Water, Water Everywhere

THE BOY HAS BEEN HOME just about everyday this week due to a seal-bark of a cough which turned to fever, which then turned to an ear infection – in _both_ ears. Poor, wee man, as they would say in Ballymena.

As I’d used the last of my family leave earlier in the week to stay home with him for one day – Laurel taking a day and her dad coming into town yesterday – it was back to me to stay home today, using the last of my vacation time. As the boy is pretty well on the mend, I thought that we might actually get to treat this like it was a vacation day. T’was payday earlier in the week, the sun is shining and it’s not _too_ too cold (8˚C). Hey, we could possibly hit the park for some outside, runaround time and go for lunch at Licks.

I woke up with the alarm, as Laurel’s working today, and planned to go back to sawing logs once she left for work as the boy was still sleeping. As she went downstairs, she heard a hissing sound coming from the closet where our water tank/heater lives. Fuck. It appears that a rubber washer and nut on one of the pipes had sprung a leak and was filling up empty juice jugs and oversized yogurt containers with water just as fast as we could empty them. FUCK! One pair of hands scrabbles for the service number and puts in a call while the other keeps swapping jugs and trying every lever to shut off the water. This is around 6:45am. The services rep. advises a technician will be there between 8:00am and 12:00pm.

Laurel splits for work. The boy wakes up. Luckily, there is just enough water left in the kettle for a cup o’ press coffee for me and oatmeal for the boy. Fast forward to one hour after consuming coffee. The first coffee of the day. The first coffee of the day after eating a big pizza dinner the night before. The water is shut off. Modern conveniences now cease to be modern.

A technician shows up to assess the problem. It’s nothing major – just a rubber washer and a nut. However, he does not have the correct size of replacements in his toolbox, nor his truck. FUCKIN’ FUCK! FUCK! He states he’ll contact his dispatcher and have someone else in the area come by with the part. The boy has _another_ glass of iced tea. It is approximately 10:00am.

12:30pm: I call the service rep. who ensures that the part(s) have been ordered and I should expect a call shortly. After dropping down some bread in the toaster, I quickly pop next door to “borrow” a kettle and Brita jug-ful of water. Chit-chatting as I’m filling up, a smoke detector sounds from somewhere – my place. Earlier, while scurrying around for jugs and containers to stop further flooding, the setting dial on the toaster must have been bumped to almost twice the normal setting, thereby crisping the fuck out of the toast and setting off the smoke alarm. Auck, poor wee boy – sitting watching cartoons with his hands over his ears – unfazed.

2:30pm: Another call to the service rep., a different individual this time, who advises that the part(s) was ordered and to give them time. I remind them that the original call was placed before 7:00am; the first technician did not repair the problem and that it has now been close to eight hours of not having running water. He apologizes and tries to sell me an insurance package for future reference. By this point, I came so close to telling him to fuck himself, but decided that firmly stating that I had more pressing concerns at the moment. He seemed to understand.

So, it’s now 3:40pm. I can’t leave the house in case the technician calls or shows up. The container catching the steady drip-drip-drip from the tank needs to be emptied every half-hour or so. The never-used-until-today cache of travel wipes is quickly diminishing and I’m starting to think about washing my hands in the fishtank. 30-second excerpts of Lewis Black’s live material available at the iTunes store (which, being in Canada, I can’t purchase from) makes me laugh. I’m tired and have been quite ripe for hours now. The boy has probably watched more _Spider-man: The ’67 Collection_ today than the guys that made the fuckin’ thing.

So much for a day of vacation time. How’s your Friday been?


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