have some real issues." None of this would make the situation even better. Except possibly by uniting them in anger against me. So I will sit and listen when they each call to bitch about the other and suggest that perhaps they ought to look at things from the other's perspective. I have called and left an apologetic voicemail for my mom, she is on the phone so it is better than nothing. I can feel an hour and a half drive looming over my shoulder.

Oh well. Relatively small potatoes, in the grand scheme of things.