Water, Water III: The Revenge

Hello, my loyal and stalwart buddies. Yes, I'm buttering you up right from the get-go, because you've hung with me through the Great Water Debacle of 08 thus far.

When last I left you, my fine feathereds, I'd celebrated a day wherein I thought I was getting a new water meter (which I'd asked for), found out I didn't get one, but the town yoo-hoos had found a leak on their side of the old meter (which had happened once before, and for some reason took them four months to look for another one), and my old friend Barbara at the water office was in the process of giving me a shitload of credit on my monthy water bill.

Well, that was the first hour of that day, anyway.

A couple of hours later I'd been told by my old friend Barbara that more town yoo-hoos had come out to check my water pressure (it was way high), heard water running, checked that just-fixed meter (which was again running when I was not home), it was officially proclaimed that I did indeed have a leak (apparently another leak, one not fixed by said yoo-hoos earlier in the day), and the credits to my water bill had blown away like stardom to the 3d runner-up in the Miss America Pageant.

That was some day.

Since last we spoke, you good folks and I, I spent a Friday off from work doing a lot of outside yard stuff, and heard the water the yoo-hoos heard, and I heard it as plain as day. In fact, it was hard to believe I was looking at the outside spigot at the back of my house and no water was coming out of it. Because it sounded like it was on. I had a distinctly sinking feeling.

Friday evening I called my plumber, who again wasn't hanging upside down like a bat and answered the phone. Now, I like to make all manners of fun of my plumber, he's been my family's plumber for some 30 years and has always served us well, but when he told me about some very serious health problems he'd just been diagnosed with, my heart went out to him. During that phone conversation I expressed my concern, told him not to worry about me, but could he recommend someone to me that he would trust to come out and look around my place.

And his reply was, "Well, my testing doesn't begin till next week, so I could come out Saturday." So, as I stated in my Picture Sunday blog, I waited all damn day for him to come to my house and he never did. I began the business of looking for a new plumber on Monday.

(Hang with me, it gets better.)

So Monday I was sitting at work trying to get a few minutes in between tasks to form a Plumberial Plan of Action, and I heard a slight tappity-tap at my office door. This is a rare occurrence, because most people walk through the main door of the office and head back my way. I opened the door, and there stood my old plumber. He'd just been by my house. Here's what he told me.

1. He heard no water running in the back of my house. I sat there for a few seconds open-mouthed, and told him I could hear it as plain as day, what it sounded like, and where it came from. He told me that maybe what I was hearing was the traffic passing on the street in front of the house. Now, I know I'm no plumbing school graduate, but when I can't tell the difference between a car and a running faucet, it's time for me to sell my house and admit myself to The Home For The Really Really Fruity.

2. I already had a pressure-reducing valve on my water line. This is, if you'll recall, the item I asked my old friend Barbara about that turned my good news of last week into horrible news. I asked her about these valves because the town was selling them at one time, and I distinctly remember not going to their offices to buy one. If I'm mistaken on that one, I need to sell all my possessions and enter The Home For The Really Really Fruity. I mentioned this to the plumber, along with the fact that I had a way high reading of 100 pounds pressure. He said apparently that pressure-reducing valve I didn't buy, well, didn't work.

3. He checked my meter, upon arriving and departing, and it was not running; however, the meter for the house next door was running, very slightly, like they had a leak. Yes, I was thinking it too, but to be honest, with him being sick and my being on my way to The Home For The Really Really Fruity, I just didn't want to argue the point.

After finally manually setting my jaw back where it needed to be on my face, plus a little down time to put my head on the desk and wallow in self-pity, I called Barbara again. Why? I don't know, I was grasping at straws. I asked her, just one last time, if the yoo-hoos could check my meter. Right then, when I wasn't at home. A few hours later the call came and the meter was indeed running, and of course, she doesn't know who my plumber is, or that he's sick, or that I was too tired to argue the point, and she said it. He was obvioulsy getting the two meters mixed up.

Yesterday I came home from work to find my parents at my house. I thought maybe they'd come by to do some staring at me, but it turns out my dad wanted to see if he could hear the water I could hear, and he could. He could just as plainly as I could, and so between the fact that he was trying to talk to me about who we should pick as new plumbers while I was outside my house trying in vain to find a way to open the still-stuck hatch on podmobile2, I had a slight nervous breakdown.

(Which, I'm happy to report, came to a dead halt when I went inside, got the remote opener on the second set of podmobile2 keys, hit the unlock button twice, and my hatch unlocked and opened. There was a small hay-looking piece of something near the latch, and I don't know if that's what caused the original problem, or it's in the remote. I don't care at this point. It opens.)

(Well, for now.)

I got a call last night reminding me of my 11:00 appointment this morning with The Furnace Man. (*whoooooosh!*) As you all know, The Furnace Man, who is actually The Furnace Men, Junior and Junior's son, Junior Junior, are my heating heroes. They fixed my old heat pump a hundred times, prolonged its life, and when it finally died of old age, they replaced it with a new one. They're friendly, efficient, not expensive, and I trust them to the ends of the Heating Earth. I like The Furnace Men. And every April, before Air Conditioning-Cranking Season, they give my heat pump a physical.

I popped out of work this morning and headed to the Poderosa, to find that The Furnace Van was already in the driveway. I got out of my car only to be greeted by not Junior or Junior Junior, but another Furnace Man. Kenny.

Kenny was also very friendly and efficient, came in, looked at the heating/cooling main, changed my filter for me, oiled some stuff, headed out back to check the heat pump itself, and came back to the door in just a scant few minutes.

With this piece of news.

"Ma'am, do you know that you have a leak at your outside spigot?"

"Ohhhhh, yes," I answered, and followed him around to the back of the house, even though the rain was frizzing my hair, and tried to explain four months of hell to him those fifty steps. I was finishing up my story as we hit the back of the house, and he said, "Well, it's right here behind the spigot. You don't have a frost-free spigot and apparently it's frozen at some point. I stuck my head in the crawlspace and saw where it was leaking and running down the crawlspace wall, then found the valve and turned it off for you. It's easily fixed by a plumber."

And I stood there for a moment. And I heard - nothing. No water.

As much as I wanted to, I resisted the urge to jump on top of Kenny and kiss him all over his face, but I did thank him profusely.

And between The Dad and I, I think we've decided on a plumber to come and fix the problem, hopefully ending the Great Water Debacle of 08.

I really wish The Furnace Man did plumbing, though. I'd so much rather give them the money, if only for finding the damn problem.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have acrowinners! So, just what was wrong with Mr M's Clarinet?
- Honorable Mention goes to the dishy Michelle, with her, "Hard inner core, exterior fulla krapola."
- Runner-Up goes to the DeepFatFriar, with his, "He imagines clarineting errors--functions keenly." Which I would actually believe had I not played the horn myself.
- And this week's winner is Kellie (with an ie), with her, "Heineken In Clarinet. Ed's Favorite Keg." Which is funny, but Mr M wouldn't take his Rossi within 100 yards of the Sauerkraut Band. Are you kidding?
- Thanks to all who played, you've all done very well!